The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1898-04-06

aCR AAN0 ~ aaOBO Va
her realize this. But now,--my dream
has vanished-yet 1 can see, for the
first time, a silver lining to what has
she must have suffered deeply Owe my
disgrace, and early death. AS 1t is, her
life is well without me-, and God grant
Its cup of happiness may be full to the
brim.
L do not know how 1 came to sleep
on the post Of duty. 1 only know that
the extreme cold Of the night and
my previous lack of sleep were not in
my favor. About midnight a feeling
Of exhaustion and stupor came over me,
against which / fought for hours, and
fought in vain. You will know the re-
suit.
Oil fatherl motherl love and pity
me to the last and forgive the stain 1
have brought upon our honored family
name. Percival is nearly beside him
self with grief, and talks of obtaining
pardon for me, but somewsy l have no
hope. l want it here distinctly under
stood that he bears no responsibility in
the matter OF my death. l simply made
him let mi take his place that night.
Since my removal from the active du-
ties Of camp life, l have been terrible
homosick. Thoughts of the past surge
constantly through my mind. l was
but a boy after all when l left home,
and though / have long g reached
manhood's estate, 1 long with all my
heart to receive q mothers fond en-
brace, to help you, father with the
work Of the farm and to visit once again
the dear and familiar scenes of my
childhood. Even such trifle s as a sleigh
ride after Bess, the colt, and a frolic
with faithful Carlo, would mean much
to me now. Would that l might spend
one, just one more long winter even
ing, gathered with you around the
grateful warmth of a blazing hard wood
fire, talking and reading and resting, as
of old, the hours would slip happily by,
and then what joy, with your fond
good nights ringing in my ears, to
climb the stairs to my WI dear room,
and sleep once more the sound and
restful sleep of boyhood, to which l
have long been a stranger.
But why should l burden you with
these sad details. l only thought that
through them you might fully realize
that / do not, cannot ever forget,
though it haunt me like a far-away
dream, the love and care and tender
ness, that surrounded my careless, hap
ply boyhood days. Remember me as 1
was then, and do not make any effort
to see me now. There is no time, and
you would hardly recognize the old and
careworn face hat answers for mine, in
the glass. A meeting now, much as l
long for a sight ofyour faces, could give
US all but bitter pain. Far better to
send me a message by letter or tele-
gram.
When l first learned of the fate that
awaited me my heart was too full of
rebellious thought, and wounded pride,
to think aught of the great change in
store. But l am growing calmer now.
In the dawning of the morning l SEEM
ed to hear the words of the grand old
hymn beginning, LEAD kindly light
amid the encircling gloom. Lead thou
me on. The night is dark and l am
far from home, Lead thou me on"
You know the rest, it was sung the
last Sunday before / left home, and is
a great favorite of mine. Loud, and
clear, and sweet they sounded, as if
carolled by an angel band; and then
fainter, and fainter, until both words
and music died away in the distance.
Once | thought Isabel's pure soprano
rose above the rest.
1t was a strange occurrence, and per-
haps due to my weak condition. | can
not eat or sleep much, but the comfort
and peace it brought me are beyond
words Of mine to express, and l have
saved it for the close of my letter, hop
ing that it might comfort you also.
Surely God is leading US, and can make
even our mistakes serve his purpose.
Pray that l may have strength to meet
death bravely, as a soldier and a Chris
tian should. Farewell, and once again
farewell.
Your loving, heart broken son,
Donald.
The long letter was finished, and
grief and anguish too deep for
words filed the hearts of those who
read it.. They were aroused at last by
the clock striking three, and completely
exhausted and mindful that the NOR
row would soon come with its POSSIBLE
ity of hearing something further about
Donald through MIR. Trent's mail,
and its burden of life, they sought to
gain a brief respite in sleep.
Early the next morning the roads
were opened, and Isabel Trent came
after her fathers mail. Her sunny
face, sparkling eyes and cheeks aglow
with the freshness of the morning air
made a vivid contrast TO the sad, wan
faced mistress of the farmhouse, and
some way her presence seemed to light
! en- the gloom that had fallen there.
Her days had so far been "as the CLEAN
of the sunlight on the wave Of the ripple
in the stream" The only shadow that
had ever clouded the horizon of her
fair young life, had been the fear that
something might happen to her brother,
since he had joined the army. With
eager haste she took the paper and let
ter addressed to her, from Mrs. East.
mans hand, and tore open the en-
velope. 1t read as follows:
Conn Gr,0fn No Ton < 1890