Year: 1861

| There never was a time when aspiration was
more likely to be crowned with heroic success
| than the present. Women VII have been seek
ing for a mission may fnd oue al ready 10 their
| hands. IL is the day Tor self denial, deeds 81
| daring, and even for martyrdom The old Spar
tan spirit has broken out il tits nineteenth cen.
| tury, and Rome fans the ashes Of her decaying
glory into life, and bears the holy fame to every
American altar. In the midst of humble duties
| a woman stands with thoughtful eye and brow
| tracing the connection between herself aad that
revelation which already We call old Her grand
sire handled that ancient musket, that has been
looked upon SO long as the family relic, with al
honest pride. The gray haired man often spoke
OF it. Ii was his reyered care 10 the last, aud
the smile that changed his thin lips from auster-
ity to beauty as he cleaned its brass mounting.
told her his heart cung to the recollection OF
! the scenes he had witnessed more than once OF
battle red 10 the brow. And now the old musket
almost loOsens itself from the rusty nail, and
looks at her as she thinks of her son who went
forth today to his toll with few words AID a
gloomy face.


What. part with him, her only one-her bles
sing, her support? Aye! speaks the musket,
mutely. as she turns toward it. "W hat Is one
boy to the welfare of our country? The loss OF
son would entail grief upon a stricken heart; !;
bat the loss of country would crush the life out
of millions Send your boy and the old musket
together; he will take care of me and God of
both" So as the step IS heard that for long
years has been music to her. she drives back the
rushing tears and smiles as the eager eyes turn
towards her. Without word she points to
"grandfatber's old gun," and down it leaps from
its rusty nail and leans loving against the lads
strong arm. With her blessings afresh in his
heart, and her little bible under his vest he goes
forth to the uncertain strife, soldiers blood
cOursing unanimously through all his veins.


Surely that mother is lifted out of her COM
mon station. There is a thrill in such, as pat
riots and the mother OF patriots only feel. She
has nursed a strong and valiant foe to tyranny !;
she has led by the hand as now by her wi man
who is not afraid of bullet, and who will not
brook disgrace to the flag that is as dear to him
as bis hearts blood. II that woman has ever
sighed over the lowliness of her lot if she ever
longed for more extended sphere in which the
little humble cares might be laid aside for nObler
duties, she need do SO no more. That sacrifice
has exalted her from the small stage upon which
her quiet life has been acted to association with
the great of every age. Gliding by her are the
shades Of patriot mothers, whose names grow
brighter as history wakes older, shed halo over
her pensive face; and she feels the glow that
lustred the spirit of Washington, that kindled
the freedom fame at Saratoga and Bunker's Hill,
and that shsll yet stream in Heavens own fire,


lighting the hallowed torch of liberty all over
our land.


And this is woman's duty now, to sacrifice.
Whatever Of pleasure or ease che has been ac
custOmed to must be given up without regret
She must not only be willing, but foremost to
"God speed" the brother, the father, the hus
band. Her hand, however white and slender, or
sparkling with the jewels of betrothment, must
buckle On the knapsack, and give fresh nerve
to the brawny shoulder that feels the hand ike
blessing-nOt to Eang helpless, dead weight
OF cowardice, but to seem to say with each soft
pressure, "Strike for home and country, and
when you strike, think of the honor OF your
flag"


Sleepless nights will folow-tears will fall,
else what would sacrifice be worths There will
be visions of battle fields blurred with blood
misty with the messages of diving breath-it may
be his among the rest-terrib!e with the glazing
of loving eyes and stifenirg lips, red still even
while cold but, oh F! glorious, if above the car
mage, the sighing of beloved names, the groans
OF anguish, the river OF crimson, yet warm from
life, the frantic cries-glOrious if above all the
dear flag Of our cOuntry-that flag that Wash
ington loved, and at which tyrants tremble, may
still stream to the breeze, shredded, perhaps
with many a bullet-gory with many drop of
the heart but flying still, triumphant still, with
all its noble ransom! The triumph will not
be the field, whose surface mems feet shook like
thunder, and whose turf was their last pillow.
No! from every hamlet weeping women will say
it vas our blood that avenged the traitors infa-
nv, for We gave our sons to die for their country.
And the spirit of sacrifice shall be its own ex.
ceeding great reward; and "he died for bis
country," stir the souls of generations to come,
and make women's name the synonym fer eter.
nal liberty-7ne Century.