"I'm positively ashamed of you." "No, mother, not with indifference, far from it; for it inaugurates a war that will drench the land with blood." "Nonsense! the North will never fight.

A race of shop-keepers fighting for a sentiment, poh! But come to breakfast, there's the bell." "Better," says Solomon, "is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." The luxurious breakfast at Roselands was partaken of with very little enjoyment that morning; by Walter especially, who had to bear contempt and ridicule; threats also: he was called a Yankee, coward, poltroon, traitor; and threatened with disinheritance and denouncement unless he would declare himself for the Confederacy and enlist in its army.
The meal was but half over when he rose with flashing eyes, pale face, and quivering lips.

"I am neither a traitor nor a coward," he said between his clenched teeth, "as perhaps time may prove to the sorrow of a father and mother, sister and brother, who can so use one who ill deserves such treatment at their hands." And turning, he stalked proudly from the room.
Enna was beginning a sneering remark, but her father stopped her.
"Hush! we have been too hard on the lad; he was always slower than Art about making up his mind, and I've no doubt will turn out all right in the end." Soon after breakfast the father and mother had a private talk on the subject, and agreed to try coaxing and entreaties.
"Wal always had a warm heart," remarked Mr.Dinsmore finally, "and I dare say can be reached more readily through that." "Yes, he was your favorite always, while you have been very hard upon poor Arthur's youthful follies; but you see now which is the more worthy of the two." Mr.Dinsmore shook his head.

"Not yet, wife; 'tisn't always the braggart that turns out bravest in time of trial." "Yes, we shall see," she answered, with a slight toss of her haughty head.
"I trust no son of _mine_ will prove himself so cowardly as to run away from his country in her time of need, on whatever pretext." And having winged this shaft, perceiving with pleasure that her husband winced slightly under it, she sailed from the room, ascending the stairway, and presently paused before the door of Walter's dressing-room.
It was slightly ajar; and pushing it gently open she entered without knocking.
He stood leaning against the mantel, his tall erect figure, the perfection of manly grace, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the carpet, and his fine, open, expressive countenance full of a noble sadness.
There was something of motherly pride in the glance that met his as he looked up at the sound of Mrs.Dinsmore's step.

Starting forward, he gallantly handed her to a seat: then stood respectfully waiting for what she had to say.
"Walter, my dear boy," she began; "your father and I think we were all a trifle hard on you this morning." He colored slightly but made no remark, and she went on.