The New Orleans crescent., 1868-01-12

| first act in the coming drama that was to
| separate her from all she loved and honored
most in the world. The next to go would be
| her cousin. One consolation was left, her
father was too old to go. Not even the peril
| that threatened her country could tear one SO
| aged from his daughters arms. Little did
| she then think that her fathers name would
| yet be a power in defence of the State she
| loved so well-that the conflict whose fury
had not yet begun, would draw into its vor-
| tex, the young and the old, the strong and
| the feeble alike.
Nor could she imagine that hate and bitter
tyranny would lash with scorpion whips those
| who loved the Union, and renounced all that
made its history glorious, into warfare with
their fatherland. And yet it came to pass.
| Those who carried the Southern banner high
est and furthest into the ranks of the enemy,
were not the first secessionists. Many proud
heart true to the old flag, and true to the
government were compelled in self defence,
and to protect the property "won by honest
toll, 4" their own inheritance and their fathers,
to battle for the flag that would shield them
all The scenes in the tragedywere not then
revealed But when the curtain rose men
changed their minds; for what they hoped
would be a sorrowing mother inviting her
children back, turned out to be hideous
sphinx, devouring all it came in contact with.
And the preservation of the union was illus
trated by fields running red with human gore
by cities burnt and villages laid in ashes;
by the ruined homestead and the broken
family; by fire and sword; by the taunt of
derision and the moan of agony; by the fierce
alarms of the battle field, and the mad shout
| that greets the prisoner in his helplessness.
Not of these things could Laura Taylor
think in the retirement of her room. Such
history as ours has been could not be an
ticipated. Experience only-experience in
civil war, the fercest and bloodiest that ever
stained nations escutcheon would illustrate
its horrors. Outlined on the retinue of
memory they seem inconceivable. The past
| appears a troubled dream, to which the i'm
| agination seems to have lent its animosity or
| its spleen in coloring
| From unpleasant reflections perhaps from
| sadder anticipations, Laura was recalled by
|
entered his daughters room with his pleasant
happy face all aglow with smiles.
"Well, Laura, have you heard the news
| Hartwell has been commissioned a Major in
the Southern army, and leaves for Vicksburg
in few days. He's a capital fellow ! 1
always liked him, and am truly rejoiced at
his good fortune"
"Call you such a summons good fortune,
| father? am not glad-I am sorry to see my
! friends called forth to die. He has been here,
and l have hidden him farewell Perhaps
we may never see him agaip-some unmarked
| grave, with no tomb above his resting place.
with no requiem save the battles diapason,
will be the last of the brave, generous hearted
Hartwell. cannot be glad father, in con-
templating this. "
''Nor 1; but never thought Of that. I only
thought of the glory-the joy Of fighting for
ones country. But, daughter, it is the duty
of every man to bear hand in this struggle
| Dick must go too Dear as my soul is the gal
liant boy to me; but when Missouri calls 1
will lay my Offering on the altar-never man
had it in his power to tender to his country a
| nobler-"
"Sacrifce, father-call it sacrifice" was
the low sad interruption, and with streaming
eyes she rose and bent her knees before her
| father.
"Oh! father, this is terrible; but you are
right. Richard is dearer to me than all the
world beside; but if his country needs him
lie must go; but oh, in pity, father, not yet,
not just yeti"
"God bless you, my child, not just yet is
it necessary for him to go; but school youI
heart to the parting, Laura, for it will come
at last.