him like a man aroused from a sound sleep. He turned his eyes first to one side, then the other: "Whut's the matter? Which side whupt?" The surgeons smiled.

"Will he live-will he get well?"

"He will be all right in six weeks, if he takes care of himself," the surgeon said.

Whut's thet? Who's ther? Thet-thet ain't Maria?" said Gabe, as he closed his eyes wearily. But Maria had fainted dead away.

There were exclamations. The group of surgeons were equal to the emergency, however. They recovered from their surprise with their usual promptness, and, when Maria opened her eyes again, were very considerate.

"I followed Gabe," she said, falteringly, "and

A

LL through the day, since at first streak of dawn, the signal-gun had sent its grim, hoarse challenge down thesilent lines, the thunder of a thousand cannon had mingled with the ceaseless rattle of musketry to create din infernal.

From the sulphurous vapor, which hangs like a gray pall about the crest of the hills, sweeps forth, now here, now there, a dense roll of smoke pierced by a sullen flame-a roar that makes the solid earth tremble; and through the air comes the screaming messenger of death, to fall among the toiling gunners to the right or to the left, to vanish in a cloud of smoke, leaving to those around but the memory of brave comrades gone to desolate homes far away, but the canker of a lasting sorrow. Such is war. Such, a

soldier's death.

The young Federal artilleryman who stood with thumb on vent, facing the hurtling shower of death, almost unconscious of its import, had risen with the first warning note of action to tireless service at his gun. So weary was the frame, so blunted the sensibilities, from incessant labor, that his duties were performed mechanically, almost without volition, while his whole attention was fixed on a spot directly across the valley, where an occasional rift in the cloud of smoke revealed the position of a Confederate battery and (what especially riveted his attention) a gunner, "number three," like himself, attached to a piece on the left of the line,

and whose object seemed to be to silence the gun which the young Federal soldier was serving.

A gleam of ferocity shone out for a moment from the grimy face of the boy in blue, as a shell tore a great hole in the earth a little to the right of him, scattering death all around.

Slightly changing the position of his gun so as to bear directly upon the Confederate piece, for he was gunner as well as number three,' on that memorable day, a day when Battery B was unofficered by death, the artilleryman trained Destroyer " carefully upon his annoying adversary, and the shell was sent shrieking on its way.

"Too short," muttered "number three," as the messenger was seen to plow a furrow in the hillside in front of the Confederates and ricochet over their heads to explode in the woods behind. Puff and a demoniac return from the Confederates tore off the top of the sapling not ten yards away.

Again the Federal gun was trained upon the Confederate" number three," for the tall figures of both artillerymen could be distinctly seen across the narrow valley, and the erect form between the wheels became the target of each. This time the iron messenger tore through a veil of smoke wafted over a battery on the right, and its effect could not be seen; but the response was almost immediate, and as the shell buried itself in the earth and exploded a few yards in

advance to the left, "number one" staggered to the rear, badly hurt. The eyes of the young Federal fairly blazed.

"Cut that fuse a little shorter," he shouted. "We'll explode it in his face this time."

On sped the fateful iron-Ah!-Ere it reaches the grim muzzle of the Confederate gun-a flash -and "number two" is seen to grasp at a wheel for support as he sinks to the ground, while an officer's horse drops in his tracks, carrying the rider with him.

A shout goes up from the tired men who seem now to be endowed with new life. But alas! two of them shout for the last time. The compliment is returned with interest, killing numbers two and five, and tearing a gun-wheel to pieces, necessitating a delay of ten minutes to adjust a new one. The Confederate waited in silence, letting his gun cool until the next shot from the Federals tore along through the lines, cutting up a great deal of dirt but doing no damage, when he responded, killing a horse and dismounting an ammunition caisson.

By this time both combatants were lost to all thought of what was going on about them, save the service of their pieces. From a wooded hillock about two hundred yards to the left a detachment of sharpshooters had found lodgment, who poured in an incessant fire upon the Federals. Their leaden messengers whistled constantly past the duelist in blue, now burying themselves in the woodwork of the gun-carriage, now splintering the spokes of the wheels, or flattening themselves with a vicious thud against the metal itself. Had it not been for the heavy curtain of smoke enveloping the batteries on the left and slightly in advance, he would certainly have been killed. It was seldom, however, that this curtain lifted sufficiently to reveal him to his enemies, who could only direct their fire at the lurid gleams of light piercing the cloud at every discharge of the cannon, and so locating the position of the men. Directly in front of the Federal, however, and around and about the small knoll upon which his Confederate vis-a-vis had planted his gun, for some reason the cloud, which enveloped both ridges and frequently swept down the sloping sides of the hills, had not settled; so that the effect of each shot could be noted and the fire directed with such accu

racy as the gunners might exercise-a question of skill, of superiority of ordnance and marksmanship. There had been no cessation, no rest. Yet now that an hour of light remained,—now that the sun hung like a great globe of blood just above the horizon,-the labor of the day was as naught, wounds were nothing. The gray artilleryman, still unconquered, waves a sarcastic defiance as he sends once more his hurtling challenge.

Again and again the cannon belched forth their angry flame. Again and again the screaming shells burst in and around the blackened fiends about the guns. Only three remained to man the grim "Destroyer"-only three; the others are scattered here and there, where they had fallen. The slackened fire from the Confederate side told an awful tale. Yet did these two demons of destruction stand face to face, unscathed, unconquered-the blue and the gray -erect, clear-outlined against the dark bordering of the forest behind them, as the great red sun sank down behind the hilltops.

"Once more ere the night is here!" cried the blue.

"Once more while daylight lasts!" cried the gray.

In mid air the last shots hissed past each other as they sped upon their deadly errand.

For a moment it seemed as though the earth had opened, emitting a scorching tongue of flame, which shot from hell to heaven, and—it was gone and so were all the blue save "number three," who, crawling from beneath the splintered carriage, struggled forward and scanned with eager gaze the opposite hilltop, where a tall form was seen to totter and fall amid the wreckage of a gun. With a last supreme effort the dying soldier seized the ragged, shot-torn guidon, waving it defiantly, as he feebly gasped a faint "Hurrah!"-then came night and darkness— and rest. For the dead heroes, rest eternal; for the survivors, the sleep of utter exhaustion, dreamless and undisturbed even by ghastly reminders of the day's fierce struggle. On the morrow these will awake to glory-glory surpassing, abounding; piercing the clouds and smoke still hanging over the battle-field, its light shall fall with equal radiance upon the blue and the gray.

IN

N the distance, through the transparent, misty veil of blue and gray that shimmered over them, rose the green-crested mountains of the Blue Ridge. Here and there cascades of purest crystal, springing from their source up among the rocks, dashed down the mountainside through fragrant shrubbery, catching the sunlight as it leaped over moss-grown stones and fallen cypress-trees.

A trodden pathway led up the mountainside through dark evergreens and tall pines. Slowly sauntering up this mountain-path could be seen the slender, graceful form of a girl of nineteen. Half-way up she paused, and turned her dark eyes toward the scene below. Down deep in the valley was nestled the small city of S-— ; while guarding it, like faithful, sleepless sentries, stood the tall mountains of the Blue Ridge. Scattered near and far, dotting the green valley, were the pretty, comfortable homes, of white frame, with cool green blinds and roomy verandas, over which the honeysuckle and morning-glory vines trailed in rich profusion. How beautiful it all was, and how peaceful to look upon! Tears came into her eyes, and a sigh escaped from the lips of the young girl. How long would this beautiful picture remain? Not long, alas! for the merciless tread of the soldier and the boom of the cannon were already heard throughout the land. North and South were preparing for war. Everywhere was heard the cry "To arms!" and upon each side faithful and noble men responded. A hurried step behind her caught the quick ear of the girl, and startled her from her reverie. In another moment she was clasped in the strong arms of Edward Deane, and his ardent lover's kiss brought back the color to her cheek.

"True to your tryst, sweetheart. Have you waited long?" Then, noticing the unshed tear, "Still pensive, and unresigned to the inevitable?" endeavoring, in the cheeriness of his tone, to dispel the gathered gloom upon the face he loved.

"Oh, Edward, I cannot become reconciled to live in constant dread of the coming morrow, the terrible restlessness that seems to be with me, sleeping or waking! Just now I was thinking of the happy homes lying so peaceful and contented to-day in God's beautiful sunlight,

doomed, perhaps to-morrow, to devastation and ruin; and hardest of all is the parting from you." A convulsive tremor passed through her slight frame, and involuntarily the white arms clasped themselves about his neck. "I cannot bear it all-my heart will surely break." Her voice ended in a sob.

Natalie, my poor child, you must not give way to your feelings in this manner; it will only make you ill; come, be brave and hopeful for my sake. Do not predict the worst, which, after all, may never happen. Come, cheer up! I want to see you happy this last afternoon we are to spend together-for some time, at least." He led her to the trunk of a fallen tree, where they seated themselves. She was the first to speak.

"How much I still wish, Edward, you could feel that it was right to fight with the Southern army."

She said this pleadingly, with her large, earnest eyes fixed upon his face. There was silence for a moment, and a look of pain came into the tender face of her lover. Then he answered, gently, but firmly :

"Natalie, darling, I cannot. I could not do it now, had I the desire, as I have already entered my name in the regiment of Pennsylvania volunteers. It grieves me sorely to speak on this subject, knowing your sentiments in regard to the matter, but I cannot see my duty in any other direction than that which I have already taken. The North is the land of my birth and the home of my mother. It has cost me a severe struggle to decide this momentous question; but, darling, cannot you see that I would not be worthy of you, were I less true to my convictions of right? Besides, little one, think; I am only filling a position which duty demands. It grieves me, for your sake, to feel I am obliged to meet your countrymen as enemies. Nay, had I but the right to speak or advise, we should come to a far more peaceable understanding in place of this cruel war, which separates me not only from the one I love most, but compels me perhaps to shed the blood of some fellow-man." The young face had grown stern in these last few weeks. The two, but yesterday children, were now man and woman, facing one of the most vital problems of our so-called civili

zation. "Tell me, am I forgiven, darling? I know your patriotic blood is fired, and naturally so, or you could not be the loyal little woman you are. And, Natalie, you will not, I know, deem me less worthy for fulfilling my duty by giving my services to those to whom I have pledged myself, will you?"

He had risen now, and was standing before her, his handsome, stalwart figure looking grander in the conscious righteousness of the cause he was pleading, his earnest blue eyes bent anxiously upon her while they gave no token of a surrender of his own conviction of

the line of duty marked out for him. It was a trying moment in the life of the young girl, whose loyalty to the South was as fervent and sincere as was her lover's for the North. While it grieved her that he did not feel in sympathy with her beloved country, yet, despite it all, she honored the steadfastness of his character which forbade his sacrificing duty to love. Unconsciously the lines came to her mind, "To thyself be true, and it needs must follow as the night the day that thou canst not be false to any man." Gazing into his face, which had grown pale in its earnestness, she forgot all else than that he was her lover; that he was suffering because they were soon to be separated, perhaps forever. She could not let him go thus. For answer, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him, bravely striving to keep back the

tears.

"Edward, I will not ask you to be disloyal to your country, nor will I ask you to choose between it and me. My love for you is the strongest factor of my being; and it will be with you wherever you may go, whatever may be your danger or deprivation. Believe this."

"Spoken like the true, noble little woman you are, God bless you! And may He make me worthy of the priceless treasure he has bestowed upon me, Natalie, my rebel queen." He drew her still closer to him, and kissed again and again the sweet face.

An hour later, when plans for the future had been quietly discussed, the two sauntered slowly down the quiet mountain-path, together perhaps for the last time. Natalie lived with a widowed mother, who had, but three short months ago, with joyful pride, given her consent to her daughter's engagement to the handsome and manly Edward Deane.

Reaching the cottage, Natalie went to a quaintly-carved little oaken cabinet and took therefrom a tiny French cup and saucer of

purest china inlaid with gold, and having upon the front and outer surface of the cup a most exquisite likeness of herself. It had been a treasure of priceless value to Natalie, as it was the last gift of her dear dead father, three years before, upon his return from a foreign trip. The picture was executed in Paris from a photograph which he had subsequently lost, and to-day it dawned upon Natalie that there would be no other likeness of herself that Edward could take with him.

It is the only picture I have, Edward. Is it not a pity, for I know you could never carry it." And she held toward him the fragile little bit of china.

"Trust me, love, for taking care of it. Knowing how much it is prized by you, it shall be all the more carefully guarded by me if you will consent to my taking it.”

66

Take it, Edward; it is yours, no matter what befalls it."

"Thank you, my dear, generous girl. The little love-token shall never leave my hands or care; and when this cruel war is past, sweetheart, I shall return with it in triumph to you, unless the dear Father in heaven wills it otherwise." His voice faltered as he continued, "And should I-I fall in the conflict, this little cup will be returned to you with a last message from me."

"Don't, dear, dear Edward; I have evil forebodings enough. I cannot live without you. You will,-you must return. Surely, God will answer my prayers and spare you to me.'

"Natalie, loved one, I want to live to see you again. I ask for nothing else. God knows how much I crave that this boon will not be denied me."

Slowly the great red sun sank behind the mountain. One by one the stars came out to keep their vigil, while Natalie and her lover whispered their last farewell within the little vine-covered porch.

The days went wearily by, while the war raged fiercely. At home, sad eyes and anxious hearts awaited each day's tidings from their beloved ones. At long intervals blurred and hurried scrawls would reach the home of Natalie, filled with tender, loving words of devotion and hope. A year went by, and still the war was not over, nor had Edward returned. In the meantime another great sorrow befell Natalie Earle, in the death of her mother, which left her alone. Slowly the long, weary days dragged by in the desolate home of Natalie Earle. The pretty

little peaceful valley, with its thrift and tokens of peace and plenty, was no longer a garden of Eden. Waste and devastation were everywhere. Weeds sprung up where beautiful gardens had been. Homes were deserted, or made desolate by the death of loved ones. Natalie walked among them all, giving comfort here and there, consoling and helping those whose affliction seemed greater than her own.

She had not heard from Edward for some time now, and her anxious heart would quicken its beating at every strange step, at every knock at the door, or message sent.

It came, however, one evening, when Natalie was alone: a knock, feeble and timid, upon the front door. She arose, with fear and trembling, to answer its summons. An aged negro stood without, holding in his hand a tiny package. Lifting his hat respectfully, in a trembling voice he asked if Miss Natalie Earle was within.

I am Natalie Earle," she said. "You have brought a message for me?" The old man made no spoken reply, but mutely handed the package to the trembling girl, then turned slowly, and disappeared in the darkness.

Fagerly she tore away the wrappings, and there, before her eyes, lay the tiny cup and saucer. The cup was filled with earth, in which was planted a tiny blue forget-me-not, withered now and dead, for want of air and sunlight. About the handle was wrapped a small scrap of paper, bearing these words :

**Farewell, darling Natalie, until we meet in heaven. Am dying, with your name upon my lips. EDWARD." Without a word she sank upon her knees, and pressed the precious paper to her lips. The worst had come. Then, for a brief space, unconsciousness came to her like the blessed balm of sleep.

The war was not over when Natalie again faced the world, feeling herself now utterly alone. But she did not die-grief seldom kills. She took up the burden of life once more; but this time in the hospitals of the army, and no wounded or dying soldier, in gray or blue, who received the sweet, pure comfort of her care, but blessed her.

To-day, if you, perchance, happen to be treading the streets of a certain Western city, and will take the trouble to call at the Hospital of the Sacred Heart, and will ask to see Sister Joanelle, a sweet-faced, dark-eyed woman will greet you, attired in the habiliments of a Sister of Mercy; and in that patient, waiting face you

will recognize Natalie Earle. Her work is still unfinished; but, with each day's ending, as she kneels before the tiny altar in her room, gazing with tearful eyes upon a quaint bit of purest china, these words escape her:

"One day nearer heaven and you, my love!"

A CURIOSITY IN VERSE. HORTLY after the close of the Civil War, a soldier of the gray, finding himself still possessed of some Confederate paper money, presented a $100 bill of this then hopelessly depreciated currency to a friend who wanted it for a collection in process of making. Before transferring the bill, the donor wrote on the back of it an impromptu poetical commentary, in which humor and pathos are oddly intermingled. Copies of these verses have been published by various journals, and generally incorrectly; but through the courtesy of Mr. Edwin H. Marble, of Worcester, Massachusetts, who is the possessor of an exact duplicate of the original, we are enabled to give the poem in full, and exactly as first written : Representing nothing on God's earth now And naught in the waters below it, As a pledge of a nation that has passed away, Keep it, dear friend, and show it.

Show it to those who will lend an ear
To the tale this trifle will tell,
Of Liberty, born of a patriot's dream,
Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.

Too poor to possess the precious ores,

Too much of a stranger to borrow,
We issued to-day "our promise to pay,"

And hoped to redeem on the morrow.
The days rolled on and the weeks became years,
But our coffers were empty still.
Coin was so scarce, the treasury quaked
If a dollar should drop in the till.

But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,
Though our poverty well we discerned,
And this little check represents the pay
That our suffering veterans earned.

They knew it had scarcely a value in gold,
Yet as gold our soldiers received it.

It gazed in our eyes, with "a promise to pay,"
And every true soldier believed it.

But our boys thought little of price or pay
Or of bills that were overdue.
We knew if it brought our bread to-day

'Twas the best our poor country could do. Keep it. It tells all our history o'er,

From the birth of our dream to its last, Modest and born of the angel Hope,

Like our dream of success, it passed.