fresh air with us, and observing the excited condition of her two sons, exclaimed:

"'Why, my dear boys! what is the matter?'

"David spoke to his mother, saying:

"'Do not get excited or alarmed when I tell you that Harvey and I have made a solemn vow this evening that we will start to Washington city in the morning.'

"'For what, my dear sons, are you going?' inquired the mother, much troubled.

"'We are going to tender our services to the President in behalf of the Union. Harvey is going along with me, believing it his duty. As I was educated by the Government for the military service, I deem it my duty to it, when in danger from this infamous and unholy rebellion, to aid in putting it down.'

"Their mother raised her hands and thanked God that she had not taught them lessons of patriotism in vain. She laid her head upon David's manly breast and wept, and then clasped Harvey in her arms and blessed him as her young and tender child, and asked God to preserve him and return him safely to her, as he was her cherished hope. Peter, who had been silent during the entire evening, except the bare suggestion to Tom to enter the service, now arose from where he was sitting, and extending his hand to David, said:

"'My old boy, I am with you. I shall commence at once to raise a company.'

"David turned to his mother and laughingly said:

"'Mother, you seem to have taught us all the same lesson.'

"His mother's eyes filled with tears as she turned away to seek Mary. She found her in the parlor teaching her sweet little daughter her prayers. My wife stood looking at the pretty picture of mother and child until little Mary Anderson finished, kissed her mamma, and ran off to bed; then entering the room she said:

"'Mary, my child, I am too weak to speak. I have held up as long as I can stand it,' and then burst into tears. Mary sprang to her at once, clasping her in her arms.

"'Dearest auntie, what is the matter? Are you ill?

"'No! no! my child; I am full of fear and grief; I tremble. My sons are going to volunteer. I am grieved for fear they will never return. Oh! Mary! I had such a terrible dream about all the family last night. Oh! I cannot think of it; and yet I want them to go. God knows I love my country, and would give all—life and everything—to save it. No, I will not discourage them. I will tell you my dream when I have more strength.'

"Just then my blessed old wife fainted. Mary screamed, and we all rushed into the parlor and found her lying on the floor with Mary bending over, trying to restore her. We were all startled, and quickly lifted her up, when she seemed to revive, and was able to sit in a chair. In a few moments she was better, and said:

"'I am all right now; don't worry. I was so startled and overcome at the thought that so many of my dear children were going to leave me at once and on such a perilous enterprise.'

"To this Peter answered:

"'Mother, you ought not to grieve about me. Being an old bachelor, there will be but few to mourn if I should be killed.'

"'Yes; but, my son, your mother loves you all the same.'

"Just then a rap was heard at the window. It being open, a letter was thrown in upon the floor. I picked it up. It was addressed to 'Thos. Anderson.' I handed it to him. He opened it, and read it to himself, and instantly turned very pale and walked the floor. His wife took his arm and spoke most tenderly, asking what it was that troubled him.

"'Mary, dear, I will read it,' he said, and unfolding the letter, he read aloud:

"'Mary sank into a chair. For a moment all were silent. At last Tom exclaimed:

"'What is there now left for me?"

"His wife, with the stateliness of a queen, as she was, her black hair clustering about her temples and falling around her shoulders and neck, her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing fire, on her tip-toes arose to her utmost height. All gazed upon her with admiration, her husband looking at her with a wildness almost of frenzy. She clenched both hands and held them straight down by her side, and exclaimed in a tone that would have made a lion cower:

"'Would that I were a man! I would not stop until the last traitor begged for quarter!'

"Tom flew to her and embraced her, exclaiming:

"'I was only waiting for that word.'

"She murmured:

"'My heavens, can it be that there are any of my blood traitors to this country?'

"The household were by this time much affected. A long silence ensued, which was broken by David, saying:

"'Father, Harvey and I having agreed to go to Washington to enter the army, I wish to make some arrangements for my family. You know I have plenty for Jennie and the babies, and I want to leave all in your hands to do with as if it were your own, so that the family will have such comforts as they desire.'

"David's wife, Jennie, was a delightful little woman, with two beautiful children—Jennie, named for her mother, and Sarah, for my wife. I said to David that I would write to his brother James, who was a widower, having no children, to come and stay with Jennie. I at once wrote James, who was practicing medicine at Winchester, Va., that I feared it would be 'unhealthy' for him there, so to come to me at once. This being done and all necessary arrangements made, David and Harvey bade all an affectionate farewell and started for their farm, leaving their mother and Mary in tears. As their footsteps died away their mother went to the door, exclaiming, "'Oh, my children! will I ever see you again?' "That night we all joined in a general conversation on the subject of the war. It was arranged that Peter should start next morning for Indianapolis to see the Governor, and, if possible, obtain authority to raise a regiment under the call of the President. This having been decided upon we all retired, bidding each other good night. I presume there was little sleeping in our house that night save what little Mary did, the poor child being entirely unconscious of the excitement and distress in the family. The next morning Peter took the train for Indianapolis, Tom went down town to ascertain the latest news, and I took my horse and rode out to David's farm, leaving the two women in tears, and little Mary inquiring: "'What is the matter, mamma and aunty?' "I rode on in a deep study as to the outcome of all this trouble. I came to David's house, unconscious for a moment as to where I was, aroused, however, by hearing some one crying as if in despair. I looked around and saw it was Jennie. She stood on the door-step in great grief, the two children asking where their father had gone. "'Good morning, my daughter,' I said, and, dismounting, I took her in my arms, and laying her head on my shoulder she sobbed as if her heart would break.

"'O! my dear husband, shall I ever see him again? O! my children, what shall I do?' was all she could say.

"I broke down completely, this was too much; the cries of the little children for their papa and the tears of their mother were more than I could stand. He had never left them before to be gone any great length of time. I took Jennie and the children into the house. There was a loneliness and a sadness about the situation that was unendurable, and I at once ordered one of the farm hands to hitch the horses to the wagon and put the family and their little traps in and get ready to take them to my house, and turned David's house over to his head man, Joseph Dent (he being very trusty) to take charge of until David should return. With these arrangements I left with