The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-09-29

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 When the tocsin of war sounded the knell of peace through the south in the spring of 1861, after the procla- nation of President Lincoln, calling out troops to support the national au- thority in the seeded states, the boys at school were, if such thing could be possible, even more eager than their fathers to rush to the tented field, and to sleep in the soldiers bivouac. And, in truth, may say that the girls were not much behind the boys in their thirst for military glory.
 The love of war and the fame that follows the successful soldier, is con- fined to no age, sex, or condition in life. Our civilization may have done something to alleviate the suffering and mitigate the ferocity of war, but it's impulse is as strong to-day as it was amoug the ancient Greeks and Romans.
 The late war affords an illustration of the strength of the sentiment. While their fathers were drilling, and OCOOhI4nS pCdSOuCu III tdLiPb tO JuC rough life of soldier, the boys and girls at home were shouting for Jeff Davis, and singing the "Bonnic blue flag that carries single star." Every one of them carried secession flag, and even the babies had Confederate badges pinned to their dresses.
 They had never before realized war, and little dreamed how many of them would be made orphans before it was over. They had read of it in story books and romances, and their fathers only knew of it through dim tradi- ton. Every boy was proud to have a father to go to the wars, and was sure that he would kill as many of the hated toe as Samson or Jdck- Me- Gidnt- Killer, and would return home great warrior, bringing the trophies of his battles with him.
 It never seemed to occur to tho southern boy that there was danger al we'll as glory in war, and that hi father might be brought home dead instead of living hero. The spectre of the dead was concealed beneath 6 haze of poetry that animated tho southern youth with the daring spiri, of Moore's immortal melody;
 "The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone.
 In the ranks of death you'll find him.
 His fathers sword hs has girded on,
 And his wild harp alung behind him."
 Every one of them felt ready to fil the gap in the ranks, if his father should fall, and resolved to be hero greater than Marion or Putnam Many of these boys ran away iron from school to the southern camps sometimes their mothers or nurses went in pursuit, and brought them back.
 The sports of childhood, in whicl their young ambition had found ful scope, and had always been content tt excel, now seemed ssstale, flat and un, profitable" and as fit only for nursing babes. Every boy was, at least in hi own opinion, hero, and lived in , dreamland his imagination had peo pied with beings as unreal as the crea tions of a poets fancy.
 In this respect, however, the boy were no worse than their fathers Their play-grounds became trans formed with the exercises of tn Campus Martins, and no longer pro sented the peaceful scenes of othe days. The voice of some Tom Thuml could at any time be heard, setting hi squadrons in the field and giving hi orders, in the tone of . brigadier, t, his battalion of infant grenadiers.
 The school, as 6 general rule, hat been closed, and the master had shoul dered his musket and gone to tn wars. The grandfathers, too, beoam infected with the martial enthusiasm and, not to be outdone by the boys formed themselves into companiea which were called Home Guards Their motto was "Liberty or Death and every man of them imagined him self . Spartan and only wanted m op portunity to make . new Thermopy l@. I think that au of this class diei natural deaths in their beds.
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