The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1864-01-15

" uuhiu, cHlreaClng lace lust the
same, only the lips quivered now.
In few moments the man rose awk-
wardly and said he must 90, placing the
package of letters on the table. He stained
a moment at the door, and looked hack
hesitatingly.
"The day afore l come, he said "J
went to find where they'd laid him. and 7
see a little blue flower, starry-like. had
bowed out close to the grave, and thought
maybe you'd like to know it,
Ruth put up her hand to take his, and
thanked him in broken voice. Then he
went, and she was alone. She took up her
letters and kissed them hotly-they were
the last thing John had held staggered
to the bed, and buried her face in the
pillows.
ooh, my God!" crying out, sharply,
81 loved him so; loved him so IRE
peatlng it over and over gain, as if she
would touch infinite mercy by her plead
ing, to bring back her dead from that far
Oft heaven where no one could need him
as much as she did.
So the night came, and she was alone
with it.
At last one of the dodgers came in seftly
and made her cup of tea. Ruth thanked
her in the same broken way she had
thanked the soldier, but she could not
drink it,
"She lay so STILL the woman said
afterward, "kind O. moaning, and
the tears running SO fast down her
cheeks, and she never wipin' them off,
nor nOthin', and she didn't touch that tea,
for it came down cold next mornin'"
Well, how can tell you of the bitter
coming back to life, of the dreary days
and wakeful nights, and the lonely even
ings when the bent form rocked to and fro
In the stillness-of the heavy work, and
tired fingers, and tears dropping fast on the
hand with ring?
In her mourning dress, with her sad eyes
filled with dark questionings, her patient
mouth and her forehead drawn by pain,
she looked ten years older. The frost of
her life had melted into few late, golden
days, but even those were gone and the
winter was cold. There was Row no flu
ture; all her days 'read backward - for
what should she live?
There were still hours at night when she
called beseechingly to Death but he would
not hear, and passed her by. John had
said this was to be sacrifice, and that
God would help her: so her life should be
His, to do with as he pleased, and she
would bear it courageously, and love her
country all the more for what it had cost
her
There are heroes who take their lives in
their hands-their young, happy lives, all
bright with dreams of an unknown sue
cess, and joyous with tender loves; and,
calm amidst the roar of musketry, cool
amidst the flaming heats, quiet amidst
the shrill shrieks of wounded and dying
face death with smile, and we do them
honor. But there are martyrs at humble
tlresides, who give up more than this
"They empty heart and home of life's life
loves" who yet go back to their desolate
days from which all the beauty, all the fra
GRANGE, all the song has departed, and take
them up bravely, waitingin firm trust till the
Rest comes. On their pale brows also the
crown shall glitter.
But Ruth was no philosopher, and she
could not always see how it could be right
thinking, you know, that she loved her
soldier so; and when she gave him Up,
after all, what did he do for that proud,
beautiful flag that could be worth all this
suffering? And, cropping in the dark, One
met her who had himself wept and strug-
gled alone on the hill sides of Judea for her,
and she was still.
Could He he unkind or unfaithful
Could she not watch with Him one hour?
So she lived very patiently at the foot of
the altar where the ashes of her sacrifice
lay, and knew that God had accepted it for
the blessing of her co.ntry, herself, and
John.
A Horrible Story.