leaves of memory’s record, lingering over its cherished pictures, the home-scenes, the fond father and mother, the dear sister, and the dearer some-one-else’s sister.  The snapping of a twig startles him, and hastily brushing away a tear—­fond memory’s tribute—­he instantly closes the book, and stands, with every sense on the alert, unflinching, though he knows that each moment may be his last, only remembering that it is his duty to be faithful, watch well, and fire low.  And though this boy, fair-haired and beardless, may not have passed the stern ordeal of the battle’s fierce shock, though his heart softens at the thought of his far-off home in the North, yet his young soul is that of a hero, brave and chivalrous, and in due time his spurs will be nobly won.  Yes, this war is bringing out the grand, heroic traits of our American character, traits that years of rapid, busy, money-getting life have thrown into the background, till it really did seem that we were altogether sordid and selfish.

In the year that I have been in the service, I have seen and heard of more individual chivalrous deeds than my romantic and dyspeptic young friend will find in all the books, from Amadis de Gaul down.  Every day witnesses them.  Private letters speak of them as ordinary incidents; a few get before the public, enjoy a brief newspaper notoriety, and are forgotten—­no, not forgotten entirely; for every brave action lives somewhere, though it may not be in an official report.  A mother’s or a sister’s memory cherishes it, and it is handed down to other generations, an example and an incentive to other brave deeds.

Then let us have no more sentimental lamentation over the decadence of chivalry.  There is a broad field open to us, for deeds of chivalrous daring, now, upon the battle-field, amid the fierce clashing of arms.

    ’And many a darkness into the light shall leap,
    And shine with the sudden making of splendid names.’

Afterward, when holy peace shall smile again, there are the pulpit and the rostrum, the workshop and the forest; and whether we wield the pen, or the hammer, or the ax, according as we strive to make ourselves and the world better, so shall we bear the palm of chivalry.

* * * * *

The Democratic press made itself convulsively merry over Governor Andrew, of Massachusetts, for having called out the militia promptly in the flurry of May 26th.  After fairly exhausting its jeering and sneering on this subject, that portion of the Northern Fourth Estate which would be termed Satanic and traitorous were it not too utterly white-livered and cowardly to be complimented with such forcible indices of even bad character, had a cruel extinguisher clapped upon it on May 29th, by a letter to the Boston Journal from Lieutenant-Colonel Harrison Kitchie, A.D.C., in which Governor Andrew is most effectually vindicated by the simple publication of four telegrams received from Secretary Stanton—­the first two of which were as follows: