Dear Sister:
In my last letter I spoke of my school days and in the wind up, bid farewell to my dear teacher, James B. Johnson. But before leaving him altogether I will remark that he still lives. The last I knew of him he was living in Hilleville, Carroll County. After that session I did not go any more except in the winter 2 or 3 months at a time, but from my earliest recollection I went to Sabbath school every summer which was taught at the Cleaves meeting house. At the commencement of the school, Major Cleaves offered a nice pocket bible as a reward to the scholar who would commit to memory the greatest number of verses in the testament. I concluded I would join in the race. An account was kept for each scholar and at the end of the school, Miss Lydia E. Davis took the prize, having beat me a few verses. Father said I should not loose my reward, so he bought me a bible which I have with me today. In process of time, a school house was built near where father then lived and Sabbath schools were kept up after that at Slate Springs, for that was the name given the new school house. In March, (I think) 1850 or 1851, cousin Henry Seagle of whom I have spoken before paid me a visit. He came on Saturday and as usual we were very glad to see each other and passed away the time very pleasantly together. As I said before we were great cronies. This, then, happy land and peaceful land of ours, may be deluged in blood, yea drenched with human gore, it may be overrun and pillaged by the enemy, every vistage of resemblance of my boyhood days may be swept away, but as long as my memory is left me unsurpassed, I will remember that cousin and playmate, and especially that last visit. As I said before, he came on Saturday. On Sunday morning he went to Slate Springs to meeting and perhaps while there he began to complain of a pain in his head, but said little about it and was as lively as usual. After meeting was over we went to Groseclose's to see a place where there was Black Lead as my cousin wanted to see the place. In the evening as we were returning home he complained a good deal, and until we had gotten home he was very dull and had but little to say. This was very uncommon, as he was very noisy and full of fun. He intended going home that evening but father and mother would not let him go until morning and he was still worse, so father made me get on a horse and go home with him. When he got home he went to bed. I left him and on Wednesday, I was at Hines Mills, as I came back by I stopped to see him but he was unconscious and did not know me. That was the last time I saw him alive. On Thursday morning his spirit took its flight to another world. I know nothing about his preparation to meet his God, but I hope in the great day of accounts to see him among that blood washed throng on the right hand of the Father. I went to his burial and saw his remains layed in the cold silent tomb, there to remain until Gabriel æs awful trump shall sound, and wake the nations underground. I have often thought of him since this war began. He is free from all the troubles of camp and soldier life in this bloody contest. But he is gone, his soul has been in the spirit world several years. Oblivion has almost swept away every incident connected with his life. Death is a solemn thought and its pangs last throughout the ceaseless ages of Eternity. Would to God we could all think of it more seriously. Write me often.  

Your brother till death.
Thomas W. Fisher.
                                       
 
 
 

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