g, talking, prophesying, and lamenting while I packed
such of my things as I was to take with me, tumbled the rest into two
big boxes, danced on the lids till they shut, and gave them in charge,
with the direction,--"If I never come back, make a bonfire of them."

Then I choked down a cup of tea, generously salted instead of sugared
by some agitated relative, shouldered my knapsack,--it was only a
travelling-bag, but do let me preserve the unities,--hugged my family
three times all round without a vestige of unmanly emotion, till a
certain dear old lady broke down upon my neck, with a despairing sort
of wail,--"O my dear, my dear! how can I let you go?"

"I'll stay, if you say so, mother."

"But I don't; go, and the Lord will take care of you."

Much of the Roman matron's courage had gone into the Yankee matron's
composition, and, in spite of her tears, she would have sent ten
sons to the war, had she possessed them, as freely as she sent one
daughter, smiling and flapping on the door-step till I vanished,
though the eyes that followed me were very dim, and the handkerchief
she waved was very wet.

My transit from The Gables to the village depot was a funny mixture
of good wishes and good-bys, mud-puddles and shopping. A December
twilight is not the most cheering time to enter upon a somewhat
perilous enterprise; but I'd no thought of giving out, O, bless you,
no!

When the ingine screeched "Here we are!" I clutched my escort in a
fervent embrace, and skipped into the car with as blithe a farewell as
if going on a bridal tour,--though I believe brides don't usually wear
cavernous black bonnets and fuzzy brown coats, with a hair-brush, a
pair of rubbers, two books, and a bag of gingerbread distorting the
pockets.

If I thought that people would believe it, I'd boldly state that I
slept from C. to B., which would simplify matters immensely; but as
I know they wouldn't, I'll confess that the head under the funereal
coal-hod fermented with all manner of high thoughts and heroic
purposes "to do or die,"--perhaps both; and the heart under the fuzzy
brown coat felt very tender with the memory of the dear old lady,
probably sobbing over her army socks and the loss of her topsy-turvy
Trib.

At this juncture I took the veil, and what I did behind it is nobody's
business; but I maintain that the soldier who cries when his mother
says "Good by" is the boy to fight best, and die bravest, when the
time comes, or go back to