’Tis often in the parting hour, Victorious love asserts his power O’er coldness and disdain; For flinty is her heart can view To battle march her lover true. Can hear perchance his last adieu, Nor own her share of pain.—WALTER SCOTT. At length the draft commenced, and the city was in a pretty state of excitement. There were hundreds of youths who had been withheld by the authority of parents or the persuasions of friends from volunteering, but who were now in great hopes of being drafted and “made to do as they liked.” And there were hundreds of men whose health had never been known to suffer before, but who now suddenly fell ill of grievous disorders. Never—no, never since the cholera of ‘32, had the city been so sickly. Never were so many people at one time affected with so many aches and pains. It was as if Pandora’s box had been then and there opened for the first time, and all the maladies to which flesh is heir had been sown broadcast over the district. And never had there been such deplorable destitution; never so many only grandmothers, widowed mothers, orphaned sisters and motherless children dependent upon men for support. But what else could be expected? All, or nearly all, the heroes had volunteered long before the enrollment; and the men who did not were either serving humanity in some other way, or else lacked the power or the will to serve their country. But in all the excited multitude not one was more excited than our Elfie. Every morning when the paper came, she was the first to seize it; and she would let her coffee grow cold while she read out the list of drafted men to the company at the breakfast table. And on the day on which the draft for _her_ sub-district was to come off, Elfie was very nearly beside herself. She could not be easy for one moment. She rambled all over the house and grounds in the most restless manner. She drilled a little while, and then she threw aside her rifle and re-commenced her rambles. She bought every edition of the evening papers, extras and all, and read the list of the drafted men; but at the very latest issue the list was incomplete, and Elfie was discontented. In the morning she was the first one down stairs, watching for the early paper. It came, and the list was complete. But on this occasion, for the first time, Elfie omitted to read it aloud, and apparently no one had interest enough in the subject to try their eyes over the diamond type. But Elfie, who had been insane herself with anxiety on the preceding day, seemed mad with exultation on this. She laughed at everything and at nothing. She sang and danced all over the house, and drilled more than ever.