LITMIR.BIZ

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Rose and Elsie opened their letters, and now and then, in the short pauses of the reading, cast a hasty glance at their contents.

      Elsie's were from her Aunt Adelaide, Walter, and Enna. Rose's from her mother, Richard, May, and Sophie.

      The last seemed written in a state of distraction.

      "Rose, Rose, I think I shall go crazy! my husband and his brothers have enlisted in the Confederate army. They, Harry especially, are furious at the North and full of fight; and I know my brothers at home will enlist on the other side; and what if they should meet and kill each other! Oh, dear! oh, dear! my heart is like to break!

      "And what is it all about? I can't see that anybody's oppressed; but when I tell Harry so, he just laughs and says, 'No, we're not going to wait till they have time to rivet our chains,' 'But,' I say, 'I've had neither sight nor sound of chains; wait at least till you hear their clank.' Then he laughs again, but says soothingly, 'Never mind, little wife; don't distress yourself; the North won't fight; or if they do try it, will soon give it up,' But I know they won't give up: they wouldn't be Americans if they did.

      "Arthur and Walter Dinsmore were here yesterday, and Arthur is worse than Harry a great deal; actually told me he wouldn't hesitate to shoot down any or all of my brothers, if he met them in Federal uniform. Walter is almost silent on the subject, and has not yet enlisted. Arthur taunted him with being for the Union, and said if he was quite sure of it he'd shoot him, or help hang him to the nearest tree.

      "Oh, Rose! pray, pray that this dreadful war may be averted!"

      Rose felt almost stunned with horror as she read; but her tears fell fast as she hurriedly perused the contents of the other three, learning from them that Richard, Harold, and Fred had already enlisted, and Edward would do the same should the war continue long.

      "My heart is torn in two!" she cried, looking piteously up in her husband's face, with the tears streaming down her own.

      "What is it, my darling?" he asked, coming to her and taking her cold hands in his.

      "Oh my country! my country! My brothers, too—and yours! they are pitted against each other—have enlisted in the opposing armies. Oh, Horace, Horace! what ever shall we do?"

      "God reigns, dearest; let that comfort you and all of us," he said, in moved tones. "It is dreadful, dreadful! Brothers, friends, neighbors, with hearts full of hatred and ready to imbrue their hands in each other's blood and for what? That a few ambitious, selfish, unscrupulous men may retain and increase their power; for this they are ready to shed the blood of tens of thousands of their own countrymen, and bring utter ruin upon our beautiful, sunny South."

      "Oh, papa, surely not!" cried Elsie; "these papers say the war cannot last more than three months."

      "They forget that it will be American against American. If it is over in three years, 'twill be shorter than I expect."

      Elsie was weeping, scarcely less distressed than Rose.

      "We will, at least, hope for better things, little wife," her husband said, drawing her to him with caressing motion. "What do your letters say?"

      "They are full of the war; it is the all-absorbing theme with them, as with us. Aunt Adelaide's is very sad. Her heart clings to the South, as ours do; yet, like us, she has a strong love for the old Union.

      "And she's very found of her husband, who, she says, is very strong for the Government; and then, besides her distress at the thought that he will enlist, her heart is torn with anguish because her brothers and his are in the opposing armies.

      "Oh, Edward! isn't it terrible? Civil war in our dear land! So many whom we love on both sides!"

      There was a moment of sorrowful silence. Then her father asked, "What does Enna say?"

      "She is very bitter, papa: speaks with great contempt of the North; exults over the fall of Fort Sumter and the seizure of United States property; glories in the war-spirit of Dick and Arthur, and sneers at poor Walter because he is silent and sad, and declines, for the present at least, to take any part in the strife. Grandpa, she says, and his mother, too, are almost ready to turn him out of the house; for they are as hot secessionists as can be found anywhere.

      "I have a letter from Walter too, papa. He writes in a very melancholy strain; hints mildly at the treatment he receives at home; says he can't bear the idea of fighting against the old flag, and still less the old friends he has at the North, and wishes he was with us or anywhere out of the country, that he might escape being forced to take part in the quarrel."

      "Poor fellow!" sighed Mr. Dinsmore. "Ah, I have a letter here from my father that I have not yet opened."

      He took it from the table as he spoke. His face darkened as he read, the frown and stern expression reminding Elsie of some of the scenes in her early days; but he handed the missive to Rose, remarking, in a calm, quiet tone, "My father expects me to be as strong a secessionist as himself."

      "But you're for the Union, papa, are you not?" asked Horace. "You'd never fire upon the Stars and Stripes—the dear old flag that protects us here?"

      "No, my son. I love the dear South, which has always been my home, better far than any other of the sections; yet I love the whole better than a part."

      "So do I!" exclaimed Rose warmly; "and if Pennsylvania, my own native State, should rebel against the general government, I'd say, 'Put her down with a strong hand'; and just so with any State or section, Eastern, Northern, Middle or Western. I've always been taught that my country is the Union; and I think that teaching has been general through the North."

      "It is what my mother taught me, and what I have taught my children," said Mr. Dinsmore; "not to love the South or my native State less, but the Union more. I was very young when I lost my mother; but that, and some other of her teachings, I have never forgotten."

      "There is, I believe, a strong love for the old Union throughout the whole South," remarked Mr. Travilla; "there would be no rebellion among the masses there, but for the deceptions practised upon them by their leaders and politicians; and it is they who have been whirling the States out of the Union, scarce allowing the people a voice in the matter."

      "I don't wonder at the indignation of the North over the insult to the flag," said Elsie; "nor the furor for it that is sweeping over the land."

      "I'd like to be there to help fling it to the breeze," cried Horace excitedly; "and to see how gay the streets must be with it flying everywhere. Yes, and I'd like to help fight. Papa, am I not old enough? mayn't I go?"

      "No, foolish boy, you are much too young, not yet fourteen. And suppose you were old enough, would you wish to fight your uncles? kill one of them, perhaps? Uncle Walter, for instance?"

      "Oh papa, no, no, no! I wouldn't for the world hurt one hair of dear Uncle Wal's head; no, not if he were the hottest kind of secessionist."

      "Kill Uncle Wal! why Horace, how could you ever think of such a thing?" exclaimed Rosebud. "And mamma and sister Elsie, why are you both crying so?"

      All the afternoon the elders of the family remained together, talking over the news—they could scarce think or speak of anything else: very grave and sad all of them, the ladies now and then dropping a tear or two while each paper was carefully scanned again and again, lest some item on the all-absorbing subject might have been overlooked, and every letter that had any bearing upon it read and re-read till its contents had been fully digested.

      May's gave a graphic account of the excitement in Philadelphia; the recruiting and drilling of troops, the making of flags, the constant, universal singing of patriotic songs, etc., then closed with the story of the sorrowful parting with the dear brothers who might never return from the battle-field.

      It had been a bright, warm day, but at evening the sea breeze came in cool and fresh; thin clouds were scudding across the sky, hiding the stars and giving but a faint and fitful view of the young moon that hung, a bright crescent, amid their murky folds.

      Mr. Dinsmore was pacing slowly to and fro upon an open colonnade overlooking the bay. He walked with bent head

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