: angry and searching eyes—said but a very few
' words (our rage was too deep to be demonstrative,)
: OLMSTEAD & CO., PUBLISHERS.
We met in the beginning of the battle, I and my
enemy, Richard Withers—he a rebel, Ia federalist ;
he on foot, I mounted. It matters not why I
hated him with the fiercest wrath of my nature.
“The heart knoweth, its own bitterness,” and the
details, while most painful to me, would be of tri-
fling interest to you. Suffice it to say that our
feud was not a political one. For ten years we
were the closest intimates that the same studies,
the same tastes and the same aims could make us.
I was the older of the two, and the stronger, physi-
cally; comparatively friendless, as the world takes
it, and had no near relatives. Young, solitary and
visionary as we were, it is hard to make you under-
stand what we were to each other. Up to the pe-
riod of our estrangement, working together, eating
together, sleeping together, I can safely say: that
we had not a joy or grief, not a pleasure or vexa-
tion ,that we did not share with an almost boyish
single-heartedness. One day changed all. We
arose in the morning dear friends—we lay down at
night bitter enemies. I was a man of extremes—
I either loved or hated with the whole strength of
my heart. The past was forgotten in the present.
The ten years of kindness, of congeniality, of al-
most womanly tenderness,. were erased, as with a
We looked each other in the face with
and we parted. Then in my solitude I dashed my
clenched hand upon the Bible and vowed passion-
ately: “I may wait ten years, Richard Withers! I
may wait twenty, thirty, if you will, but sooner or
later, I swear I will have revenge!”
“And this was the way we met.
I wonder if he thought of that’ day when he laid
his hand on my bridle-rein and looked up at me
with his treacherous blue eyes. I scarcely think
he did, or he could not have given me that look.
He was beautiful as a girl—indeed, the contrast of
his fair, aristocratic face, with its regular outline,
‘and red, curving lips, to my own rough, dark ex-
terior, might have been partly the secret of my
former attraction to him. But the loveliness of an
angel, had it been his, would not have saved him
from mé then, There was a pistol in his hand, but
before he had time to discharge it, I cut at him
with my sword—and as the line swept on like a
gathering wave, I saw him stagger under the blow,
throw up his arms and go down in the press. ° Bit-
terly as I hated him, the vision of his ghastly face
haunted me the long day through.
You all remember how it was at Fredericksburg
—bpw we crossed the river at the wrong point, and
under that raking fire of the enemy, were 80 disas-
Tt was a sad mistake, and fatal to many a brave
heart. When night fell, lay upon the field among
the dead and wounded. I was comparatively help-
less. A ball had shivered the cap of my right knee,
and my /shoulder was laid open by a sabre cut.
The latter bled profusely, but by dint of knotting
my handkerchief tightly around it I matlaged to
staunch it in a measure. For my knee I could do
nothing. Consciousness did not desert me, and the
pain was intense; but from the moans and wails
about me I judged that others had fared worse
than I. '
- Poor fellows! many a mother’s darling was suf-
fering there—many of my comrades, lads of eigh-
teen and twenty, who had never been a night from
home until they joined the army; spoiled pets of
fortune, manly enough at heart, but children in
years and constitution, who had been used to have
every little ache and scratch compassioned with an
almost extravagant sympathy—there they lay—
crippled, gashed and bleeding, crushed and dying,
huddled together—some where they had weakly
crawled upon their hands and-knees—never a wo-
man’s touch to bind up their wounds, or a woman’s
Yoice to whisper gentle consolation.
It was pitch dark, and a cold miserable rain
falling upon us. The very heavens weeping over
our miseries, Then through “the darkness and
drizzling rain, through the moans’ and prayers of
the fallen men about me, I heard ‘a familiar voice
by my side: i. sO
- “Water! water! water by I am dying with thirst
T recoiled in dismay. It was the voice of Rich-
ard Withers. They were once very dear to me,
those mellow tones! once the pleasantest music I
wished to hear.” Do you think they softened me
now? You are mistaken. I am candid about it.
My blood (what I had left) boiled in my veins when
I heard him; when I knew that he lay so close to
me, and I powerless to withdraw from his detested
neighborhood. There was water in my canteen—I
had filled it before the last ball came. By stretch-
ing out my hand I could have given him to drink,
but I did not raise my finger. Vengeance was
sweet, I smiled grimly to myself, and said down in
my secret heart,
“Not a drop shall pass his lips, though he perish.
I shall have my revenge.”
Do not recoil with horror! Listen how merciful
God was to me.
There was a merry little drummer on the other
this the judgment.
could I expect, if the same was to be meted that I
had meted to my enemy.
|. The tears swelled in my eyes and trickled down
“It is appointed unto men once to die; and after
Worse and worse. What measure of mercy
my checks; the first I had shed since my boyhood.
I felt subdued, and strangely moved,
The rain was falling still; but the little head on
my breast was gone. He had crept away silently
into the darkness. His unconscious mission was
performed ; he did not return at my call. Then I
lifted myself with great effort. The old bitterness
was crushed, but not altogether gone.
“Water—water,” moaned Richard Withers, in
I dragged myself close to him.
“God be praised!” I said, with a solemn heart.
“Dick, old boy, enemy nolonger. God be praised!
side, a manly little boy of thirteen, the pet and
plaything of the regiment. There was something
of the German in him. He had been with us from
the first, and was considered one of the ablest
drummers in the army. We would never march to
the tap of Charley’s drum again! He had gota
ball in his lungs; and the exposure and fatigue, to-
Poor little child! he crept close to me in the dark-|
ness, and laid his cheek upon my breast. Maybe)
he thought it was his own pillow at home, maybe,
he thought it was his own mother’s bosom. God |
alone knows what he thought, but with his hot
arms about my neck, and his curly head close to
my wicked heart, even then swelling with bitter
hatred of my enemy, he began in his delirium to
“Our Father who art in Heaven.”
Iwas a rough-bearded man. I had been an or-
phan for many a long year ; but not too many or
too long to forget the simple-hearted prayer of my
childhood—the dim vision of that mother’s face,
over which the grass had grown for twenty chang-
ing summers. Something tender stirred within
my hardened heart. It was too dark to see the
little face ; but the young lips went on brokenly—
“And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive
those who trespass against us.” .
It went through me like a knife—sharper than @
sabre cut, keener than the ball. God was merci-
ful unto me, and this young child was the channel
of His mercy.
“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those
who trespass against us.” .
Ihad never understood those words before. If
an angel had uttered them, it could scarcely have
been more of a revelation, For the first time, the
thought that I might be mortallgrounded, that
death might be nearer than I dreamed, struck me
with an awe and horror. The text of @ long-for-
—if it is but a mouthful—water! For God's sake,
O give me water !” ‘
gether with the wound, had made him light-headed. jean drink. I watched him with moist eyes, leaning
Tam able and willing to help you. Drink and be
It had been growing lighter in the east, and now
Hit was day—day within and without. In the first
' gray glimmer of dawn, we looked into each other's
' ghastly faces for a moment, the canteen was at
| Richard's mouth, and he drank as the fevered only
upon my elbow—forgetting my bandaged shoulder.
He grasped me with both hands. Blood-stained
and pallid as it was, his face was as beautiful as a
“Now let me speak,” he said, panting. ‘You
have misjudged, Mr. Rufus. It was all a mistake.
I meant to have spoken this morning when I
grasped your—” :
“Forgive me, Dick,” I murmured. I felt some-
thing warm trickle down my shoulder. I fainted
and fell; then all was thick darkness,
. . * . ° -
Topened my eyes. Where was? How odd
everything was. Rows of beds stretched down a
long, narrow hall, bright with sunshine; and wo-
men, wearing white caps and peculiar dresses, flit-
ted toand fro with a noiseless activity, which in
my fearful sickness it tired me to watch. My hand
lay outside of the covers; it was shadowy as a
skeleton’s. What had become of my flesh? Was
Ta child or a man? A body or spirit? So light
and frail did I feel, I began to think I was done
with all material things altogether, had been sub-
jected to some refining process, and was now
awakened to a new existence. But did they have
beds in the other world? Iwas looking Jazily at
the opposite one when some one took my hand, A
face was bending over me. I looked up into it
with a beating heart, The golden sunshine was on
it—on the fair, regular features, the red lips, and
the kindly blue eyes.
“Dick!” I gasped, “where have you been all
22 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON.
“Weeks, you mean,” said Richard, with the old
smile. “But never mind now. You are better
now, dear Rufus—you will live, dear—we shall be
happy together again.” .
“Where am IP” I asked, still hazy. “What is
the matter with me?” 1
“Ifospital, in the first place,” said Richard.
“Typhus, in the second. You were taken after that
night at Fredericksburg.”
It broke upon me at once. I remembered that
awful night—I could never, never forget it again,
Weak as a child, I covered my face with my hands
and burst into tears. Michard was on his. knees
by my side at once.
“I was a brute to recall it,” he whispered, re-
morselessly; “do not, think of it, old boy; you
must not excite yourself. It is all forgotten and
“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those
who trespass against us!” I prayed from my most
“Those words have been in your mouth night
and day, ever since you were taken,” said my
T lay silent, cogitating.
“Tell me one thing, Dick,” I asked; “are we in
the North or South?” .
“North—Philadelphia.” 7 '
» “Then you are a prisoner,” I said mournfully,
recalling his principles.
“Not a bit of it.”
“What do you mean ?”
“I have seen the error of my ways. I have tak-
en the oath of allegiance. When we are strong
enough again, we shall fight side hy side.”
“And the wound in your head?” I asked with
emotion, looking up at his bright, handsome face.
“Don't mention it, It healed up long ago.”
“And the little drummer ?”
Richard bowed his head upon my hand.
“He was found dead upon the field.”
“JIeaven bless him.”
“They say he died praying, with his mother’s
name upon his lips.”
“Revere him as an angel!” I whispered, grasp-
ing him by the hand. “But for his dying prayer,
we had yet been enemies. O, Richard, God's
grace is with the simple and pure of heart!”
For the Companion.
About ten o'clock one sultry morning in June, a
lame and poorly dressed woman and a little girl
walked slowly up the long avenue leading to “Oak
Grove Academy.” They seemed tired, and would
perhaps have been glad to sit down and Test, but
there was no pleasant green to tempt them, for they
lived in a distant southern State, and on account
of the venomous insects and snakes, grass is not
allowed to grow in the yards; indeed, the ground
about the houses is swept very often, and it is as”
smooth and hard as a floor.
The teacher noticed them soon after they entered
the great gate; for from the window near her desk,
she could see the village distinctly, and this long
and beautifully shaded walk opened from the prin-
cipal street, Well, they walked along quietly
enough until near the school-house, when the little
one began tocry, At this the old woman shook
her roughly, and speaking very loud, said:
“Go ‘long, you no ’count gal, the missus "ll make
you mind, I reckon,” and with that gave the child
a push which almost hurled her against the steps,
The teacher ran out in haste and caught the
trembling little creature in her armé, and asked
what was the matter.
“Granny says you'll beat me, O, O, 0.”
The old woman now tottered along. She was
evidently under the influence of something stronger
than water, and her remarks were not particularly
intelligible, but by dint of questioning, it appeared
that the child, now five years old, was motherless,
and had been left in charge of her grandparents for
a year, when her father, who lived in the “Red
River country,” was to come for her; and as the
body called her, thought it was high time the little
Becky “should begin her eddication,” and “learn
gotten sermon was in my ears:.
time had nearly passed, “Granny Lumley,” as every *