is work, am
as restless and nervous as a woman; but you have been seasoned by a
Mexican campaign, and I came to you expressly to be laughed into
fortitude again."

"You must go on till you meet one more lighthearted than myself,"
answered the other, with a sigh. "Ah! Harold, I have none of the old
elasticity about me to-night. I would I were back under my father's
roof, never to hear the roll of the battle-drum again. This is a cruel
war, Harold."

"A just one."

"Yes, but cruel. Have you any that you love over yonder, Harold? Any
that are dear to you, and that you must strike at on the morrow?"

"Yes, Harry, that is it. It is, as you say, a cruel war."

"I have a brother there," continued his companion; and he looked sadly
into the gloom, as if he yearned through the darkness and distance to
catch a glimpse of the well-known form. "A brother that, when I last saw
him, was a little rosy-cheeked boy, and used to ride upon my knee. He
is scarce more than a boy now, and yet he will shoulder his musket
to-morrow, and stand in the ranks perhaps to be cut down by the hand
that has caressed him. He was our mother's darling, and it is a mercy
that she is not living to see us armed against each other."

"It is a painful thought," said Harold, "and one that you should dismiss
from contemplation. The chances are thousands to one that you will never
meet in battle."

"I trust the first bullet that will be fired may reach my heart, rather
than that we should. But who can tell? I have a strange, gloomy feeling
upon me; I would say a presentiment, if I were superstitious."

"It is a natural feeling upon the eve of battle. Think no more of it.
Look how prettily the moon is creeping from under the edge of yonder
cloud. We shall have a bright day for the fight, I think."

"Yes, that's a comfort. One fights all the better in the warm sunlight,
as if to show the bright heavens what bloodthirsty devils we can be upon
occasion. Hark!"

It was the roll of the drum, startling the stillness of the night; and
presently, the brief, stern orders of the sergeants could be heard
calling the men into the ranks. There is a strange mingled feeling of
awe and excitement in this marshalling of men at night for a dangerous
expedition. The orders are given instinctively in a more subdued and
sterner tone, as if in unison with the solemnity of the hour. The tramp
of marching feet strikes with a more distinct and hollow sound upon the
ear. The d