92 THE GENEROUS SOLDIER SAVED. "Like the apple of his eye, Mr. Owen; doubt it not." Blossom sat near them listening, with blanched cheek. She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had been so concealed that no one had noticed it. She had occupied herself mechanically in the household cares. Now she answered a gentle tap at the kitchen door, opening it to receive from a neighbor's hand a letter. "It is from him," was all she said. It was like a message from the dead! Mr. Owen took the letter, but could not break the envelope, on account of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allan, with the helplessness of a child. The minister opened it, and read as follows: "DEAR FATHER:-When this reaches you I shall be in eternity. At first it seemed awful to me; but I have thought about it so much now, that it has no terror. They say they will not bind me, nor blind me; but that I may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, it might have been on the battle-field, for my country, and that, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but to be shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it,-to die for neglect of duty! O, father, I wonder that the very thought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you. I am going to write you all about it; and when I am gone, you may tell my comrades. I can not now. "You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother, I would look after her boy; and, when he fell sick, I did all I could for him. He was not strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night, I carried all his luggage, besides my own on our march. Towards night we went in on double quick, and though the luggage began to feel very heavy, every body else was tired too; and as for Jemmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped by the way. I was all tired out when we came into camp, and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry, and I would take his place; but I was too tired, father. I could not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not know it until-well, until it was too late." "God be thanked!" interrupted Mr. Owen, reverently. "I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep carelessly at his post.' "They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve, given to me by circumstances, time to write to you,' our good colonel says. Forgive him, father, he only does his duty; he would gladly save me if he could; and do not lay my death up against Jemmie. The poor boy is brokenhearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my stead. "I cannot bear to think of mother and Blossom. Comfort them, THE GENEROUS SOLDIER SAVED. 93 father! Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when the war is over, they will not be ashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me; it is very hard to bear! Good-by, father! God seems near and dear to me; not at all as if he wished me to perish for ever, but as if he felt sorry for his poor, sinful, broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with him and my Saviour in a better,-better life." A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen's heart. solemnly, "Amen." "Amen," he said "To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all coming home from pasture, and precious little Blossom stand on the back stoop, waiting for me; but I shall never, never come! God bless you all! Forgive your poor Bennie." Late that night the door of the "back stoop" opened softly and a little figure glided out, and down the foot-path that led to the road by the mill. She seemed rather flying than walking, turning her head neither to the right nor the left, looking only now and then to Heaven, and folding her hands, as if in prayer. Two hours later, the same young girl stood at the Mill Depot, watching the coming of the night train; and the conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the tear-stained face that was upturned toward the bright lantern he held in his hand. A few questions and ready answers told him all; and no father could have cared more tenderly for his only child than he for our little Blossom. She was on her way to Washington, to ask President Lincoln for her brother's life. She had stolen away, leaving only a note to tell where and why she had gone. She had brought Bennie's letter with her; no good, kind heart, like the President's, could refuse to be melted by it. The next morning they reached New York, and the conductor hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, now, might be the means of saving her brother's life. And so, in an incredibly short time, Blossom, reached the Capital, and hastened immediately to the White House. The President had but just seated himself to the task of overlooking and signing important papers, when, without one word of announcement, the door softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded hands, stood before him. "Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tones, "what do you want?" "Bennie's life, please sir!" faltered Blossom. "Bennie? Who is Bennie ?" "My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post." "Oh, yes;" and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the papers before him. 94 THE GENEROUS SOLDIER SAVED. "I remember. It was a fatal sleep. You see, child, it was at a time of special danger. Thousands of lives might have been lost for his culpable negligence." "So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely, "but poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jemmie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never thought about himself, that he was tired too." "What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not understand," and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at what seemed to be a justification of an offence. Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face towards his. How tall he seemed! and he was President of the United States, too. A dim thought of this kind passed for a moment through Blossom's mind; but she told her simple and straightforward story, and handed Mr. Lincoln Bennie's letter to read. He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines, and rang his bell. Blossom heard this order given: "Send this dispatch at once." The President then turned to the girl and said, "Go home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence, even when it took the life of a child like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be lost. Go back, or-wait until tomorrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death; he shall go with you." "God bless you, sir," said Blossom; and who shall doubt that God heard and registered the request? Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the White House with his little sister. He was called into the President's private room, and a strap fastened upon the shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said: "The soldier that could carry a sick comrade's baggage, and die for the act so uncomplainingly, deserves well of his country." Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to welcome them back; and as farmer Owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks and he was heard to say fervently: "The Lord be praised!" SONG OF SARATOGA. JOHN G. SAXE. RAY what do they do at the Imprimis, my darling, they drink Springs?" The question is easy to ask: Were rather a serious task. And yet, in a bantering way, As the magpie or mocking-bird sings, I'll venture a bit of a song, To tell what they do at the Springs. The waters so sparkling and clear; With wholesome medicinal things; And that's what they do at the Springs! 96 THE RUINED COTTAGE. Then with appetites keen as a knife, The former from seven till nine. Ye gods! what a rustle and rush, When the eloquent dinner-bell rings! Now they stroll in the beautiful walks, That never is heard by the breeze; Regardless of conjugal rings: And they flirt, and they flirt, and they flirt- N The drawing-rooms now are ablaze, And fashion was never so gay! How closely and how fondly it clings! In short, as it goes in the world, They eat, and they drink, and they sleep; They talk, and they walk, and they woo; They sigh, and they laugh, and they weep: They read, and they ride, and they dance; (With other remarkable things :) They pray, and they play, and they PAY,- THE RUINED COTTAGE. MRS. LETITIA E. MACLEAN. ONE will dwell in that cottage, for they say oppression reft it from an honest man, and that a curse clings to it; hence the vine trails its green weight of leaves upon the ground; hence weeds are in that garden; hence the hedge, once sweet with honeysuckle, is half dead; and hence the gray moss on the apple-tree. One once dwelt there who had been in his youth a soldier, and when many years had passed, he sought his native village, and sat down to end his days in peace. He had one child—a little, laughing thing, whose large, dark eyes, he said, were like the mother's he had left buried in strangers' land. And time went on in comfort and content-and that fair girl had grown far taller than the red rose tree her father planted on her first English birthday; and he had trained it up against an ash till it became his pride; it was so rich in blossom and in beauty, it was called the tree of Isabel. 'Twas an appeal to all the better feelings of the heart, to mark their quiet happiness, their home-in truth a home of love,—and more than all, to see them on the Sabbath, when they came among the first to church, and Isabel, with her bright color and her clear, glad eyes, bowed down so meekly in the house of prayer, and in the hymn her sweet voice audible; her father looked so fond of her, and then from her looked up so thankfully to heaven! And their small cottage was so very neat; their garden filled with fruits and herbs and flowers; and in the winter there was no fireside so cheerful as their own. |