At the conclusion of the banquet exercises, each newly enlisted man hurried away from the hall to arrange for his departure. The families and friends of those living at a distance, were nearly all in town to witness the departure of friends and loved ones. The streets of the town were crowded with excited citizens and visitors. There was the faithful mother with tearful eyes and blanched cheeks clinging to the arm of her soldier boy and bravely struggling to calm the throbbings of her aching heart. The sad eyed father and sorrowing brothers and sisters were standing near, each vainly trying to say encouraging words. A group of half tipsy recruits joked and laughed and sang snatches of patriotic songs with thick and wobbling tongues. Across the street in the shadow of the maples, a boy and girl paced to and fro with slow and measured steps. Maybe afterwards that girl when her hair was frosted with age remembered that last promenade with bitter tears, and again maybe the grim old war kindly gave back to her at the last her boy, lithe-limbed but bronzed by the sulphurous breath of battle. I saw Tom Wilson hurry home after the banquet, and I knew he had gone to stay with his old mother and assist her in preparing his meagre belongings for departure, and I knew what the agony of that parting would be when the supreme minute of departure actually came. And when I called for him on my way to the depot, I saw him unclasp her loving arms from his neck and lay her almost unconscious form tenderly upon the lounge. He kissed her pale lips, and with a great sob hurried out across the threshold of his humble home. At the gate we met Mrs. Haywood, who, having bade her own son goodbye, was making her way to the Wilson home to try and comfort and be comforted in their common sorrow. We bade Mrs. Haywood a tender farewell, and we promised to watch over her boy through the days of his absence, and she in turn assured Tom that she would care for and protect his dear old mother to the best of her ability. When Mrs. Haywood had passed into the house, Tom turned and watched the window anxiously until he saw again the dear old face with its straggling gray locks framed there, and then with our modest bundles under our arms and hats drawn down over our flushed, sad faces, we went slowly down to the depot. And when almost to the depot, Tom could still see that window with its precious living picture. With streaming eyes she had watched him drifting out of her life. Tom was her only child. He was all she had on earth to cling to and love. For many years his meager earning had supported the home. Ever since the death of his father the boy had been her idol. And now in her old age, not only was she to be deprived of his presence and companionship, but also of the simple little income his labor had produced. And she at last saw her darling drifting away from the shores of her simple life out into the blue depths of the Union army, maybe never to return. She had given the