it with the first morning light; but what were her reveries while she
gazed upon it was told to no one. Custom, as well as sincere sympathy,
made it necessary for her to make a visit of condolence to Mrs.
Fitzgerald. But she merely took her hand, pressed it gently, and said,
"May God comfort you." "May God comfort you, also," replied Mrs.
Fitzgerald, returning the pressure; and from that time henceforth the
name of Gerald was never mentioned between them.

After the funeral it was noticed that Alfred Blumenthal appeared
abstracted, as if continually occupied with grave thoughts. One day,
as he stood leaning against the window, gazing on the stars and
stripes that floated across the street, he turned suddenly and
exclaimed: "It is wrong to be staying here. I ought to be fighting for
that flag. I _must_ supply poor Gerald's place."

Mrs. Delano, who had been watching him anxiously, rose up and clasped
him round the neck, with stronger emotion than he had ever seen her
manifest. "_Must_ you go, my son?" she said.

He laid his hand very gently on her head as he replied: "Dearest
Mamita, you always taught me to obey the voice of duty; and surely it
is a duty to help in rescuing Liberty from the bloody jaws of this
dragon Slavery."

She lingered an instant on his breast then, raising her tearful face,
she silently pressed his hand, while she looked into those kind and
honest eyes, that so strongly reminded her of eyes closed long
ago. "You are right, my son," murmured she; "and may God give you
strength."

Turning from her to hide the swelling of his own heart, Alfred saw
his mother sobbing on his father's bosom. "Dearest mamma," said he,
"Heaven knows it is hard for me. Do not make it harder."

"It takes the manhood out of him to see you weep, darling," said Mr.
Blumenthal. "Be a brave little woman, and cheerfully give your dearest
and best for the country."

She wiped her eyes, and, fervently kissing Alfred's hand, replied, "I
will. May God bless you, my dear, my only son!"

His father clasped the other hand, and said, with forced calmness:
"You are right, Alfred. God bless you! And now, dear Flora, let us
consecrate our young hero's resolution by singing the Battle Song of
Korner."

She seated herself at the piano, and Mrs. Delano joined in with her
weak but very sweet voice, while they sang, "Father! I call on thee."
But when they came to the last verse, the voices choked, and the
piano became silent. Rosen