n-stone
incumbrance and three flags in the windows, round the corner."

"Going to-morrow!" said the invalid, and the old pained expression came
back to his face. "Going to-morrow!--everybody is going!--and I lie here
like a crushed worm, unable to move from my couch, useless to myself or
to any one else, when the country is calling upon all her children to
aid her! Pest on it! I would trade life, hopes, brains if I have any,
every thing, for a sound body to-day!"

"And make a great fool of yourself in doing so!" was the flattering
response of Josephine. "Now I suppose that music and my gabble have
started the mill, and we shall have nothing else during the rest of the
day than the same old weepings and wailings and gnashings of teeth. Just
as if, because a war exists, there was nothing else in the world to do
but to go to the war! Just as if we did not require some attention paid
to the needs of the country at home, as well as on the battle-field!
Just as if we did not need that the trade, and the literature--yes, the
_literature_ of the country--should be sustained."

"Pshaw!" said Crawford, impatiently, and making an effort to turn over,
with his face to the wall.

"No you don't, old fellow!" cried the young girl, exercising the little
restraint that was necessary. "You don't get away from me in that
manner. I will stop your grumbling before I have done with you, by a
remedy a little worse than the disease--plenty of my own gabble! I said
literature--do you see that desk littered with papers, you ungrateful
wretch?" (It will be seen that Josephine Harris had a habit of using
strong Saxon words, as well as some that were "fast," not to say
bordering upon popular slang; and the reader may as well be horrified
with her, and get over it, first as last.) "You have sent out from that
desk words that have done more good to the patriotic cause than the
raising of ten regiments, and yet you have not the grace to thank God
for giving you the strength to do _that_! You _dare_ to lie there and
call yourself useless! Out upon you--I am ashamed of you!"

"Words are not deeds!" said the young man, again moving uneasily.

"Words, when they come from the furnace of a true heart, shape
themselves into deeds in others," was the reply.

"In the days of the Revolution, my ancestors did their deeds, instead of
shaping them," said the invalid. "Two of them dead in the Old Sugar
House and the prison ships at the Wallabout, and another