ment of our Goddess of Liberty, which has occasioned the
rent which those needles there"--pointing to some bayonets--"must mend.
And it is this shoddy of contradiction and infidelity which makes many a
man's prosperity, seemingly substantial at first, promising warmth and
wear, fall suddenly to pieces, and leave his soul naked to the winds of
heaven."

It was not so much a sermon as a friendly, affectionate, earnest talk
with the men, whom he sought to counsel and encourage. There was a
melting love in his tones which went to their inmost souls. And when he
exhorted them to do the work of men who feared God, but not any mortal
foe, who dreaded dishonor, but not death, he made every heart ring with
the stirring appeal.

Then suddenly his voice sank to a tone of solemn sweetness, as he said,--

"Peace! O, my brothers! struggle and violence are not the all of life.
But God's love, the love of man to man, holiness, blessedness,--it is for
these realities we are created, and placed here on this beautiful earth,
under this blue sky, with human faces and throbbing human hearts around
us. And the end of all is PEACE. But only through fiery trial and valiant
doing can any peace worth the name come to us; and to make the future
truly blessed, we must make the present truly brave."

Before and after the discourse the men sang some of the good old tunes
which all had been familiar with at home, and which descended like warm
rain upon the ground where the scattered seed of the sermon fell.

The services ended, Mr. Egglestone went freely among the soldiers, and
conversed with any who wanted to have speech of him; especially with
Atwater; whose wife he had seen a few days before leaving Boston, where
she came to see him, having learned who he was, and that he was about
departing for the army in which her husband served.

After long waiting, Frank's turn came at last. They sat down on a bench
apart; and the clergyman told him he had lately seen his mother, and that
she had charged him with many messages. And one was a message of sorrow.

"She had heard unwelcome news of you," he said, holding the boy's hand.
"And she wished me to say to you what I could to save you from what she
dreads most--what any wise, loving mother dreads most for her child. But
is there need of my saying any thing? By what your captain tells me, and
still more by what your face tells me, I am convinced that I may spare my
words. You have had in your own exp