The Shasta courier., 1865-04-08
SHASTA COURIER.
THE WIDOWS ONLY son.

Now, Martin, I've got everything slowed
away in this bundle, though it was mighty
hard work. I've done up them two shirts TIT
Tor king, and I've slowed away a little
patch OF dougbnuts in one corner: and I've
glveny you green needle book, and thestcp
Is filled with pins, and you'll find sewing
silk, and brown thread, and a couple q
darnin needles in one corner. You've cot
three pair O. nice warm socks, that | knit1ast
summer, and that never went on to yous feet.
You must look out and not wet 'em. whats
ever comes, for | allurs thought that vour
father caught his death cold the day he felled
the hickory tree in the south meadow, for he
came home with his feet soppin' wet, and was
so hoarse he couldn't speak loud wekaaS6he
next day, and before the week was gone the
cough set in which carried him to his grave.
You'll remember. Martin, and mind and not
get your feet wet?'
'Ill do the best can, mother. You talk
as though you didn't know much about.the
rough and tumble time we've got 'to no
through, but you mean it all right. II 81
1t was in the large kitchen of small. old
fashioned country cottage, that these words
were spoken. You could not have helpad
liking the old woman's face, pale and faded
though it was with years and sickness aid
care; it had such "a good mother-look, and
was so full of kindness and sympathy <
She was poor and old her husband had
long ago laid down on that last brave pillow
which the earth spreads smooth for all har
children. And around his grave clustered
half dozen smaller ones sens and daughters
who had gone before him.
SO Martin johnson was all that remained
to his mother; the hope and the staff. of her
old age. All the tendrils of her love wove
themselves around him; and he was kind.
thoughtful, industrious son, whose highest
ambition was to pay the mortgage on the old
homestead and settle down there for life.
But when the summer crops were mostly
in, and the winter and the hard times prom
ised little work or recompense to farm labor.
ers, he had been induced to join o. Company
of volunteers forming in his town. And now
the last hour with his mother has come, and
he stands there, the young, brave and stall
wart man, and there is a strange Weakness
about his heart and huskiness in his throat.
and he wishes he could get away without
speaking the last word
'Come, mother" he says, slowing the
large bundle in his deep coat pocket, its
high time | was off, so we must say good bve.
Take care of yourself now, and don't go to
fretting about me. I'll write as often as |
cam
The old woman put her feeble arms about
the strong man. 30, my boy" and the sobs
shook her gray hairs, you won't forget your
poor old mother that loves you better than
her life, will you? You'll remember how the
morning will never rise, and the night will
never fall, in which she doesn't pray God to
take care OF her boy and you won't forget
the little red covered Bible put into cor
ner of the bundle ?"
No, | won't forget it. Come, now, mo-
the, give me a real hearty, cheerful good bye
Don't look on the dark side. Maybe | shall
be back before the year is over and then if
he's done his duty, as a brave man should,
and maybe got promoted, you'll be proud of
your soldier boy"
But you're all I've got, Martin, and if
anything should happen to you, it would
break my heart-it would break it, Martin. y
Don't talk of anything happening
mother, except what's good. Come, cheer
up, for | want a last smile, instead of last
sob, and there amt another minute to sparen
Mrs. johnson swallowed down her sobs.
and drawing down Martins sunburnt face to
her lips, she said with a tremulous smile,
God bless you, my precious boy !"
"God bless you, motherl" he couldn't
trust his voice to speak another word, and
he dashed away.
She stood in the door and watched him
until he was out of sight, and Mrs johnson
went in and closed the door. God help her
=" Is there any tidings from the war.
Squire Farnham ~ asked Mrs johnson, as
the gentleman entered her cottage. one pleas
ant morning in the early autumn. Squire
Farnham was bluff, rubicond faced. COR
pulent good hearted sort of a man. That
very morning short paragraph in the coun-
try newspaper had caught his eye, and it
ran:
Martin johnson, of the Third Vermont
Regiment, was shot by scout last night,
while on guard duty"
The Squire saw at the first glance that the
terrible tidings had not reached Mrs. John
son. He had ridden over to condole with her.
and it had fallen to him to break the news to
the stricken, as best he could
"Wall, yes" said the gentleman, taking
a chair in the small parlor, and feeling very
awkward, 1--WE have had some news"
There was something in the tone which
made Mrs. johnson look up with q throb of
far in her heart
g Is it bad news?' she asked.
MRS. johnson, L m sorry Tor you, from
my soul y said Squire Farnham.
Perhaps woman would have broken the
news more tenderly, but the Squire was a
blunt man, and did it after his fashion.
Mrs. Johnson's lips grew very white; she
came towards the Squire, and said in rapid
trembling voice:
Have you heard anything about my
boy?"
. Mrs. johnson, he's gone ~
She did not shrek nor scream-she sat
down in the nearest chair, and lifted up her
withered hands, and while the tears ran
down her pale cheeks moaned
Don't say SO, Squire Farnham don't say
my boy has gone. God has got all the rest,
and have thought He'd spare him to my old
age No, no, it can't be that Martins gone
that | shall never hear his bright, quick
step on the walk. nor see his dear face come
bounding in at the door, He was all I'd got
in the wide world, and was so proud of him,
and loved him 80. My little Martin, whose