Our Village in War-time

by S. T. Martyn

“Dear cousin, this will never do. Think of your mother, whose life is now counted by moments, and who is waiting for you. All your strength will be needed for this interview, and you must be calm, since agitation might be instantly fatal to her.”

“I know it,” was his reply, “and you shall see me a man again soon; but I have feared the worst all the way home, and the revulsion of feeling overcame me at first. May you never know, dear girls, what it is to have remorse added to the sorrow of such an hour as this.”

The interview between the dying mother and her erring, but penitent son, was witnessed only by members of the family; and at its close, she was so exhausted as to be almost insensible. But the lamp of life burned up brightly once more before going out for ever. She bade us all farewell, with a few tender and appropriate words to each; then turning to her son, who was kneeling at the bedside, with his face buried in the pillows, she said, as she laid her cold hand upon his head, “My dear boy, I once asked for you in my blindness length of days and temporal prosperity. Now I trust I have sought better things of God for you; but you must seek him for yourself, or you will never see his face in peace. With my dying breath I charge you, make it the business of your life to meet me in heaven.”

After a few loving words to her husband, Elinor, and Lilian, with a kind message to Col. Lester, she said, in a voice clear and distinct as in health,

“I wish to give it as my dying testimony to all here present, that not one good thing has ever failed in my experience, of all that the Lord has spoken. The religion of the Bible has been to me an infinite blessing. I have lived on it for years, and it has supported me in suffering and sorrow, and now I am dying in perfect peace; for Jesus is with me, and his rod and staff, they comfort me.”

Her voice died away, but the smile on her countenance was like the dawn of heaven in its brightness; and it may have been the reflection of that radiance, for before her words had ceased to echo in that hushed chamber, the spirit had escaped from its wasted tenement, and was already rejoicing before the throne of God.

Col. Lester came home to see her buried, but stayed only a few days, as active service was soon expected. He was in good health, and seemed very happy, and as Lilian was to return with him to Washington, there was nothing to mar her enjoyment of his brief visit. After their departure, Elinor and her brother were very lonely, and Capt. May, whose leave of absence had been extended, was a frequent visitor at the Tyrrell House, and a great favorite with all its inmates, from Mr. Fenton down to Mammy Venus, and Pete recently promoted to the dignity of coachman.

To know Elinor Fenton intimately was to love her, and the young soldier found, before he had dreamed of danger, that his heart was no longer in his own possession. He could not with propriety make known his feelings to Elinor so soon after her bereavement, but from his friend Stanwood he received all the encouragement which a brother’s best wishes could give; and when he rejoined his regiment, he carried with him a hope which brightened his darkest hours, and made every hardship seem light.

Young Fenton had been at home but a few months before he became a universal favorite, as we discovered the acquisition we had made in his society. He was ardent, impulsive, and generous even to a fault, and possessed the best traits of Southern character, with an ingenuous frankness peculiarly his own. Often led astray by the warmth of his feelings, he was quick to perceive and retract his errors, and eager to make reparation for them. It was impossible to associate with Stanwood Fenton without being constantly reminded of the Saviour’s remark to the young man who came to him, and who awoke so deep an interest in his benevolent heart: “One thing thou lackest.” Deep religious principle was the one thing wanting in his character, the balance-wheel without which his movements were erratic and uncertain, guided rather by the impulse of the moment than by any sense of accountability to God.

His original plan had been to enter the Union army as soon as possible after the death of his mother, but his health had suffered greatly from long confinement in the hospital; and the loss of his hand, together with the entreaties of his father and sister, induced him to relinquish the idea, and devote himself to the care of his father’s business, which had suffered from neglect. The light came back to Elinor’s eye, and the bloom to her cheek, as she saw her brother once more in his proper place at home; and though her beloved mother was still fondly remembered and her loss deplored, it was with a chastened sorrow, as she felt that for her to die had been great gain.