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the West, the departure of the county company of National Guards for the State capital was an event of considerable awkward dignity. The militia company in the piping times of peace was, like the affairs of Mr. Toots, "really of no consequence." The principal martial duty the National Guards had to perform before they were mustered out was to precede the fire company and follow the Grand Army squad in the processions on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July. At such times the more bloodthirsty ones of the young warriors were feasted on the spectacle of some hero of Gettysburg, with his red marshal's sash and his slouch hat, riding up and down the line on a dapple-gray prancer. The fierce-looking, funnel-shaped leather gauntlets on his wrists, the majesty of his Knight Templar sword, the imposing cock of his head used to transform the dealer in "paints, drugs, oils, stationery, and toilet articles" into a satisfactory imitation of a son of Mars. So in those halcyon days each red-faced youngster trudging along the dusty highway was content to melt his linen and wait for the day when he should be the man on horseback. With a military experience limited to these occasional triumphs, the Western guardsman read the President's call for troops with unfettered joy. Probably a few hours after this expansive moment the more thoughtful

". . . flags fluttering everywhere."

of the militiamen began to ransack their memories to find out what particular impulse had urged them to join the Guards—a question which has never been successfully answered inside the ranks nor out. But theorists who are acquainted with the motives which impel youths to do strange things hold that enlistment in the National Guards frequently follows the reading of "The Life of Grant" or of "Napoleon and his Marshals." Other theorists maintain that the ways of a young man in the presence of a fife and drum and a uniform is like the way of a ship in the midst of the sea, of an eagle in the air, or of a serpent upon a rock—too wonderful for the wisest of men.

"{{..}} some little wife girl . . ."

But, leaving the theorists to wrangle and returning to the youth with the President's call before him, an interesting situation presented itself. Sometimes it took two days, sometimes but two hours, for the solemn fact that he was a part of his country's army, one of the history-makers, to soak through and through the youngster's understanding. He went about his daily routine merrily, and no one realized what a powerful thrill of patriotism there was growing in his heart. He felt that the thrill was all he might be able to trade his life for; and he loved life, so he cherished the thrill and was proud of it. The thing grew big in him as he marched down the main street of the town, on the afternoon of his last day at home, just before train-time. The silver cornet band, playing "Marching through Georgia" or "Maryland," pulled the thrill up into a lump in his throat, a lump that hurt. When the ranks broke, just before the whistle escaped from the black smoke on the horizon, the thrill and the lump remained, as the boy, in