invade Belton, and the patersfamilias of the town had made up their minds not to be caught unprepared, but to be ready to strike doughtily for their altars and firesides at a moment's notice. So in less than twenty-four hours, fifty-three good and true men were enrolled in this formidable legion, and committees appointed to procure arms and uniforms. Considerable agitation was manifested over the selection of the latter. By virtue of his calling, Mr. Muldoon, a tailor, was chairman of the committee on uniforms, and moved probably by personal predilections, reported on "grane" as the most appropriate color; from which Snopple, the minority, dissented, and recommended, with an eye to the picturesque, the old Continental blue and buff, with a cavalier hat. But this recommendation was not acted upon, the suggested costume being voted unsuitable for "hard service," and as the Guards intended adopting the rifle as their weapon, Mr. Muldoon's "grane" carried the day, with red seams and yellow facings, however, in deference to the aesthetic feelings of the wily Snopple, who foresaw an increase of patronage growing out of this investiture. Among the junior members of the community, the warlike spirit rose equally high, but took a different direction. Of them all, none was more deeply stirred by the electric current of patriotism than Mark. From the outbreak of the conflict, his blood tingled to join in the fray. He flung aside all other occupations, and threw his whole soul into the popular cause. Let us confess, though, that he was not purely unselfish in his eagerness, for he foresaw a new avenue to fame, and one where the goal was more accessible to a determined mind than in the path he was pursuing. As a poet, mediocrity at the utmost was all, he was forced to admit, that he could ever hope for. But in war, what was there beyond the reach of a stout heart and true blade? He felt brave enough to cast his life in the scale if need be, and stake it for renown. Glory is a tempting bait for hot-heads and enthusiastic natures, and its sway over Mark was irresistible. Beyond glory, too, there was a sweeter, dearer reward that he might win. A guerdon fit to nerve even a craven to prowess. "By cock and pie and mousefoot! my lad, but this is serious," quoth Dr. Wattletop, when Mark imparted his intention of turning soldier. "Fired by bellicose ardor, we burn to seize the anlace and cry havoc, eh? Nonsense," was the commentary that followed. "Believe me, my boy, stick to your innocent amusements. Permute the syllables of our noble tongue into new and strange rhythmical combinations as much as you please, but seek not the bubble reputation by checking musket-balls in their mad career. Stick to the shop, Mark, to itrochoidal paths and spheric sectors. 'Honor, indeed, who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday.' Stick to the shop, I tell you. You're a promising engineer, and there's glory enough to be acquired as such, and better still, money."