The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1864-12-16

lay dying soldier boy, not more than
seventeen years, at most, could have been
his And the beautiful face would have
charmed Raphael, 80 beautifully spiritu-
al it was. He had been shot throug the
lungs, and could not live. Even then the
hue of death was stealing over his beauti-
full features, and the blue eyes were dim
ming.
had sat four hours tanning him and
moistening bis eager lip with the cooling
ice. All at once the long lashes were
lifted, and fixing his dying eyes on me,
with an expression l ever shall remember,
he said
81 wonder if our spirits will be allowed
to come back after we die, and hover
around those we love, and guard them
from evil and from suffering? My moth
er used to teach me that it would be so."
II don't know, Willie. What made
you think of it now ?" said
"Oh," he said, Il feel as though I
were dying; yes, this must be death, for
see how cold my hands are, and it is dark
to me. I can hardly see you, and my
pain is all gone. And l wanted to tell
you that, ifI do die, I'll come back, if I,m
allowed; and, if I have the power to hov-
or near you, and guard you from harm,
and pain, and trouble, and sorrow, will.
Oh, yes! You shall never know sorrow
I'll be your guardian angel always yours
and mothers! l love you next to mother. {"
He died that night; and, as I closed the
veined lids over the beautiful eyes, whose
light was forever quenched, kissed the
pure, childish forehead whereon was not a
trace of care, of sorrow, of sin, and sew
cred brown curl from the many that so
soon were to mingle with the dust, / won
dered if the spirit just released from that
beautiful casket of clay, would be permit
ted to be my guardian angel to keep me
from sorrow and woe!
All! / would not exchange the grateful
love of the lowliest soldier whose cot
have knelt and .ministered, for the grand
est honers earth can bestow. The emolu-
ments of glory fade, in my estimation,
beside the halo which fingers round the
name of Florence Nightingale.
Methinks could write volumes Of the
scenes have witnessed within those hos
pital walls. Scenes sad, moving -beauti-
full and sublime scenes which will remain
forever fadeless on memory's walls. And,
if il. be my destiny never more to know
JOY in this life, yet shall l ever look back
upon that period of perfect happiness, and
feel grateful that to me was given, even
for short time, to realize all that can be
conveyed by that word, happiness. And
Ill never rebel, though all the future
should be joyless to me; feeling tha-
the strange, unutterable delight 1 then ex-
perienced was joy sufficient for long life
time. -
And even now, In my dreams, both of
my waking and sleeping hours, see those
wan, suffering faces smile with gladness at
my approach, and hear those feeble voices
breathing their gratitude to me. All my
life shall the memory of those smiles be
the light which shall cheer and illuminate
my rough and dark pathway; and the re-
collection of those tones of gratitude, ever
echoing through the chambers of my heart,
shall be my life's sweetest music. Yes
and then, when my summons shall come
to "join the innumerable caravan that
moves to the pale realms of shade, where
each shall take his chamber in the silent
halls of DEATH" those same sweet smiles
shall be the light, and those same voices
the music which shall guide and cheer me
across the streams of death. And in the
angels who shall stand waiting to welcome
me on the other shore, and open for me
the golden portals, shall recognize the
soldiers whose dying hours l cheered and
watched!