is an officer in some Illinois regiment of infantry. Of her father or mother I know nothing further." She paused, hesitated as if there were more to tell, and then, in lower and fainter tones:

"And now, Henry," she said, as she lightly touched my hand as it lay by her side, "you know all I have done. Dare I ask you to forgive the dying woman whose great love for you, and unregulated will and passion, led into crime? Only one little word, that I may feel that I do not appear before an angry God with your curse yet warm on your lips."

I looked on the white face before me, and into the eyes, over which were fast gathering the shadows of death, now looking feverishly, imploringly into mine.

"Yes, yes," I said, hoarsely, "I forgive you wholly, and God in his infinite mercy forgive you also. But she-tell me of her -where is she now?"

"She-she"-came in a low whisper from the writhing lips "Oh! God-I cannot tell him. He will curse me even yet! I do not know—I have heard-Oh! Henry she is in heaven!" I moved not only my head sank upon the bedside, and the blackness of a woe even more bitter than any I had yet felt closed around my soul. With words the most stinging and unpardonable man can utter to woman I had abandoned her, who, all the time, had been so pure, innocent, loving. And now, in the same moment, I learn her innocence and her death. Again the world went from beneath my feet, and I, a guilty wretch, was alone with my hated self forever.

Suddenly warm, trembling fingers pressed my icy hand, and a voice, as from the grave of buried years, thrilled to my inmost

soul.

"No, dear Henry, not there, but still here in the world of men, and if you so will, yours wholly-yours only-yours always -always."

I started to my feet as one in a dream, while the sharp reaction shook me like a tempest, for there, in the deepening gold of that breathless autumn sunset, with the same beautiful face as of old, only shaded, not dimmed, by sorrow, stood Annie Walton. No words, only a quick, trembling kiss, sealed our peace for

ever.

A low moan from the bed struck our ears, and over the white face lying there a shadow of infinite pain lay like a pall. Quietly Annie knelt by the dying girl, and, softly kissing the pallid brow, whispered:

"May God forgive you, as we do now, and keep you always in his infinite love."

A soft smile lit up the glazing eyes, and rippled over the pale, thin lips, and even with that sign of returning peace resting on her face, the frail clay rendered up its immortality to God.

Through the open door, where she sat watching her now con

valescent brother, Annie had heard, in the breathless stillness, the whole sad story. At first hearing but fragments, and those unwillingly, her own name and that of her native village, heard in that strange place, had attracted her, and involuntarily she had drawn nearer and nearer, until at the last whispered words she stood even by my side.

I had given more than three years of my life to my country, and my strength was slowly failing under the Southern sun and Southern malaria, and now I resigned my commission, and, as soon as the pale, weak brother could safely begin the journey, we went home.

It is nearly the middle of January, 1865. The dark four years over which you and I have gone together seem to have dropped out of my life, and I am young again as in the ripe August when you first saw me. The sad shadow of four months ago has gone from the beautiful face, and it is as lovely in the ruddy fire-light as under the erewhile August moon.

To-day the youthful soldier left us for the field again, and to-night Annie and I, one forever, sit by our window and look out where the winter moonlight is poured over the snow-sheeted prairie, and, while the beautiful head rests on my shoulder in quiet, unquestioning faith and love, we talk in low tones of her who sleeps so peacefully in the desolate grave-yard at Little Rock.

God rest her repentant soul.

SOLDIER AND SUFFRAGE.

WHAT is the grand distinction between a monarchy and a republic? The former is ruled by a crowned head, and but few of the subjects have a voice in its administration. The latter is governed by a magistrate chosen by the people, and every citizen exerts an individual influence upon all public matters. My object in rehearsing this patent truth is to bring into relief the relative importance of political combinations in their effects upon either form of government.

In a monarchy, no popular combination, having a political aim, could prove successful or be of permanent effect, if it lacked the active and participating support of those few high and mighty ones, the dukes and barons, who generally form the trusted council of the sovereign, and who alone can give momentum to the will of the masses. The history of the past affords us but few examples where this has been done-where patrician has sided with plebeian-where those whose dearest

interests were centred in the monarch, whose sympathies, whose ideas, education, and pedigree bound them to their lord, broke through that wall of iron, the influence of caste, to become the aiders and promoters of the aspirations and hopes of the lowborn clod.

Does contemporary history present us with a more favorable interpretation of the monarchic spirit? Does it prove that it has become more humane, more civilized, more Christian? Alas! I fear not.

The revolutions of the last century, Napoleon III. and his Life of Cæsar, and the flunkyism which prompts the leading journal of the most enlightened kingdom to insinuate that one of its brightest ornaments, statesman and nobleman, commoner though he were, was not a gentleman, "one of the good old school," all prove that this spirit has made very little moral progress since the feudal age.

In a republic like ours, however, where a majority or often a plurality of the citizens decide the course of public events, combinations, be they for good or for evil, will always be felt. Clannishness, of which Washington warns us in his Farewell Address, that spirit of clique, which, through some common interests or personal ends, at variance with the general weal, bands citizens of different mental calibres together, is the plague-spot on the body politic of a democracy.

To the readers of the Service Magazine I need not iterate the effects of petty political associations: they stare you in the face. To all citizens of the United States the rebellion which has just been terminated may be adduced as an example of the baneful influence of clanship in a republic. Certain of our people, drawn together by a mutual interest, mistaken though it were, imperilled, for the period of four years, the life of the state. I venture to assert that such a rebellion would be an impossibility in a monarchy. It would either be successful in its inception, or fail at once. If it were espoused by the nobility, the monarch would be powerless in opposition. If it were merely a popular outbreak, without the countenance of these leaders of the state, it would very soon be quelled by the bullets of the soldiery. This teaches us republicans, who believe in the superiority of our form of government, the need of carefully considering, deliberately weighing, and dispassionately discussing every question of state that may involve a tendency toward the centralization of the supposed interests of any portion of the community.

And this brings me to my proper theme-the political status of our future army. That this army is a necessity no one will deny -it only remains for us, therefore, to accept it as a fact, and to consider its relation toward the state, and how we may insure that relation's not proving a detriment to the good of the commonwealth.

Our future army will consist, not of uneducated mercenaries, "full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;" not of despairing and desperate men; not of the liberated contents of our state prisons, the dregs of society-no, it will be made up of the sinews of the land, intelligent thinking men, who, having once tasted of the peculiar pleasures of a soldier's life, cannot withdraw themselves from the influence of its Circean spell. Our rank and file will not be machines of bone, blood, and muscle: they will be American citizens, with all their virtues, and, pardon me for saying it, with all their faults. Keeping this distinction in view, let us next examine the circumstances under which this army of American citizens will be formed, and the peculiar influences and traditions by which it will be governed.

Our citizens are all, in some measure, politicians-that is, they discuss, influence, and, if possible, decide upon the leading political topics of the day. The soldier has been no exception to this. Our volunteer troops have retained, while in actual service, all their rights of citizenship; their preferences have been consulted in the choice of candidates; and in many cases, though far away from their respective States, they have been allowed to vote. Although the men have been brought into unaccustomed surroundings, and been governed by different laws, yet this privilege of mingling in the political strife has served to keep up all those political prerogatives and sympathies which they, as citizens, possessed before enlisting. Our volunteers are the reservoirs from which our future standing army will be drawn; and hence, all the political tendencies of the former will be grafted upon the latter. Hitherto this has had no ill effect upon the republic. The State organization of our volunteer army and the brief period that this right has had scope have combined to overcome its force. Our standing army, however, will be national, and will exert a national influence.

Let us glance at what will result if the same political privileges as have been enjoyed by our volunteers be extended to our future army.

According to the expressed ideas of a recent organization of former soldiers, "the highest proof of sincere patriotism is the offering of our lives for the preservation of the nation." They further declare "that those who have made this offering have vindicated their right, and should consider it their duty, to participate actively in giving direction and aid to the public policy which is to guide the future destiny of the republíc, and administer its affairs."

The men in service will hold the same opinions, and, with the pride of soldiers and the unanimity of caste, will soon unite their political influence, and, perilling as they do their lives in their

country's defence, they will naturally assume that they should have more powerful voice in the state than those who enjoy the ease and comforts of a home-life.

They will soon find that they possess united influences and united privileges under the laws of the state, and it will not be long before they, like the Prætorian Guards of ancient Rome, will imagine themselves the state; and, should their marked preferences not be complied with by the non-combatant portion of the community, their bayonets and cartridges would prove powerful and convincing arguments.

To avoid this prospective evil, I contend that no soldier, while in the service of the republic, should be allowed to vote.

The consequences of this may for a time be awkward. The wrong party may get into power in some portions of the country. That, however, should not be weighed in the scale. The right and truth will ever prevail in the end, and the republic, as has been shown in this very rebellion, can allow its opponents the fleeting glory of a temporary triumph. Our people are too intelligent, too thoughtful, and too liberty-loving to be in the wrong for any length of time.

From a military stand-point, the law which would allow a soldier to mingle actively in the affairs of state endangers the existence of good order and discipline.

Its effects are pernicious upon the morale of troops.

During a period of rest, the turning of an encampment into a political hustings has such palpable bad effects upon the soldierly habits and ideas of the men, that it is needless for me to expatiate on its impropriety. During a period of actual warfare the soldier has not the proper facilities for acquiring an accurate knowledge of the worth of the candidates presented for his support, or the merits of the questions concerning which he is to decide. Nor can he devote the time and thought necessary for the impartial exercise of the highest function of the citizen, the deposition of his ballot; and hence he is peculiarly liable to become the tool of that dread enemy of republics, the military demagogue.

Companies will be swayed by their captains, regiments by their colonels, brigades, divisions, and corps by their generals, and an army by its commander. While the character of our officers is a guarantee against this consolidation, the fate of other republics warns us to guard against all political esprit de corps in the army. No man knows his strength of self-denial until he has withstood temptation.

To recapitulate, I contend that our future army should not be allowed to have a direct influence in the state, or, in other words, the privilege of voting, because

1st. From the peculiar nature of our political institutions,