Suddenly our books were forgotten: the university cadets unanimously
tendered their services to the government; were at once accepted,
and it was the proudest day of my life when, as an officer in our
battalion, I marched with the rest to the drill camp on the historic
training ground.

The citizens turned out en masse to do us honor, and frantically
cheered us on our way to do or die; every house was gay with old
glory; our best girls, inspired with patriotic fervor, applauded while
they bedewed the streets with their tears; the air resounded with
martial music and the boom of saluting cannon; the young war governor,
who went up like a rocket and down like a stick, led the way on
a prancing charger; the people vied with each other in tendering
hospitalities, and every corner afforded its liquid refreshments. We
thought it lemonade, but it "had a stick in it" and, presto!--we were
no longer seedy theologues, but young heroes all, resplendent with
brilliant uniforms and flashing bayonets, marching to defend our great
and glorious republic.

We, unsuspecting, imbibed freely the seductive fluids, and soon our
heads were in a whirl. We wildly sang the war songs and gave the
college yells. It is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
That night, Jupiter Pluvius burst upon our frail tents in all his
fury, and I awoke the next morning half covered with water, and in a
raging fever. I was taken to the hospital, and as I was a minor my
father took me from the service.

For weeks I was a wreck, and all my dreams of martial glory vanished,
alas,--like the many which have bloomed in the summer of my heart.
Before I regained the little strength I ever had, the war was over,