"But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same, and no matter Vot any man say."-"Well, let's hear it, you needn't mind talking to me, For I was there, too, as I tell you, and Lor! how the bullets did patter Around on that breast work of boulders that sheltered our Tenth Tennessee." "So? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de efening, Shust before dark; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef a hurrah; Der roar of der guns, it vas orful."-"Ah! yes, I remember, 'twas deafening, The hottest musketry firing that ever our regiment saw." "Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen, Und dinks dot I hear somepody a calling, a voice dot cried, 'Pring me some vater for Gott's sake'! I saw his pelt-blate glisten Oonder der moonlight, on der barapet, shust outside. "I dhrow my canteen ofer to vare he lie, but he answer Dot his left hand vos gone, und his right arm broke mit a fall; Den I shump ofer, und give him to drink, but shust as I ran sir, Bang! come a sharpshooter's pullet, and dot's how it vosdot is all." "And they called you foolish and crazy, did they? Him you befriended The reb, I mean-what became of him? Did he ever come round?" "Dey tell me he crawl to my side, und call till his strength vos all ended, Until dey come out mit der stretchers, und carry us from der ground. "But pefore ve go, he ask me my name und says he: 'Yacob Keller, You loses your leg for me, und some day if both of us leefs, I shows you I don't forget,'-but he must have died, de poor feller. I nefer hear ofe him since. He don't get vell, I beliefs. "Only I alvays got der saddisfachshun ofe knowin' Shtop! vot's der matter? Here, take some peer, you're vite as a sheet Shteady! your hand on my shoulder! my gootness! I dinks you vas goin' To lose your senses avay und fall right off mit der seat. "Geef me your handts. Vot! der left von gone? Und you vos a soldier In dot same battle?- -a Tennessee regiment ?—dot's mighty queer Berhaps after all you're-" "Yes, Yacob, God bless you, old fellow, I told you I'd never-no never forget you. I told you I'd come, and I'm here." TOMMY TAFT.-H. W. BEECHER. On the first day of March it was, that Tommy Taft had been unquietly sleeping in the forenoon, to make up for a disturbed night. The little noisy clock,-that regarded itself as the essence of a Yankee, and ticked with immense alacrity and struck in the most bustling and emphatic manner,— this industrious and moral clock began striking whir-r-r, one; whir-r-r, two; whir-r-r, three (Tommy jerked his head a little as if something vexed him in his sleep); whir-r-r, four; whir-r-r, five; whir-r-r, six (“Keep still, will ye? let me alone, old woman! confound your medicine"); whir-r-r, seven; whir-r-r, eight (“God in heaven! as sure as I live,” said Tommy rubbing his eyes as if to make sure that they saw aright); whir-r-r, nine; whir-r-r, ten! Then holding out his arms with the simplicity of a child, his face fairly glowing with joy, and looking now really noble, he cried: "Barton -my boy, Barton-I knew you wouldn't let the old man die and not help him! I knew it! I knew it!" After the first surprise of joy subsided, Tommy pushed Barton from the edge of his bed. "Stand up, boy; turn round! There he is! Now I'm all right. Got my pilot aboard; sealed orders; ready to sail the minit the hawser's let go." After a few words about his return from the West, his health and prospects, the old man returned to the subject that seemed to lie nearest his heart. "They've all had & hand at me, Barton. There's twenty firms in this town that is willin' to give a feller sailin' orders, when they see he's out'ard bound. But I ain an old salt-I know my owners!" said Tommy, with an affectionate wink at Barton. "Ah, my boy, you're back again; it's all right now. Don't you let me go wrong. I want you to tell me just where you're goin', and I'll bear right up for that port. You know, Barton, I never cheated you when you was a boy. I took care of ye, and never told you a lie in my life, and never got you in a scrape. You won't cheat an old man now, will ye?" It was all that Barton could do to maintain his self-possession. Tears and smiles kept company on his face. "My dear old Tommy, we won't part company. We're both bound to the same land. God will, I fervently hope, for Christ's sake, forgive all our sins, and make us meet for everlasting life." "Amen!" roared out the old man. "Go on. You really believe in it? Come here, Barton, sit down on the edge of the bed, look me in the face, and no flummery. Do you really believe that there's another world?" "I do, Tommy, I believe it in my very soul." "That's enough. I believe it too, jest as sartain as if a shipmate had told me about an island I'd never seen, but he had. Now, Barton, give me the bearin's of 't. D'ye believe that there's a Lord that helps a poor feller to it?" "I do. Christ loves me and you, and all of us. He saves all who trust in Him." "He don't stand on particulars then? He won't rip up all a feller's old faults, will He? Or how's that? Don't you ease up on me, Barton, just to please me, but tell me the hardest on 't. I believe every word you say." Barton's own soul had traveled on the very road on which Tommy was now walking, and remembering his own experience, he repeated to Tommy these words: "Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy. He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and Thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.'"-Micah vii. 18, 19. "Now that's to the p'int, Barton. The Lord will tumble a feller's sins overboard like rubbish, or bilge-water and the like, when a ship is in the middle of the ocean? Well, it would puzzle a feller to find 'em agin after that. Is that all? I'm to report to Him?" Yes, Tommy; you are to report to God." "Barton, would ye jest as lief do me a little favor as not?" "What is it, Taft ?" "Would ye mind sayin' a little prayer for me-it makes no difference, of course; but jest a line of introduction in a foreign port sometimes helps a feller amazingly." Barton knelt by the bedside and prayed. Without reflecting at the moment on Uncle Tommy's particular wants, Barton was following in prayer the line of his own feelings, when suddenly he felt Tommy's finger gently poking his head. "I say, Barton, ain't you steerin' a p'int or two off the course? I don't seem to follow you." A few earnest, simple petitions followed, which Taft seemed to relish. "Lord, forgive Tommy Taft's sins! (Now you've hit it,' said the old man, softly.) Prepare him for Thy kingdom. (Yes, and Barton too!) May he feel Thy love, and trust his soul in Thy sacred keeping. ('Ah, ha! that's it; you're in the right spot now.') Give him peace while he lives. (No matter about that; the doctor'll give me opium for that! go on.') And at his death, save his soul in Thy kingdom, for Christ's sake. Amen." "Amen. But didn't you coil it away rather too quick? Now, Barton, my boy, you've done a good thing. I've been waitin' for you all winter, and you didn't come a minit too soon. I'm tired now, but I want to say one thing. Barton, when I'm gone, you won't let the old woman suffer? She's had a pretty hard time of it with me. I knew you would. One thing more, Barton," said the old man, his voice sinking almost to a whisper, as if speaking a secret from the bottom of his soul," Barton, you know I never had much money. I never laid up any-couldn't. Now you won't let me come on to the town for a funeral-will ye? I should hate to be buried in a pine coffin, at town expense, and have folks laugh that didn't dare open their head to me when I was round town!" Barton could not forbear smiling as the old man, growing visibly feebler every hour, went on revealing traits which his sturdy pride had covered when he was in health. “And, Barton, I wish you'd let the children come when I'm buried. They'll come, if you'll jest let 'em know. Always trust the children. And (pain here checked his utterance for a moment)-let's see, what was I saying? Oh, the children. I don't want nothin' said. But if you'd jest as lief let the children sing one of their hymns, I should relish it." The color came suddenly to his cheek, and left as suddenly. He pressed his hand upon his heart, and leaned his head further over on his pillow, as if to wait till the pang passed. It seemed long. Barton rose and leaned over him. The old man opened his eyes, and with a look of ineffable longing whispered, "Kiss me." A faint smile dwelt about his mouth; his face relaxed and seemed to express happiness in its rugged features. But the old man was not there. Without sound of wings or footfall, he had departed on his last journey. THE CHRISTMAS CHTMMES. ""Tis midnight's holy hour-and silence now The stili and pulseless world "— But hark! upon the air what bells are pealing? 'Tis Christmas morn, with all its blithesome cheer: "Glory to God-on earth peace, good will toward men." And now I hear them pass my silent doors— The merry carolers-by twos and fours, Singing the same sweet song which swells and soars Until their notes with other singers blend, While heavenward the chorus doth ascend: "And every knee before Thy throne shall bend." Yet, hear the bells, how heartily they ring! |