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“One day I received an invitation to attend a re ception at the the home of a very wealthy man. I felt flattered that I should be invited to go there to meet those elegant young ladies. “I rigged myself up the best I could. When I got there I found an especially attractive party. I had never been to such a place before, and hence I was at a loss to know what to do. Os course a young man under such circumstances is expected to do what he is told. “I had not been there long before the daughter of the man of the house came to me, and taking her seat by my side, asked if I would be her partner in a game of cards. Just then a struggle began within. I had promised my mother never to play cards. What should I do? I finally said, ‘You must ex cuse me, I promised my mother when I left home that I would never touch cards. I hope you will not think me rude, it is for my mother’s sake.’ “I noticed that there came playing over her face an expression of contempt. She was not rude to , me, but there were evident signs of disapproval. I felt the sting, but, nevertheless, I made up my mind to remain firm. “If a man ever felt like a fool, I did that night, but I kept saying to myself, ‘I will not play cards, I promised my mother I would not, and I will not.’ “The next day I received a note from the old gen tleman of the house saying, ‘Please call at my of fice.’ I did not know what it meant, but rather thought the old man -was going to give me a tongue lashing for refusing to play cards with his daugh ter. How Resistance Pays. ’‘When I got to his private office, he slipped his chair close up to mine, and said: ‘You were at my house last night?’ ‘Yes,’ said I. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I have a great business, and I want to get the best young men I can find to carry it on. I want them to learn the business, and then take it off my hands. The girls told me about your refusing to play cards last night, because you promised your mother you would not do it. Os course they laugh ed over it, but I have been thinking about it. It in dicates that you have a degree of firmness that the average young man has not got. I want you in this business of mine.’ ” It took nerve for that young man from the country to take that stand that night, but just such nerve as he manifested is the nerve that the world wants today in the young men who are to take the places of trust. What are you going to do when the devil comes to you to lead you astray? Suppose he comes through some bewitching woman, are you go ing to play the coward, or take a firm stand and say, “no?” Your whole future, young man, de pends upon what you say under such circumstances. Do you say, “I would give the world if I could quit this or that?” What do you suppose the business world wants with a man who cannot quit? Suppose society does tolerate the wine cup, the ballroom, the theatre, the card table, and the like; what about your conscience? What about your training? Have you trained yourself at any point in your life to say “no”? It is discipline that you need; it is dis cipline that you must have if your life is to tri umph. The Greatest Need. But finally, the greatest need of all is the realiza tion of the plan of God in one’s life. I shall never forget my own experience in facing this great fact. Early in my teens I felt a distinct impression to preach the Gospel. I did not wait to do it. My ambition was to be a doctor. But the impression lasted with me, and it could not be thrown off. Ido not suppose that there was a day for eight or ten years that I did not have this im pression in some way or other. The only persons that knew about it were my mother and my pastor. I shall never forget the day when I told my mother about it. She said, “That has been my wish for you all my life.” It was about all she could say, for she realized that it was a matter that I would have to decide for myself. I finally finished my preparation and was a full fledged doctor of medicine. But the impression con tinued. Much of the time during this period I would plunge into known sin in order to drown the The Golden Age for August 23, 1906. feeling that I had. But such only made me feel the more. Finally, God carried me through a series of afflic tion, such as few young men ever have, and I prom ised Him that if He would spare me, I would surren der to His plan for my life. But I came very near breaking my promise just like thousands of others have done. Friends got around me and persuaded me that it was a pity for a young man who had pre pared himself for another profession, and who was succeeding at it, to give it up and enter one in which he had had no experience. I thought so myself, and so began to retrace my steps. About this time I heard a sermon by a minister not noted for any special gifts, but a plain, simple talker. He was a man who did not stay in the min istry very long, indeed, I think the sermon I heard was near the last that he ever preached. The text of the sermon was “Thy Will be Done.” He did not preach more than fifteen minutes, but that was enough for me. When I got back to my room, I said to my wife, “That text tonight has settled my future. It makes no difference what other people may say; they can call me a fool, a lunatic, or any thing else they like, but, as for me, I am going to say, ‘Thy Will be Done.’ ” That was the greatest moment of my life. I had been a Christian many years, but up till that min ute I was not surrendered to the will of God. I have often thought, “suppose I had listened to the world that night”? God be praised that I had the courage to listen to Him I Is it not strange that everybody cannot see that this is the best thing for them to do? God has a plan for every life. He has a plan for everything that He created. Your life and mine is intended to fit in a place prepared by God. What a pity that we fail to yield ourselves to His plan I Oh, young men, this is a mighty truth for you! Now is the time for Him to get control of your life. Yield to Him now; step inside Gethsemane’s gate with the Lord, and, there kneeling with Him before the Father say, “Thy will be done.” A Ride Up Peachtree Street. Selections from “In Barrack and Field,” by Lieut. Col. John B. Beall. While awaiting arms for my little command I rode over to Atlanta to see my brother in the Sec ond Georgia and learn how he and the boys were getting along in the trenches. I had a nephew, Capt. A. A. Beall, of Irwinton, Ga., in the same reg iment, whom I wished to see also. As I rode along Peachtree street the absence of the throngs of peo ple usually passing on such a thoroughfare impress ed me with a sense of isolation—a loneliness not unlike that which one feels in going through a dense forest. I had advanced but a few blocks when a shell from somewhere away beyond the ridge in my front passed me on its mission of destruction to ward the heart of the city. It was followed by others on different lines, as if each were sent to find some new victim or some more valuable target. As I advanced up the street I came nearer on the level of the flight of these angry messengers, and it was with a decided sense of relief that, after passing the highest point, I turned down the decline toward the waters of Peachtree Creek. Coming near the line of intrenchments, I ob served a number of men resting under board shel ters in a deep hollow. Approaching them, I was greeted by Capt. John M. Cobb, of the Fifty-Sixth Georgia. From him I learned the position of my brother’s regiment, which I found not far off, in the intrenchment where its course led over a hill. Here my brother’s comrades told me that he been sent back to a field hospital below Atlanta. I was disposed to linger for a chat with the boys; but they warned me that, as I sat on my horse uncov ered by the embankment, I was exposed to the fire of the enemy’s skirmishers, who kept up an almost constant exchange of shots with ours. So I leis urely rode back to Captain Cobb’s shelter. Having tied my horse to a convenient sapling, I joined the Captain and his comrades, and was having a nice chat with them when a sharp blow on the plank just over my head made me start and ask what it was. “0, that’s only a spent ball from the Yankee skirmish line.” I was told that when these shelters were first put up they were placed on the other side of the hollow, facing toward the front, and that a man ly ing under one of the shelters one day had been severely wounded in the foot by a bullet from the skirmish line. The place was twenty-five or thirty feet lower than the intrenchment and about a hun dred yards in the rear of it. Until warned, I had not thought of any danger to my horse standing out there where I had tied him. I felt safe myself under shelter; but as I could not afford to have my horse hurt, I took my leave, mounted, and rode back toward the city. As I passed down Peachtree street I saw a shell, which had passed as near me as I wanted it, enter the back of a chimney about two blocks down the street and a little to the left. I went on to Larkin street and called on a friend of my schoolboy days. Here I was shown a bombproof in the yard, into which the family had been wont to retire in the first days of the siege. But they had become accustomed to the shells now, and the bombproof was used for storage. My friend showed me where a shell, de scending along the side of the house, had knocked splinters off the weatherboard and torn off part of the sill of the window by which she had been sitting. While we sat talking of the events of the siege, looking toward Peters street, we saw a shell drop on the roof of a two-story house, roll down, and fall first on the portico and then to the ground. A lady and gentleman were standing in the door. I was surprised to see a man run down the steps and pick up the dangerous missile. I was not surprised to see him drop it as if it burned his hands. Perhaps he knew it was not a fuse shell. I had occasion to go to Atlanta several times while the siege was pending, but never found myself inclined to linger after the conclusion of my busi ness. Cavalry Fight at Newnan. Returning from one of my visits to Atlanta, when near Palmetto I learned that a body of Feder al cavalry had passed in the direction of Lafayette, pursued by Confederates. I galloped on toward Newnan, and soon came within sound of a battle. It was evidently in the direction in which I was riding. I pressed forward and arrived in the vi cinity of the conflict about the time it ended in the overthrow and dispersion of the Federal raid ers. That night I enjoyed, with many others, the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Ray, a couple distin guished by all those virtues that constitute the charm of social life. Their hearts and home were open to all who wore the gray. I had the satisfaction here of putting into prac tice such skill as I had acquired while serving as hospital steward in ante-bellum days, in redressing the wounded foot of a young brigadier general. It was not a very recent wound, and its condition was such that I could not but admire the nerve of one who, suffering as he must have suffered, had kept the saddle and led his command in the pursuit and in battle. Subsequently Col. Jiles Boggess, of Ross’s Bri gade, Texas Cavalry, related to me an account of a singular incident of this fight. In the movements incident to the engagement a regiment of Federal cavalry was thrust in between the Texas regiment, fighting on foot, and its horses. Colonel Boggess, on becoming aware of the situation, called the at tention of his men, and, having quietly informed them of the fact, added: “Now, boys, you’ve got to fight your way back to your horses or take it afoot. About face! Charge!” The way those Texans went through that line of Federal cavalry indicated a fondness for horseflesh that could have been acquired only by long and intimate association. The enemy’s cavalry were not accustomed to meeting the charge of men on foot armed with revolvers, and were so astounded that nearly all their shots went wild, and very soon they were flying from the remounted Texans. 5