Benson

The battle was over and the day was lost. The fight hal boen 'er iblo. The dead and wcunded lay thïek on tho field. Shots were still flying, and heil screaming and bursting tlirough our retreating ranks. " Comrade," calied a dying man, and bis feeble haud took hold of one of the retreating soldiers. " Comrade !" The soldier papsed. The woundcd soldier lay back to die, and his eomrado passed on - a tnore thoughtful man for that trust - for those few. dying words, So much is suwetiijiéa centred in so littie. Benson had been a reokless, desperate man. An orphan from bis birth, eaat loose upon the wurld to íight h s way through it among the base, the grnsping, the aelfish, ho had grown selfish aüd lieren. He had desjúsod law, deiied restraint, and followed 'ais own streng will without fear nud without principie - a reokless, dangeious man. But ho was a man still. Down below the roughness, stains, and crimes oí years, lay a {enderuess born of a gentío ni oí lier ; seldom touehed, but thcre. He had a heart in him that eould be stirred by love, and trust and confidenoe. The trust of that dying man had moved him. Ho had trusted him with his last messages for home ; had given him his letters ot affection ; implored God's blessing on him. That trust was not niisplaecd; that codfidence will not be abused ; that prayer will uot ba unhe:ird. '' Ah, Bensou," shouted bis fellows, as ho joiued tfceai, "give us a share ! How muoh of a haul this time ? Fierce enougli for a fight, bui fiercer for. plunder !" " Plunder !" repeated pensen, and his eyea flashed. "Plunder ? Say that again ?" "Biood''s up, said one of the fcoidest ; and no further remark was ventured. Benson walked on in silence. The earnest, imploring, confidinglook of the dyipg man was beforelum; his failing voice stili in his eare ; his letters, his money in his bosom, His thoughts went forward to his own last hour. Would a conirade pauso to hear his last words ? What would thoy bö ? For whom ? Who would care when he should die? Who mourn for him? For whom had he lived ? Whom had he blessed ? Could he cali on God for help in the fiual, fearful atruggle ? How could he appear before God iu judgment ? The soldier at his side tried to rally him. "What's the trouble, Bensou ?" No answev. Benson obeyed the roquest of the dying soldier. He delivered his last message ; remitted his pay Kemembering the words, 'She ueeds it," spoken so feelingly, ho adddd to it his own pay. He had uo need of it; clothed snd fed as he wasj no mother, nor wife, nor ohild to care for, Lot it go to tho bercaved tijether. Sho ma}7 perhaps feel her loss somewhat the less for it. Better so, far beteer, than it should go in gamblinjr or in drink. His letter closed - "Had I not been motherless fronn my birth, I might perhaps , have teen wortiiy to fill tho plaee of him you mourn, to be a son to you, but I have been too abandoned. I can ouly ofl'er you respect, and contribute iny poor earüiugs for your comfort.'1 He read and re-read the letters given him by the departed bou ; so pure, so tender, so elevating. He found them a treasure, as the son had found them. ïhe-y awoke j.n him a desire fop purity ; an aspiration for better things ihat he had ncver knowu; to be a botter man than he had ever been. They spoiled his taste for gambling ; they made htm abhor vilemes and carousiug. His comrades rallied him again and again. "What ails you, Benson ? Come, let's have a haod at cards. It'ts a montb sinco you have played." "No," was all his answer. ',!Í)rink with us. You don't drink now." "No." " VVhy aot ? Guess you'ro gett'mg )ious.'' No answer; and they who knew him, knew better thuu to jest whon he was 8lent. A letter carne for him ; a letter of thanks fróna tho bereaved mother. It was full of gratitude and kitidncss. Benson's lips quive.red, and be shaded his eyes with his hand, as he read : "I shall regard you as uiy son. Your generogiíy, your filial tendeiness, your sense of uuworthiness, make you not un worlliy in my eyes. My prayers go up to God for you ! My blessing rests on you !'' Benson was indeed another niai). Uo had new relations, uew hopes, 9. uew future. Bitt will the change ia him last ? Y ili.hu not shii.k.0 "ff his uew relations ? Will ha uot go b-ick to his old ways. Why should hü ? Wore they the paths of easo and delight ï Were they thü paths of blessodnews and peace ? Were they not xoügh and ithornf, fall of pit.faUs, and were not beasta o ptey crouching beside fchera ? Why should one escapad from folly a_gain seek it ? Jíse;i.ped fVom danger, again rush into it ? Eseaped from death, again üe down iu corruption ? Will he go bick ? Is not virtue better than vh-e ? purity than viledasÁ'.r love tlnn lust? worship than blasphemy ? Can be go back ? He can. Such is a mau's weakness, madness; sucli is the power of evil. Pray God he may not go back ! Pay d;iy cauie. "'w, ttoason, treat!" they cali. Not a red cent have you spent i'or woek. You'ro a gett ing jtingy with you monej. Benson drew back. Thoy rallied him again as they freely drank. ''How many 'boys hore have ; 1 ;i'i .?" ho asked aud wuitei. ' 1 "All !" "Havo all mothors ? My poor mother needa all I have, and it Hüall be hers. Bhe ehall not want wliile I riot." 8ome, who had forgotten or tned to furiet thcir mothers in want and waiting faraway in iheir lonely homes, remeiubered thom now, and put down their cups. Tho next mail cmied their welcomo remiUauoe. 8ome laughed and asked - "Where dld you get your new mother, Bcnson ?" "God gave her to ine,?1 he answered, in bis muriliest tone, "and I'll aot neglect Hot." Nor did he. Month after month his timely remittanoe reached her ; and when at last it carao no moro, sho who had made him her son in place of the dead, know woll that elio was sonless onoo more; that he, too, had fallen in fight, and she mourned his death. She was newly bereaved by lrw loss. He died not without God, nor with out lKpe. He bid learned to cali on God. He had learned that Ho was his falher, tender, loving, oaring for fairn alwaytir-that .(jhrist was his eider brother. He had received his words - "Wliosoever shall do tbe will of my father whioh is in beamen, the eame is my brother, find sister, and mother."