Year: 1859

|
help. Looking from his window, he beheld
a rude man clad in the coarse attire of the
sweeper of the public streets. In few
moments while the rain came down in tor.
rents, and the storm growled above, the
preacher, leaning on the arm of the scaven-
ger, threaded his way through the dark sub
urbs.


That very day strange old man had fall
len speechless in front of the scavenger's
rude home. The good hearted street sweep
er had taken him in, laid HIM on his own
bed-he had not spoken once-and now
he was dying.


This was the story of the rough man.
And now, thoagh dark alleys, among
miserable tenenents, that seem to lopple
down upon their heads, into the loneliest
and dreariesl suburbs they pass-lha, white
haired minister and his guide. AT last, in
narrow court, and up flight OF stairs
that creaked beneath there tread, and then
into the death room.


1t was in truth miserable place.


A glimmerng light stood OH broken
chair. There were the rough walls, there
the solitary garret window, with the rain
beating through the rags and straw, which
stuffed the broken panes-and there, amid
a heap of cold ashes, the small valse which
it seems the stranger had with him.
In one corner, on the coarse straw of the
ragged bed lay the dying man. He was
but half dressed-his legs were concealed
ty military boots


The aged preacher drew near and looked
upon him. And as he looksd--throb-
throb-you might hear the death. watch
ticking in the shattered wall.


1t was the form of strong man, grown
| old with care more than age.


There was a face that you might look
upon once, and yet wear in your memory
forever. Let us bend over the dead and
! look on that face.


A bold forehead, scanned by one deep
wrinkle between the brows-long locks of
dark hair, sprinkled with gray--lips firmly
set, yet quiverine as though they had life
sepa rate from the life of mainland then,
two large eyes, vivid, burning, unatural in
their steady glare.


All, there was something so terrible in
that face-somethiIg so fGtl OF unulterabe
loneliness, unspeakable despair, that The
aged minister started back in horror
But look, the strong arms are clutching
al the vacant air-the death.sweat starts in
drops upon the cold brow-the man is dy-
ing.


Throb ! throb ,hrob beat the death
watch in the shattered wall.


"Would you die in the faith of a chris,ian2'
ialtered the preacher, as he knell there on
the dark floor.


The white lips of the death stricken man
trembled, but made no sound.


Then, with the agony of death upon him
he rose 10 a sitting posture. For the first
time he spoke:


"Chrisian ~ he echoed in that deep
tone which thrilled the preacher to the heart,
"will faith give me back my honor2 Come
with me-with me, far, far over the water.
Ha we are there This is my native
home. Yonder is the church iu which ]
knet in chldhood-yonder, the green on
which sported when boy. But another
flag than that waved when | was a child.
And listen old man, were to pass the street
as passed when but child, the babes in
their cradles would raise their tiny hands
and cnrse me. The graves IN yonder church
yard would shrink from my footsteps, and
yonder flag would stain baptism of blood
upon my heart"


That was an awful death bed The min
lister has watched the "last night,n with a
hundred convicts iE their cells, and yet new
er beheid scene so terrible as this.


Suddenly the dying man arose. He tot
erng along the floor. With those white
fingers, whose nails are blue with the death
chill, he threw open the valise. He showed
the the military coat, trimed with silver,
parchment; piece of cloth that looked
like the wreck of battle-fag.


"Look ye, priest this faded coat is spot
ted with my blood !' he cried, as old mem.
ory seemed stirring at his heart.


This is the last coat | wore when
planted the stars on Ticonderoga That
bullet hole was pierced in the fight of Que
bee now am a-let me whisper in your
ear"


''Now, help me, priest" he said, in a
voice growing suddenly tremulous, "help
me put on this coat OF blue and silver. For
you see" and ghastly smile came over
his face, "there is no one 10 wipe the cold
drops from my brow; no wife, no child-I
must meet death alone but will meet
him as met him in the battle, without
iear.n


While he stood arraying himself in that
worm eaten coat of blue and silver, the
good preacher spoke TO him offaiih in Jesus:
Yes of that great faith which pierces the
clouds of human guilt, and rolls them back
from the face of God.


"Faith p' echoed the strange man, who
stood there erect, with the death light in
his eye. Cath can it give me back my
honorl Look ye priest, there over the
waves, sits George Washington, telling to
his comrades the pleasant story Of the eight