tood in sore need
of help, and I could do so little; for, as the doctor had foretold,
the strong body rebelled against death, and fought every inch of the
way, forcing him to draw each breath with a spasm, and clench his
hands with an imploring look, as if he asked, "How long must I endure
this, and be still?" For hours he suffered, without a moment's respite
or a moment's murmuring. His limbs grew cold, his face damp, his lips
white, and again and again he tore the covering off his breast, as if
the lightest weight added to his agony; yet, through it all, his eyes
never lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit
therein, undaunted by the ills that vexed his flesh.

SOLDIERLY SYMPATHY.

One by one the men awoke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale
faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though a stranger,
John was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered at his patience,
respected his piety, admired his fortitude, and now lamented his hard
death; for the influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply
felt, even in one little week. Presently, the Jonathan who so loved
this comely David came creeping from his bed for a last look and word.
The kind soul was full of trouble, as the choke in his voice, the
grasp of his hand betrayed; but there were no tears, and the farewell
of the friends was the more touching for its brevity.

"Old boy, how are you?" faltered the one.

"Most through, thank heaven!" whispered the other.

"Can I say or do any thing for you, anywheres?"

"Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best."

"I will! I will!"

"Good-by, Ned."

"Good-by, John; good-by!"

They kissed each other tenderly as women, and so parted; for poor Ned
could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while there was no
sound in the room but the drip of water from a pump or two, and John's
distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. I thought him
nearly gone, and had laid down the fan, believing its help no longer
needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and cried out, with a
bitter cry, that broke the silence, sharply startling every one with
its agonized appeal, "For God's sake, give, me air!"

It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he
had asked, and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blow
were useless now. Dan flung up the window; the first red streak of
dawn was warming the gray east, a hera