e guard argued with him to persuade him to go on. It was their duty
to kill him if he refused, but they could not bring themselves to do
it. In the end they left the job to one, and he stood and cursed the
officer, trying to get up his courage; and finally fired his gun into
the air, and went off and left him.

Then he told how an old negro had found him, and how he lay delirious;
and how, at last, the army marched his way. He ended his narrative the
simple sentence: "It was not until the siege of Petersburg that I was
able to rejoin my Command."

There was a murmur of applause; and then silence. Suddenly, from
somewhere in the room, came the sound of singing--"Mine eyes have seen
the glory of the coming of the Lord!" The old battle-hymn seemed to
strike the very mood of the meeting; the whole throng took it up, and
they sang it, stanza by stanza. It was rolling forth like a mighty
organ-chant as they came to the fervid closing:--

"He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is
sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat; Oh! be swift,
my soul, to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet,--Our God is marching on!"

There was a pause again; and the presiding officer rose and said that,
owing to the presence of a distinguished guest, they would forego one
of their rules, and invite Judge Ellis to say a few words. The Judge
came forward, and bowed his acknowledgment of their welcome. Then,
perhaps feeling a need of relief after the sombre recital, the Judge
took occasion to apologize for his own temerity in addressing a roomful
of warriors; and somehow he managed to make that remind him of a story
of an army mule, a very amusing story; and that reminded him of another
story, until, when he stopped and sat down, every one in the room broke
into delighted applause.

They went in to dinner. Montague sat by General Prentice, and he, in
turn, by the Judge; the latter was reminded of more stories during the
dinner, and kept every one near him laughing. Finally Montague was
moved to tell a story himself--about an old negro down home, who passed
himself off for an Indian. The Judge was so good as to consider this an
immensely funny story, and asked permission to tell it himself. Several
times after that he leaned over and spoke to Montague, who felt a
slight twinge of guilt as he recalled his brother's cynical advice,
"Cultivate him!" The Judge was so willing to be cultivated, however,
that it gave