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ost homes. The guns or other implements of warfare were carefully cleaned and polished. Bullets were moulded by hand as if for actual warfare. Faded and moth-eaten clothes and sashes were donned with pride by the scions of military heroes who figured in the early struggles of the republic. Drums and fifes which had been handed down through at least two or three generations played a conspicuous part in the marches that were the features of the day, the shrill notes of Hail, Columbia, Yankee Doodle, and The Star-Spangled banner stirring the latent patriotism in all hearts to the highest pitch. Falstaff's troop presented no more ludicrous spectacle than did some of these soldiers enlisted for a single day. I have vivid recollections of seeing these parades. The captains of the companies, mounted on fiery steeds unused to the sound of drum-beats and the whistling of fifes, employed desperate efforts to manage their horses as they rode up and down the crooked lines, shouting meaning
tened or rendered more palatable by being carried in a haversack for days. Doing guard and police duty with a lowering sky above them, and mud and water beneath their feet, made many a soldier sick at heart, and caused his courage to drop in the scale of heroism, when first learning the duties of a son of Mars. The discipline of walking to and fro with a gun on his shoulder in the wee small hours of a stormy night was a different thing from marching away on a gala-day to the tune of Yankee Doodle, or with the drums and fifes beating and whistling The girl I left behind me. I witnessed the departure of many of the men of the old 31st from cottages and more pretentious homes. At the sound of the roll-call could be seen great, manly fellows, folding their loved ones in a last fond embrace, and then, with the tears streaming down their blanched cheeks, rushing out of the door, and down the street to step into line and answer Here, while their telltale faces betrayed the emotions