The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-07-13

ticed anything else. Some had called
her bag, and spoken of her home as
howell. Some had heard her curse
and seen her reeling along, and they
looked closer to see if it really was a
tear. 1t aCdS tear-a great, round
tear, and it rested on her wrinklde
cheek as if human hand had placed it
there.
Isn't it strange that she shed a
tear, even in deathr' they whispered.
So it was, and yet it was not When
death comes slowly the crust melts
from the wickedest heart, and human
nature comes back with all the love
and charity and sorrow and pity which
heart ever had. Death came slowly to
her. As she sat in the old chair and
watched the sun 90 down and the shad-
ows come, she knew that she would not
live to again hear the notes of the
morning birds. Men and women passed
her door, but she did not cry out. Over
the heads of the gleeful children play
ing at the curbstOne she saw a darker
shadow than the rest. 1t was the shad-
ow of death. 1t floated over the heads
of the children as fog drifts along the
rivers surface, and as it stopped at her
open door she knew that the shadow
was chilling her sunshine of life.
There was not living thing in or
around the house for her to love-for
her to part with. No birds built their
nests under the lonely eaves-no cat or
dog basked in the sunshine creeping in
through the dusty windows-even the
rats and mice seemed to avoid the place.
The husband had been dead so long
that she scarce ever gave his memory
a thought. Her boy! All! that was
it. As the shadow entered the door
and cast its chill over her, she whis-
pered:
John was wicked. He ran away
he stole from me, he beat me!'
He had gone to the war. She had not
heard from him even once. Yet, when
the hearts crust melted, the love of a
mother crept in, and she whispered:
Poverty veXed me. Despair made
me drink. Desperation made me curse
louder than my boy could. He was a
good boy once-I made him bad! |,
his own mother, drove him into the
streets-beat him-abused him, and
when | could have won him back by u
kind motherly word | would not speak
it! If he were here tonight, / would
sing those old child-songs to him-I
would tell him those old stories-I
would look upon him as my own pre-
cious child! Here, in the shadow of
death, | ask his forgiveness-I ask God
to forgive metz
Later, when the dusk was deeper and
the black shadow had crept yet nearer,
boy searched about her door for a
lost ball, and heard her murmur:
John, won't you forgive your
mother? | am dying, John, but all the
old love has come back to me! | am
your MOTHER want to hold you in my
arms and kiss you as | used to- want
to hear your voice and know that you
forgive mer'
Her arms were outstretched Her
fingers felt the misunderstanding
more.
81 want you to call me mother
again!" she entreated. 81 want to
smooth back your hair as | used to-I
want to look into your eyes and see if
you still hate men'
And those who found her knew not
the feelings that had brought the tear,
not that it was the last of many which
had burned her cheeks as the gloom
grew deeper and the chilling breath of
the shadow made her heart beat slow
er.
1t had been fierce fight. Shoulder
to shoulder the line swept out from the
cover of the woods, dashed across the
long field, and found death beyond it
death in such terrible forms that the
line fell back in wild disorder. Again
and again the pale-faced but coura-
geous men dashed at the position, almost
gained it, and melted away under the
fire of shot and shell and bullet. BY
and by the slaughter ceased. The liv-
ing left the field in possession of the
dead and wounded and the deafening
roar of battle drifted right and left
On that meadow there was no patch
of grass without its stain of blood
dead men with eyes open shared the
ground with those who shrieked for
water or screamed out with the agony
of their wounds. John was there. A
shot had mangled arm and shoulder,
and he knew that the blue cloud of
powder-smoke could not shut him in
from the shadow of death. He had been
wicked. He was loudest in his curses,
the first to sheer at good, the last to
speak of home. Comrades feared and
hated him, and officers wondered why
he was there instead of in convict's
cell. Yet, when he saw the shadow
coming, his face lost its bronze, his
tongue forgot its familiar oaths, and he
dragged himself to the side of wound
ed comrade and said
Have you got mother, comrade?"
Yes-God bless herr' gasped the
other.
$50 have l." said John. q was
thinking of her for the first time this
year just before l was hit. She used to
beat me. Our home was howell, and
l knew the alleys better by night than
/ did the streets by day. | have been
the wickedest man in the regiment, but
she is to blamen'
The dusk of the evening helped the
blue cloud to shut out some of the hor-
rible sights, but it could not disguise
that dark shadow which moved from
man to man and stilled the awful cries
1t was coming nearer as John whis-