Scipio’s Wife — 178
Who was Scipio’s wife? Missis-sippi-o, of course.
The Dying Soldier and His Mother — 179
In one of the fierce engagements with the rebels near Mechanicsville, in May last, a young lieutenant of a Rhode Island battery had his right foot so shattered by a fragment of a shell that on reaching Washington he was obliged to undergo amputation of the leg. He telegraphed home, hundreds of miles away, that all was going well, and with a soldier’s fortitude composed himself to bear his sufferings alone. Unknown to him, however, his mother, one of those dear reserves of the army, hastened up to join the main force. She reached the city at midnight, and the nurses would have kept her from him until the morning. One sat by his side fanning him as he slept, her hand on the feeble fluctuating pulsations which foreboded sad results. But what woman’s heart could resist the pleadings of a mother then? In the darkness she was finally allowed to glide in and take the place at his side. She touched his pulse as the nurse had done, not a word had been spoken, but the sleeping boy opened his eyes and said, “That feels like my mother’s hand; who is this beside me? It is my mother; turn up the gas and let me see mother!” The two dear faces met in one long, joyful, sobbing embrace, and the fondness pent up in each heart sobbed and panted and wept forth its expression.