The Vermont transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1864-1870, 1866-03-09

about the PROSTATE form of q man ly-
ing close against the wall. as if for
shelter. A blue jacket the handle of
crutch, and a white face turned to-
ward the sky, caught her eye.
And Minty answered.
The poor fellow you sent off last
night, Missus. He's found a place to
rest at last, for he's gone to glory"
And Mrs. Munson staggered back
and covered her face with her hands
In a moment she said:
Bring him in Send for doctor.
He may not be dead yet. l hope he
Is not l know he is not" and with
the last words her voice arose to sort
of shrek
The servants obeyod her, and the
body was soon stretched upon the
couch IN the grand spare bedroom,
and John sped away on horseback to
bring DR.. Harding to his aid. Mean
while those about him removed his
stificned clothing and chafed the cold
hands, into which no chatting could
bring life now.
The lady was busiest Of all She,
with her own hands, undid the but
tons Of the rough soldiers jacket, and
as she did so, those about her saw her
eyes dilate in terror
She glanced upon some spectacle be-
fore her as though her senses were
leaving her, and stood for q moment
motionless as statue.
Then she fell TO the floor uttering
screams which rang III the ears of
those who heard thom for many long
day.
My son!" she cried; at is my son,
and l am his murderess?'
And those in the room saw. as she
had seen, a red mark ike a cross on
the bare, bronzed breast.
1T is her SON., cried 4Iinty Il
know the mark. ia swear toit. Oh,
poor missus, the Lords hand is heavy.
It's a bitter, bitter punishment"
While the tumult was ut its height
the doctor came. He gave one look,
touched the cold breast, and said
The man has been dead for hours
And then Mrs MunsoD clung to his
knees, and frantically begged him to
restore her son to life
The doctor Thought her mad So
did all the world, save Ainty. When,
few days after, a grand funeral pro-
cession wound Its way to the church
yard, she wcpt with her mistress for
poor Masta VIII" Others only be-
lieyed the fancy that this soldier was
the lady's lost son the dream of her
Own brain.
From that day Mrs. Munson grew
old, and sank slowly into her grave.
But every moment Of her life was
passed in charitable thoughts and
acts Extruyagant in kindness MS she
had been in parslmony, she was the
prey OF many vile impostors. Yet she
did much good to the poor and is re-
WONDERED by many very tendcrly.
TO soldiers she was Remarkably
charitable She clothed and fed more
than one poor crippled hero, and filed
many an empty purse for the home
ward journey. And always size would
say:
My son was a soldier also wish
some one had done for him what am
doing for YOU.
So TO the end, though her life lasted
but one short year, and her viii was q
long list of legacies to the needy OF her
native town and to institutions for the
benefit of disabled soldiers.
To-day, if yoa choose TO go to that
little town I could write its name
where / so minded-you may see her
grave and its little slab in the church
yard, and beside it q stately monu-
ment bearing the inscription:
"Io the memory Of her beioued son,
WILLIAM,
This monument is erected by his heart
broken mother, MARTHA MUNsoN."
Those who may see you looking at
it will tell you, doubtless, that the la
dy's mind was affected, and that she
saw in scar upon the soldiers breast
the birth-mark by which she had
hoped to recognize her son; but black
Alinty-still living-vows that there
was no folly in the fancy; but that il
was Master VIII, and no other, whom
his mother buried under that stately
shaft in the cold church-yard.