Litchfield enquirer., 1863-09-10
and muscular limbs stretched out before him.

and muscular limbs stretched out before him. sIm not afraid, but it's difficult to believe all at once I'm so strong it don't seem possible for such little wound to kill me- Merry Mercutio' s dying words glanced through my memory as he spoke-' Tis net so deep as Q well, nor SO wide as church door, but 'tis enough And John would have said the same, could he have seen the omnous black holes between his shoulders, he never saw and seeing the ghastly sights about him. could not believe his own wound more fatal than these, for all the suffering it caused him. 1 Shall I write to your mother now? ? l asked, thinking these sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes but they did not; for the man received the order Of the Divine Commander to march. with the same unquestioning obedience with which the sol dier 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 uC H DAVoh " so A0h 4SS03 oaA A IA "NN - AAAS to her myself when you get done.'
 So wrote the letter which he dictated, finding it better than any I had sent, for though here and there little ungrammati- cal ol inelegant. each sentence came to me briefly worded, but most expressive, full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly be- queathing mother and Lizzie to his care, and bidding him good bye in words the sadder for their simplicity. He added a few lines with steady hand, and, as I sealed it, said, with patient sort of sigh, I hope the an- swer will come in time for me to see it; then, turning away his face, laid the flowers against his lips, as if to hide some quiver of emotion at the thought of such a sudden sum- dsring of the dear home ties.
 These things had happened two days be-. fore now John was dying, and the latter 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 spirit akin to this in it's gentleness and patient strength. As went in, John stretched out both hands.
 Il knew you'd come I guess I'm moving on, a'am.'
 He was, and so rapidly that even while he spoke, over his face I saw the grey veil falling that no human hand can lift. sat down by him, wiped the drops from his forehead stirred the air about him with the slow wave of fan, and waited to help him die. He stood in sore need of help-and could do so little /; for, as the doctor had foretold, the strong body re- be|led against death, and fought every inch of the way. forcing him to draw each breath with spasm, and cench his hands with an implor- ing look, as if he asked, How long must endure this, and be still? ? For hours he suf- fered dumbly N ithout a moments respite, or moments murmuring; his limbs grew cold, his face damp. his lips white, and again and again he tore the covering of his breast as if the lghtess weight added to his agony, yet through it all, his eyes never lost their perfect serenity, and the mans soul seemed to sit therein, undaunted by tue ills that vexed his flesh.
 One by one, the men woke, and round the room appeared e circle of pale faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for though 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 intlu- ence of an upright nature had made itself deeply felt even in one little week. Pres entIy the Jonathan who so loved this comely David. came creeping from his bed for 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.
 Can I say or do any thing for you any. wheres?'
 'Take my things home, and tell them that did my best
 I will willy
 Good bye, Ncd.'
 Good bye, John, good bye'
 They kissed each other tenderly as women and so parted, for poor Ned could not stay to See his comrade die. For little while there was no sound in the room but the dripping of water from stump or two, and Johns dis tressful gasps as he slowly breathed his life away. I thought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believing it's help to be 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 agonizing appeal,
 For Ged's sake. give mHle 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 stream of dawn was warmino the prey east a herald of the con-