'Mary, I am glad—I am glad'—but she was too weak, she could not finish the sentence. Again she essayed. We heard the words 'frightfully homely,' but we could not catch the rest. The light faded from her eyes, and we thought we had seen the last expression of that wise and vigorous mind; but the next day the bright, conscious look came again into her face, but it gave no evidence of recognition, though ardent affection sought eagerly for it. For a moment she lay still, and then said, in a feeble but distinct voice:
'It is better to enter into life maimed and halt than, having two hands and two feet, to be cast into hell.' A half hour afterward she said softly, as if to herself:
'The joy of my Lord.'
They were her last words. She relapsed into unconsciousness, and lingered till the dawn of the next day, when she went to join that glorious and still-increasing band of martyrs who have been found worthy to die for our country.
SIMONY.
Thou hast diamonds and emeralds and greenbacks,
Thou hast more than a mortal can crave;
Thou canst make a big pile, yet be honest,
Contractor—oh, why wilt thou shave?