hence he could look out, as in childhood, upon the stars, he
thought upon what had happened at Fort Sumter, and of the meeting in the
church at New Hope, and how he had pledged himself with the rest to
stand by the flag of his country. The water by the mill was repeating
the soul-stirring song, which Azalia, Daphne, Hans, and himself had
sung. The maples, elms, and all the forest-trees, like a multitudinous
chorus of a great and mighty people, were saying, "It shall wave--shall
wave--over the home of the brave!"

But men were wanted. The President had called for them. Ought he not to
be one of the seventy-five thousand? Would not his grandfather, if
alive, point to the old gun, and say, "Go, Paul, your country calls
you?" Were not all who have died for liberty, justice, truth, and right
calling upon him to do his duty? Were not the oppressed everywhere
looking to him? What answer could he give to the millions yet to be, if
in his old age they were to question him as to what part he bore in the
great struggle? Thus the voices of the ages propounded solemn
questions--voices of earth and heaven--of his duty to his country and to
God. But how could he leave his home, his mother, his friends, his
school, the choir, Azalia, Daphne, Hans, and give up the dear
associations of the place? What if he should fall in battle? Could he
meet death face to face? But then he remembered that the path of duty,
though it may lead through dangers, though it may lead to the death of
the body, is the way by which peace comes to the soul. It was the most
solemn moment of his life, for God was questioning him. He heard not
only the voices of the past, and of the winds, the water, and of his
country, calling him to do his duty as a patriot, but there was a still,
small voice talking of sins committed and duties neglected; of a lie
which he had told in childhood, and which had burned through all the
years like a red-hot iron, leaving a crisped and blackened scar upon his
soul. How could he be at peace? How ease the pain? Tears of anguish
rolled down his cheeks. He turned and tossed in agony, wishing that the
scar could be cut away, and that he could be made fit to dwell with the
angels. But in his agony he heard another voice saying, "Come unto me,
and I will give you rest."

They were no longer tears of sorrow which wet his pillow, but of joy,
for he saw that Jesus, having carried the cross up to Calvary, was able
and willing also to bear his bu