She sat by the couch of a fair-haired boy, who was that day mortally
wounded. It was night now, and in the hospital before described. The poor
boy knew he must go, but before he died he wanted to leave a message of
love for his mother, away in the northern home.
"Tell me all you wish to have her know; I will convey your message to
her," said the lady, as she bent her slender young form over the dying
boy, and tenderly smoothed back the fleecy locks from his pallid brow.
[Illustration: THE DYING MESSAGE.]
"O, bless you, dear lady. You speak words of such joy to me. But it is
this. I left a good mother, and sister Susie, in the dear old home in A.
O, so much I have longed to see them during these last few hours! to see
them but for one moment! O God, but for one moment!" And while he took
breath she turned away her beautiful face to hide the falling tears,
which she must not let the poor boy see. "Tell her," he pursued,--"my
mother,--that I never found out how much I loved her till I came away from
her side to fight for my country. O, lady, tell her this, and Susie, and
poor father. I see it all now. And the old home comes back to my mind as
clear as though I left it but yesterday. There is the old house, with its
gabled roof, and the porch, all covered with clinging jessamines, and the
big house-dog lying under the porch, and the great old well-sweep; and off
in the meadow are the trees I used to climb. O, I never, never shall see
them again. I feel very weak. Can't I have some more of that drink?"
"Yes, poor, dear boy. Here; the surgeon said you could have all you
wanted."
"O, thank you. I wish I could write. O, there; that is so refreshing. If I
could but write and tell her how good you have been to me! But write your
name to her, the whole of it. She will understand, if you don't tell her
how good you are. Well, I won't say any more, for you shake your head; but
tell her how I love her, and them all. Am I fainting?"
She arose from her knees, and taking some water, with her hand she
moistened his brow and his silky hair, and offered him some more of the
strengthening cordial. But he declined taking it. The boy was dying. He
made one more effort, and said,--
"Mother! Tell her, too, how I have kept her little Bible; and she can see
how it has been read, and marked, and worn. O for one sight of her dear
face, one look from her loving eyes, one kiss from her lips! I'd then die
in peace."
The beautiful lady softly smoothed his hair, wiped his face, whispered
words too sacred for sterner hearts, and kissed away her own tears from
his pallid cheeks.
"Mother! Was it you? Then good by. I die--happy, Mother!"
Thus he expired. The good lady wrote the above to the mother of the brave
lad, and thus I obtained the original.