Litchfield enquirer., 1874-01-29

Dear Miranda's husband, the gallant Captain, now colonel, was, of course, in acquisition; and we saw her again, grown to be surperb matron. The drum beat in Mossbrook, and the old Light Infantry sprang to it's feet. sa6ssE s5 Ses. 2 l As went down to see my old friends, the so and so se22 se22, 2 march through New York. in those days of enthusiastic excite ment, who should ride at the head of the column but the youth had compared to Harry HotspEr! and who would march at tho head of a company, straighter than one. of his own ramrods, but Faithful Bean! who followed him but the men of Mossbrook. familiar lineaments, familiar names!- The flag danced about in the dis solving view of few tears, as saw the realization of the heroic dreams of child ish days. This was romance; this was po- etry; these were the thinking bayonets. And this was New England marching to fight for her ideas, and her convictions, dearer than life!
 From time to time we heard of the good conduct, soldierly gifts. and splendid courage of Faithful Bean. He wrote us many letters in that improved hand which Cousin Miranda had retouched, telling us how he was getting on. He had finally got into General Selden's division; and Dick was army surgeon, and he saw him often. Such stories as he had to tell of Dicks courage and devotion to the wound ed men! As for his own luck, it had been marvellous. He seemed to bear a charm ed life, and believed he should come home to Maggie yet without scar.
 But after one of those terrible battles in the third year of the war, as Dick was going with his lantern and his corps of as- sistants over bloody field, he turned over wounded man who was lying on his face, and saw the familiar ineaments of our 'hired man" He found out soon that he was not dead, and he vas convey ed to the nearest hospital Poor Faith bending over him, bathing his head with cold water
 II knew it." said the poor, superstiti- ous fellow. Miss Miranda, I've been dreaming of you. l saw your face all day yesterday in the clouds of smoke. I'm shot at last: but knew you'd be here. !"
 Yes, she had come to him in his dire ex- tremlty: such reunions were not uncom- mon during the war. As for Miranda, it would have been sheer impossibility to keep her out of the hospitals; they were her natural and inevitable sphere.
 Faithfuls work was ended; for several days there seemed some prospect of re- covery, but even his sturdy habits and strong, wiry constitution had sunk under the hardships of three years service, and his wound was desperate: The good fel- low read his doom in Miranda's face. She looked. he said, as if ''she had suddenly grown very old" He asked for Maggie.
 Cant she leave the children and come here?" he asked, as few tears stood for i l z 1 !. T
 Miranda was the wife now of general and to them most things were possible; and she sent for Maggie, in spite of the days.
 Faithfuls sufferings were dreadful. Not all that Dick or Cousin Miranda might do could mitigate them much: yet he was des- tined to finger, and. to have alternations of hope, of despair; all that could try that honest, simple soul came, but he was natient The chaplain would read him . some good words, and once he was con- forted by dream; he thought he was chopping wood at Mossbrook, and the white dove came and looked at him; he was frightened, and tried to get away, Maggie approached and drove the dove from hlm, aad put in his arms his baby boy, born just before the war.
 l before him.
 On this strong cordial, this breath of home and love, Faithful revived and lived several days, but on one Sunday morning he began to breathe heavily and fail hour ly. He asked for an almanac. No one could imagine why he wanted it; but it was brought to him. He turned to the month of April with trembling hand, and pointed out date to Maggie; the death dews were on his brow Dick held cord ial to his lips, Cousin Miranda was hastily summoned; he gave her one long, earnest look. At that moment white dove flew in at the open window and perched on the foot of his bed. ''I am sent for" said he. with husky, broken voice, but with 8 smile of deep content; and he fell back and died. It was the 21st of April, the day on which he had first seen the white dove. It was coincidence, and nothing more. These doves were friends; they had been flying about the hospital, pets of the convalescent men, and, like all pets, often the best physicians, in the dreary monotony of sick-ward.
 Death was no unusuaual event in this great hospital. It happened hourly. Dick and Miranda had but few moments to give to their old friends and favorite, or to poor Maggie There was nothing for her to do, but to take her dead sold fer back to Mossbrook, and lay him under the sod
 As she was consulting with her best earthly friend about the details, serg- cant entered the room, and inquired for Mrs. Selden.
 He handed her dispatch. They were written in blood in those days. This one read; "General Selden shot through the lungs; cannot recover"
 Miranda never saw her husband alive again. She heard 'how with Sidney's grace he died,'' thinking of her, his count try, his duty, the wounded men about him, and never of himself. This was her consolation.
 So the two widows took up their sad burdens and went back to Mossbrook. The cultivated and distinguished army officer, rich in his spendid education, his talents, and his loyal heart, was hono1ed, mourned, and eulogized by his country; at his feet lay the humble militia captain, unknown save to few faithful hearts. It is alike to them, they are alike now; they were alike before; there was not false note in either of them.
 The great god Pan cuts the reeds in the river, so the poet sings, of lengths to suit himself, and fashions his pipe, not with reference to the reeds, but to the melody which he shall breathe through them. Poor Faithful was reed cut in an obscure spot, but he took his place we'll in tbe great harmony, whether it was the pastoral, breathing over green fields and beside the clear waters of New Eng land farmers life, or whether it was the great diapason which swelled from our bsttle-felds, a mournful, magnificent symphony, ,-one which the world cannot exchange for better.
 Faithful had '' hired out" to splendid service, and he died, as he had lived, do, ing his best.
 M. z. ". S.
 A Boston paper says: The students of