the ball pierced the left lung, broke a rib, and did no end of damage here and there; so the poor lad can find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he must lie on his wounded back or suffocate. It will be a hard struggle, and a long one, for he possesses great vitality; but even his temperate life can't save him. I wish it could." "You don't mean he must die, doctor!" "Bless you, there is not the slightest hope for him, and you'd better tell him so before long. Women have a way of doing such things comfortably; so I leave it to you. He won't last more than a day or two, at farthest.” I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily if I had not learned the propriety of bottling up one's tears for leisure moments. Such an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn-out, worthless bodies round him were gathering up the remnants of wasted lives to linger on for years, perhaps burdens to others, daily reproaches to themselves. The army needed men like John, earnest, brave, and faithful, fighting for liberty and justice with both heart and hand, a true soldier of the Lord. I could not give him up so soon, or think with any patience of so excellent a nature robbed of its fulfilment, and blundered into eternity by the rashness or stupidity of those at whose hands so many lives may be required. It was an easy thing for Dr. Pto say, "Tell him he must die," but a cruel, hard thing to do, and by no means as "comfortable" as he politely suggested. I had not the heart to do it then, and privately indulged the hope that some change for the better might take place, in spite of gloomy prophecies, so rendering my task unnecessary. After that night, an hour of each evening that remained to him was devoted to his ease or pleasure. He could not talk much, for breath was precious, and he spoke in whispers, but from occasional conversations I gleaned scraps of private history which added to the affection and respect I felt for him. Once he asked me to write a letter, and as I settled pen and paper, I said with an irrepressible glimmer of female curiosity: "Shall it be addressed to mother or wife, John?" "Neither, ma'am ; I've got no wife, and will write to mother myself when I get better. Did you think I was married because of this?" he asked, touching a plain gold ring which he wore, and often turned thoughtfully on his finger when he lay alone. 66 Partly that, but more from a settled sort of look you have, a look young men seldom get until they marry.” "I didn't know that, but I'm not so very wrong, ma'am, thirty in May, and have been what you might call settled this ten years, for mother's a widow. I'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't do for me to marry till Lizzie has a home of her own, and Laurie has learned his trade; for we're not rich, and I must be father to the children, and husband to the dear old woman, if I can." "No doubt you are both, John; yet how came you to go to the war, if you felt so? Wasn't enlisting as bad as marrying?" "No, ma'am, not as I see it; for one is helping my neighbor, the other pleasing myself. I went because I couldn't help it. I didn't want the glory or the pay. I wanted the right thing done, and the people said the men who were in earnest ought to fight. I was in earnest, the Lord knows, but I held off as long as I could, not knowing which was my duty. Mother saw the case, gave me her ring to keep me steady, and said, 'Go.' I went." A short story and a simple one; but the man and the mother were portrayed better than pages of fine writing could have done it. "Do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering so much?" "Never, ma'am. I haven't helped a great deal, but I've shown I was willing to give my life, and perhaps I've got to; but I don't blame anybody, and if it was to do over again, I'd do it. I'm a little so ry I wasn't wounded in front. It looks cowardly to be hit in the back; but I obeyed orders, and it don't matter much in the end, I know." Poor John! it did not matter now, except that a shot in front might have spared the long agony in store for him. He seemed to read the thought that troubled me, as he spoke so hopefully when there was no hope, for he suddenly added: "This is my first battle do they think it's going to be my last?" - "I'm afraid they do, John." It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer; doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed upon mine, forcing a truthful answer by their own truth. He seemed a little startled at first, pondered over the hateful fact a moment, then shook his head with a glance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out before him. "I'm not afraid, but it's difficult to believe all at once. I'm so strong it does not seem possible for such a little wound to kill me." "Shall I write to your mother now?" I asked, thinking that these sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they did not; for the man received the order from the Divine Commander to march, with the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received that of the human one, doubtless remembering that the first led him to life, the last to death. "No, ma'am: to Laurie, just the same; he'll break it to her best, and I'll add a line to her myself, when you get done." So I wrote the letter which he dictated, finding it better than any I had sent, for, though here and there a little ungrammatical or inelegant, each sentence came to me briefly worded, but most expressive, full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly bequeathing "mother and Lizzie" to his care, and bidding him good by in words the sadder for their simplicity. He added a few lines with steady hand, and, as I sealed it, said, with a patient sort of sigh, "I hope the answer will come in time for me to see it ;" then, turning away his face, laid the flowers against his lips, as if he would hide some quiver of emotion at the thought of such a sudden sundering of all the dear home ties. These things had happened two days before. Now, John was dying, and the letter had not come. I had been summoned to many death beds in my life, but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, since my mother called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin to this, in its gentleness and patient strength. As I went in, John stretched out both hands. "I knew you'd come! I guess I'm moving on, ma'am." nearly gone, and had laid down the fan, believ ing its help no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharply startling every one with its agonized appeal. "For God's sake, give me air!" It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he had asked, and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blow were useless now. Dan flung up the window; the first red streak of dawn was warming the gray east, a herald of the coming sun. John saw it, and with the love of light that lingers in us to the end, seemed to read in it a sign of hope; for He was, and so rapidly, that even while he over his whole face broke that mysterious exspoke, over his face I saw the gray veil falling pression, brighter than any smile, which often that no human hand can lift. I sat down by him, comes to eyes that look their last. He laid himwiped the drops from his forehead, stirred the self down gently, and stretching out his strong air about him with the slow wave of a fan, and right arm, as if to grasp and bring the blessed waited to help him die. He stood in sore need air to his lips in fuller flow, lapsed into a merciof help, and I could do so little; for, as the doc-ful unconsciousness, which assured us that for him tor had foretold, the strong body rebelled against suffering was forever past. death, and fought every inch of the way, forcing As we stood looking at him, the ward master him to draw each breath with a spasm, and clench handed me a letter, saying it had been forgotten his hands with an imploring look, as if he asked, the night before. It was John's letter, come "How long must I endure this, and be still?" For hours he suffered dumbly, without a moment's respite or a moment's murmuring. His limbs grew cold, his face damp, his lips white, and again and again he tore the covering off his breast, as if the lightest weight added to his agony; yet, through it all, his eyes never lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein, undaunted by the ills that vexed his flesh. One by one the men woke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though a stranger, John was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered at his patience, respected his piety, admired his fortitude, and now lamented his hard death; for the influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply felt even in one little week. Presently Jonathan, who so loved this comely David, came creeping from his bed for a last look and word. The kind soul was full of trouble, as the choke in his voice, the grasp of his hand, betrayed; but there were no tears, and the farewell of the friends was the more touching for its brevity. "Old boy, how are you?" faltered the one. "Most through, thank Heaven!" whispered the other. just an hour too late to gladden the eyes that had looked and longed for it so eagerly — yet he had it; for after I had cut some brown locks for his mother, and taken off the ring to send her, telling how well the talisman had done its work, I kissed this good son for her sake, and laid the letter in his hand, still folded as when I drew my own away. At the bat A BABY ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. tle of the Hatchie, when the conflict was waging fiercest, upon advancing, midway between the contending forces, we found what do you think? Not a masked battery-not an insidious trap, inviting but to destroy-not any terrible engine of death-but a sweet little blueeyed BABY. Sweet little thing, as I saw it there, hugging the cold earth, its only bed—the little tear on its cheek, — "That nature bade it weep, turned An ice-drop sparkling in the morning beam."Unalarmed 'mid the awful confusion of that fearful battle, with the missiles of death flying thick about it and crowding close upon its young existence, yet unhurt, it seemed a wonderful verification of the Divine declaration: "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings I will ordain wis "Can I say or do anything for you any-dom." That little "child of war," as it lay in its wheres ? " "Take my things home, and tell them that did my best." "I will! I will! "Good by, Ned." "Good by, John, good by!" miraculous safety, seemed to say to me these I words of profound instruction: "My helplessness and innocence appealed to God, and he preserved me in the midst of this wrecking carnage. If you will make your plaint to Heaven, God will preserve your poor bleeding country." Little child of destiny, born 'mid the flash of musketry, the thunder of cannon, and the clash of arms, I will watch your course through life, and witness whether an existence so auspiciously begun will pass by the masses unnoticed, and end without leaving a name "damned to everlasting They kissed each other tenderly as women, and so parted; for poor Ned could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while there was no sound in the room but the drip of water from a pump or two, and John's distressful gasps as he slowly breathed his life away. I thought him |