Another Gallant Boy Fallen.
On Tuesday evening of last week, the train brought to this place the remains of Thomas C. Aston, son of Samuel W. Aston, Esq., of Lebanon, who died in one of the Richmond hospitals on the 21st of July. He entered the army before he was 17, and before the commencement of Jackson's brilliant career, in all of whose battles he participated, from McDowell to Chancellorsville, with one or two exceptions, when prevented by sickness. He was severely wounded in the right elbow at Chancellorsville, from the effects of which he died, after lingering and suffering so long. He was a brave boy, faithful in the discharge of duty, and cheerfully sacrificed his life for the good of the common cause.
THOMAS C. ASTON
Died in the city of Richmond, July 21st, 1863, MR. THOMAS C. ASTON, only son of Samuel W. Aston, Esq., of Lebanon, Va. The deceased belonged to Co. C, 37th Regt. Va. Vols., having volunteered when about 17 1/2 years of age.
Though so young, and of a naturally delicate constitution, he was a good soldier, and during his brief career in the army, fought many battles. Nobly did he sustain his part in the terrible fight before Fredericksburg, escaping unhurt; but in that fatal engagement at Chancellorsville, where the hero Jackson was lost to the Confederacy, Thomas was wounded in the arm. Having been taken to Richmond, it was thought his arm might be saved, but when weeks of suffering had passed, amputation became necessary, and his already exhausted system sank rapidly after the operation, till his weary eyes closed upon this lower world. Sometime previous to his death, he remarked to a kind lady who visited and conversed with him, that "he had given his heart to God." His father and sister reached him two days before his departure, and with his quivering, dying lips, he exhorted them to fear and serve the Lord; also set messages to his absent sisters to be religious and seek a home in Heaven. Thus has Thomas gone to rejoin the
spirit of his sainted mother, who years ago dedicated him to the Lord. When we contemplate his tender years, fragile frame, and his protracted sufferings in the city hospital afar from the fond endearments of home, the heart bleeds with sorrow, but then the vision of St. John comes to view, and we see before the Throne those "who have gone up through great tribulation," and we feel assured that "afflications, though severe, are oft in mercy sent," and like the Shunamite of old, meekly say, "It is well."
Then rest thee, brave boy, in thy own native earth,
Where zephyrs of Summer shall blow;
And birds shall trill sweetly their songs of glad mirth,
Unheeding Time's sorrowful flow.
Thy mother sleeps near thee, together ye'll rise,
And join the grand army above;
When Jehovah shall marshal his hosts in the skies,
Beneath the broad banner of Love.
No booming of cannon shall there reach thine ear,
No death-wound from battle's and strife;
But the strains of the harpers with joy thou shalt hear,
And quaff of the waters of life.