LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. - ]^\-7f— ■ ^ riiap. . Capyright M..a^.__ •Shelf.. . P4t?. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. o ECLECTIC SCHOOL READINGS » OUR COUNTRY IN POEM AND PROSE ARRANGED FOR COLLATERAL AND SUPPLEMENTARY READING BY ELEANOR A. PERSONS TEACHER OF HISTORY, YONKERS PUBLIC SCHOOLS NEW YORK •:• CINCINNATI •:• CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY .. -.' -.. * .7 47059 Copyright, 1859, by ELEANOR A. PERSONS Per. Our Country w. i>. I TWO COPIES REGEIVKD. SECOND COPY. rvwv6 PREFACE. The pupils' interest in history depends largely upon the amount of bright, entertaining material brought for- ward during the recitation. This volume is presented to the public in the hope that it may place directly in the hands of pupils the supplemental literature needed. The author is indebted to Dr. William J. Milne, Mr. Charles E. Gorton, Dr. Edward Shaw, Miss Lucy A. Earle, and Miss Cora M. Hill for valuable suggestions. Selections from the works of Aldrich, Phcjebe Cary, Emerson, Fiske, Bret Harte, Holmes, Howells, Long- fellow, Stedman, Taylor, and Whittier are used by arrang- ment with and permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Company, the authorized publishers of the works of these authors. Acknowledgment is due also to the following publishers for permission to use copyrighted selections: Messrs. D. Appleton & Company, Mr. C. W. Bardeen, Messrs. Little, Brown & Company, Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, Messrs. Scott Toresman & Company, the New England Publish- ing Company, and the Educational Publishing Company. Eleanor A. Persons. 5 CONTENTS. PAGE Hiawatha Longfellow, 1 1 Supposed Speech of an Indian Chief Everett, 14 Indian Names Sigour/iey, 16 The Skeleton in Armor Longfellow, 19 Columbus Proetor, 21 The Return of Columbus 22 Ponce de Leon Butterworth, 25 Verrazani Butterworth, 28 De Soto Biitierworth, 29 Sir Humphrey Gilbert Longfelloiv, 31 Pocahontas Thackeray, 2iZ The Mayflower Everett, 34 The Landing of the Pilgrims Mrs. LLemans, 2,6 The Courtship of Miles Standish Longfellow, 39 Roger Williams '. Biitterworth, 41 The Coming of the Huguenots Moragiie, 42 Charles II and William Penn 44 T'he Quaker of the Olden Time Whittier, 47 Pentucket Whittier, 48 Song of Braddock's Men 51 Acadia Longfellow, 53 Death of Wolfe 54 America's Obligation to England Barre, 55 7 8 PAGF. New England's Chevy Chase Hale, 56 Lexington Holmes^ 60 The Revolutionary Alarm Bancroft, 62 Lexington Irving, 64 Concord Fight Emerson, 65 The Minuteman Cnrtis, 67 The Green Mountain Boys Bryant, 69 Bunker Hill Webster, 70 Warren's Address Fierpont, 72 The Sword of Bunker Hill ... .... Wallace, 73 Washington Byron, 74 Under the Old Elm Lowell, 75 Washington Parker, 77 Franklin's Epigrams, Etc 80 Boston Common — Three Pictures Holmes, 81 The Rising of '76 Read, 83 The American War Pitt, 86 Independence Bell 88 The Declaration of Independence Randall, 92 Nathan Hale Finch, 93 The Battle of Trenton 95 Carmen Bellicosum McMaster, 96 Occupation of Philadelphia Brown, 98 The Fate of John Burgoyne ... 100 The Surrender of Burgoyne Be Peyster, 102 At Valley Forge Brown, 103 The Storming of Stony Point Mrs. Grecnleaf, 104 Song of Marion's Men Bryant, 107 King's Mountain Simms, 109 Pulaski's Banner Longfellow, 1 1 1 The Dance Talleyrand and Arnold Andre to Washington Willis^ Washington's Sword and Franklin's Staff Adams, Yorktown Whitticr, Horologe of Liberty Lafayette Spr(7gi(c, My First Steamboat Fulton, A Pleasant Remark from Franklin Fiske, Patriotism ... . Scott, Preamble to the Constitution General Jackson at New Orleans . , . Gayarrc, The Battle of Lake Erie Hildreth, Perry's Victory Buena Vista Pike, Monterey ". Jlofiiian, Old Ironsides Holmes, Scott and the Veteran Taylor, The Picket Guard Beers, The Cavalry Charge Taylor, Ready . PJuvbe Cary, The Cruise of the Monitor Baker, Kearney at Seven Pines Stedma>i, Fredericksburg Aldrich, Keenan's Charge Lathrop, The Black Regiment Boker, John Burns of Gettysburg Harte, Address at Gettysburg. . . Lincoln, The Battle above the Clouds Hoiaells, The Soldier's Reprieve Mrs. Robbins, lO PAGE Sheridan's Ride RcaJ^ \ 68 Chickamauga Biittcrwortli^ 1 70 Music in Camp Thompson, 1 7 1 Roll Call Shcpard, i 73 Cavalry Song Stcdf/ia/i, 1 75 Sherman's March to the Sea Byers^ 176 The Blue and the Gray Fi/ic/i, 177 O Captain ! My Captain U'/iifnia/i, 179 Death of Lincoln Brya/it, 181 The Burning of Chicago Carlctoii^ 181' Custer's Last Charge Whittaker, 185 President Garfield Longfellow, 188 The Private Soldier Grant, 188 Death of Grant Whitman, 1 90 Centennial Hymn Whittier, 191 Havana Harbor Oliver, 192 A Ballad of Manila Bay Roberts, 1 94 The Men behind the Guns Shea, 196 Wheeler at Santiago Gordon, 199 "Don't Cheer, the Poor Devils are Dying" , . .Hubbell, 201 Boundaries of the United States Fiske, 202 The Schoolhouse Stands by the Flag Butterworth, 204 OUR councRv m poem ]\m pro$€. HIAWATHA. Longfellow. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (i 807-1 882), was one of the best loved of American poets. He was born in Maine, but the greater part of his life was spent at Cambridge, Mass. Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds or hears him in the wind. — Pope. Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook. Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. — CcDiipbell. From his wanderings far to eastward, From the regions of the morning. Homeward now returned lagoo, The great traveller, the great boaster, Full of new and strange adventures, Marvels many and many wonders. And the people of the village Listened to him as he told them Of his marvellous adventures; Laughing, answered him in this wise; "Ugh! it is indeed Tagoo! No one else beholds such wonders! " He had seen, he said, a water 12 Bigger than the Big Sea Water, Broader than the Gitche Gumee, Bitter so that none could drink it! At each other looked the warriors, Looked the women at each other, Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so! Kaw! " they said, " it cannot be so! " O'er it, said he, o'er this water Came a great canoe with pinions, A canoe with wings came flying, Bigger than a grove of pine trees. Taller than the tallest tree tops! And the old men and the women Looked and tittered at each other; " Kaw! " they said, " we don't believe it! " From its mouth, he said, to greet him. Came Waywassimo, the lightning, Came the thunder, Annemeekee! And the warriors and the women Laughed aloud at poor lagoo; " Kaw! " they said, " what tales you tell us! ' In it, said he, came a people. In the great canoe with pinions Came, he said, a hundred warriors; Painted white were all their faces And with hair their chins were covered! And the warriors and the women Laughed and shouted in derision. Like the ravens on the tree tops, Like the crows upon the hemlocks. '' Kaw! " they said, " what lies you tell us! Do not think that we believe them! " Only Hiawatha lausfhed not, But he gravely spake and answered 13 To their jeering and their jesting: " True is ah lagoo tehs us; I have seen it in a vision, Seen the great canoe with pinions, Seen the people with white faces. Seen the coming of this bearded People of the wooden vessel From the regions of the morning. From the shining land of Wabun. " Gitche Manito, the Mighty, The Great Spirit, the Creator, Sends them hither on his errand, Sends them to us with his message. " Let us welcome, then, the strangers, Hail them as our friends and brothers. And the heart's right hand of friendship Give them when they come to see us. Gitche Manito, the Mighty, Said this to me in my vision. '' I beheld, too, in that vision All the secrets of the future. Of the distant days that shall be. I l^eheld the westward marches Of the unknown, crowded nations, All the land was full of people. Restless, struggling, toiling, striving. Speaking many tongues, yet feeling But one heart-beat in their bosoms. In the woodlands rang their axes. Smoked their towns in all the valleys, Over all the lakes and rivers Rushed their great canoes of thunder, " Then a darker, drearier vision Passed before me vague and cloudlike ; 14 I beheld our nation scattered, All forgetful of my counsels, Weakened, warring with each other: Saw the remnants of our people, Sweeping westward, wild and woful. Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, Like the withered leaves in Autumn." Hiawatha — The Wise Man, the Teacher. Gitche Gtanee — Big Sea Water — the Indian names for Lake Superior. Wabun — East Wind. Gitche Manito — Great Spirit. Read The Bridal of Pennacook. — Whittier; The Indians — Spragiie. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. Everett. Edward Everett (1794-1865), a fine example of the scholar in politics, was born in Massachusetts. In the course of his life he was Governor of Massachusetts, President of Harvard Col- lege, U. S. Minister to England, Secretary of State and U. S. Senator. " White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my life. In those woods, where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide in my bark canoe; by those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food; on these fer- tile meadows I will still plant my corn. " Stranger, the land is mine. I gave not my con- sent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent 15 me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did. " The stranger came, a timid suppliant, and asked to lie down on the red man's bearskin, and warm him- self at the red man's fire, and have a little piece of land, to raise corn for his women and children; — and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, ' It is mine.' " Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. " If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west? — the fierce Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. " Shall I fly to the east? — the great water is before me. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I die; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee. "Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction; for that alone I thank thee. And now take heed to thy steps: the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle past thee; when thou Hest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. " The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood ; thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalping knife; thou shalt build and I will burn; — till the white man or the Indian per- ish from the land." i6 INDIAN NAMES. Slgourtiey. Lydia Huntley Sigourney (1791-1865) was born in Connecticut. This is one of iier best historical poems. Ye say they all ha\'e passed away, That noble race and brave; That their light canoes have vanished From off the crested wave; That 'mid the forests where they roamed, There rings no hunter's shout; But their names are on yotir waters, Ye may not wash them out. They're where Ontario's billow Like ocean's surge is curled. Where strong Niagara's thunders wake The echo of the world. Where red Missouri bringeth Rich tribute from the West, And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps On green Virginia's breast. Ye say their conelike cabins, That clustered o'er the vale. Have fled away like withered leaves Before the autumn gale; But their memory liveth on your hills, Their baptism on your shore, Your everlasting rivers speak Their dialect of yore. Old Massachusetts wears it Upon her lordly crown, 17 And broad Ohio bears it Amid his young renown; Connecticut has wreathed it Where her quiet foHage waves; And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse Through all her ancient caves. Wachusett hides its lingering voice Within his rocky heart; And Alleghany graves its tone Throughout his lofty chart; Monadnock, on his forehead hoar, Doth seal the sacred trust; Your mountains build their monument, Though ye destroy their dust. Ye call these red-ljrowed brethren The insects of an hour, Crushed like the noteless worm amid The regions of their power; Ye drive them from their fathers' land, Ye break of faith the seal; But can ye from the court of Heaven Exclude their last appeal? Ye see their unresisting tribes, With toilsome step and slow, On through the trackless desert pass, A caravan of woe; Think ye the Eternal Ear is deaf? His sleepless vision dim? Think ye the soul's blood may not cry From that far land to Him? I'F.R. OUR COUNTKY — 2 A Viking, 19 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. Longfclloiv. A suit of armor, supposed to have belonged to one of the Northmen, was unearthed near the old tower at Newport, R. I. The spirit of the warrior speaks to the poet. " I was a Viking old! My deeds, though manifold, No Scald in song has told, No Saga taught thee! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse. Else dread a dead man's curse! For this I sought thee. " Far in the Northern land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon; And, wath my skates fast bound, Skimm'd the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. " But wdien I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew. O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped. Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders, 20 " Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor. " She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, So, though she blush'd and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the seamew's flight. Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded? " Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloudlike we saw the shore Stretching' to leeward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. "There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears. She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she. lies; 21 Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another! " Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful! In the \ast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear. Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful! Read The Norsemen- — TF//////V;-,- Vinland — Mon/go/nefy. COLUMBUS. 1492. Edna Dean Proctor. "Skilled in the globe and sphere, he gravely stands, And with his compass measures seas and lands." I will wear these chains as a memento of the gratitude of Princes. — Columbus. " God helping me," cried Columbus, " though fair or foul the breeze, T will sail and sail till I find the land beyond the western seas! " So an eagle might leave its eyrie, bent, though the blue should bar. To fold its wings on the loftiest peak of an undiscov- ered star! And into the vast and void abyss he followed the set- ting sun; 22 Nor gulfs nor gales could fright his sails, till the won- drous quest was done. But Oh! the weary vigils, the murmuring, torturing days. Till the Pinta's gun, and the shout of " Land! " set the black night ablaze! Till the shore lay fair as Paradise in morning's balm and gold, And a world was won from the conquered deep, and the tale of the a^'es told! THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS. DON GOMEZ AND HIS SECRETARY. Don Gomez. What! What is this you tell me? Columbus returned? A new world discovered? Im- possible, Sec. It is even so, sir. A courier arrived at the palace but an hour since with the intelligence. Colum- bus was driven by stress of weather to anchor in the Tagus. All Portugal is in a ferment of enthusiasm, and all Spain will be equally excited soon. The sensa- tion is prodigious. Don G. Oh, it is a trick! It must be a trick! Sec. But he has brought home the proofs of his visit, — gold and precious stones, strange plants and animals; and, above all, specimens of a new race of men, copper-colored, with straight hair. Don G. Still I say, a trick! He has been coasting along the African shore, and there collected a few curi- osities, which he is palming off for proofs of his pre- tended discovery. T ■ W/ "'«!sr'i::i|i!|i[i!iiiii;!;:;;;G;E'iiii[ ','|i ' : ' 't|/| ,t 24 Sec. It is a little singular that all his men should be leagued with him in keei)ing up so unprofitable a false- hood. Don G. But 'tis against reason, against common sense, that such a discovery should be made. Sec. King John of Portugal has received him with royal magnificence, has listened to his accounts, and is persuaded that they are true. Don G. We shall see, we shall see. Look you, sir, a plain matter-of-fact man, such as I, is not to be taken in by any such preposterous story. This vaunted discovery will turn out no discovery at all. Sec. The king and queen have given orders for prep- arations on the most magnificent scale for the recep- tion of Columbus. Don G. What delusion! Her Majesty is so credu- lous! A practical common sense man. like myself, can find no points of sympathy in her nature. Sec. The Indians on board the returned vessels are said to be unlike any known race of men. Don G. Very unreliable all that! I take the common sense view of the thing. I am a matter-of-fact man; and do you rememlier what I say, it will all turn out a trick! The crews may have been deceived. Colum- bus may have steered a southerly course instead of a westerly. Anything is probable, rather than that a coast to the westward of us has been discovered. Sec. I saw the courier, who told me he had conversed with all the sailors; and they laughed at the suspicion that there could be any mistake about the discovery, or that any other than a westerly course had been steered. Don G. Still I say, a trick! An unknown coast reached by steering west? Impossible.! The earth a 25 globe, and men standing with their heads down in space? Folly! An ignorant sailor from Genoa in the right, and all onr learned doctors and philosophers in the wrong? Nonsense! I'm a matter-of-fact man, sir. I will believe what 1 can see, and handle, and understand. Ijut as far as believing in the antipodes, or that the earth is round, or that Columbus has discovered land to the west — Ring the bell, sir; call my carriage; I will go to the palace and undeceive the king. As a matter of fact, the people of Spain did not know at that time that Columbus had discovered a new world. They sup- posed he had simply found a new route to the Indies. Read Columbus — Lowell; Columbus — • Tennyson. PONCE DE LEON. I 5 12. Biitterworlh. Hezekiah Butterworth (1839- .), author, was born at Warren, R. I. Read his Songs of History. There came to De Leon, the sailor, Some Indian sages, who told Of a region so bright that the waters Were sprinkled with islands of gold. And they added: "The leafy Bimini, A fair land of grottos and bowers, Is there; and a wonderful fountain Upsprings from its gardens of flowers. That fountain gives life to the dying. And youth to the aged restores; They flourish in beauty eternal. Who set but their foot on its shores! " 26 Then answered De Leon, the sailor: " I am withered, and wrinkled and old; I would rather discover that fountain Than a country of diamonds and gold." Away sailed De Leon, the sailor, Away with a wonderful glee, Till the birds were more rare in the azure, The dolphins more rare in the sea; Away from the shady Bahamas, Over waters no sailor had seen, Till again on his wondering vision Rose clustering islands of green. Still onward he sped till the breezes Were laden with odors, and lo! A country embedded in flowers, A country with rivers aglow! More bright than the sunny Antilles, More fair than the shady Azores. " Thank the Lord! " said De Leon, the sailor, As he feasted his eyes on the shores, " We have come to a region, my brothers, M'ore lovely than earth, of a truth; And here is the life-giving fountain, The beautiful fountain of youth." Then landed De Leon, the sailor. Unfurled his old banner, and sung; But he felt very wrinkled and withered. All around was so fresh and so young. The palms, ever verdant, were blooming. Their blossoms e'en margined the seas. O'er the streams of the forests, bright flowers Hung deep from the branches of trees. 27 " 'Tis Easter," exclaimed the old sailor; His heart was with rapture aflame; And he said: " Be the name of this region As Florida given to fame. 'Tis a fair, a delectable country. More lovely than earth, of a truth; I soon shall partake of the fountain, — • The beautiful fountain of youth! " But wandered De Leon, the sailor, In search of that fountain in vain; No waters were there to restore him To freshness and beauty again. And his anchor he lifted, and murmured, As the tears gathered fast in his eye, " I must leave this fair land of the flowers, Go back o'er the ocean and die." Then back by the dreary Tortugas, And back by the shady Azores, He was borne on the storm-smitten waters To the calm of his own native shores. And that he grew older and older, His footsteps enfeebled gave proof; Still he thirsted in dreams for the fountain, - The beautiful fountain of youth. One day the old sailor lay dying On the shores of a tropical isle. And his heart was enkindled with rapture, And his face lighted up with a smile. He thought of the sunny Antilles, He thought of the shady Azores, He thought of the dreamv Bahamas, He thought of fair Florida's shores. 28 And, when in his mind he passed over His -wonderful travels of old, He thought of the heavenly country. Of the city of jasper and gold. " Thank the Lord," said De Leon, the sailor. " Thank the Lord for the light of the truth, I now am approaching the fountain, — The beautiful fountain of youth." The cabin was silent: at twilight Thev heard the birds singing a psalm, And the wind of the ocean low sighing Through the groves of the orange and palm. The sailor still lay on his pallet, The cool sail spread o'er him a roof. His soul had gone forth to discover The beautiful fountain of youth. VERRAZANI. 1524. Biitlcrivorih. From the palm land's shades to the lands of pines, A Florentine crossed the Western sea; He sought new lands and golden mines, And he sailed 'neath the flag of the Fleur-de-lis. He saw at last, in the sunset's gold, A wonderful island, so fair to view. That it seemed like the Island of Roses old That his eves in his wondering boyhood knew. He rounded the shores of the summer sea. And he said, as his feet the white sands pressed. 29 And he planted the flag of the Fleiir-de-hs: "I have come to the Island of Rhodes in the West." While the mariners go, and the mariners come, And sing on lone waters the olden odes Of the Grecian seas and the ports of Rome, They ever will think of the roses of Rhodes. To the isle of the West he gave the name Of the isle he had loved in the Grecian sea; And the Florentine went away as he came, 'Neath the silver flag of the Fleur-de-lis. Fleur-de-lis — The emblem of France. Rhodes — An island in the Mediterranean Sea. DE SOTO. Butterworth. De Soto landed at Tampa and began the ill-fated expedition in southern United States. He discovered the Mississippi (1541) and was buried in it. And this is Tampa: yonder lies the bay. That Spanish cavaliers Enchanted, saw' upon their unknown way In far and faded years. De Soto's hands lie deep beneath the wave, Dust are his cavaliers; The cypressed waters murmuring o'er his grave, The silent pilot hears. In that far river where they laid him down, Where low the ringdoves sigh. 31 And oft the full moon drops her silver crown From night's meridian sky. SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. Longfellow. Sir Humphrey Gilbert was lost at sea when returning to Eng- land from an unsuccessful attempt at settlement in America (1583). Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice Glisten in the sun; On each side, like pennons wide, Flashing crystal streamlets run. His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain; But where he passed there were cast Leaden shadows o'er the main. Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore. Then, alas! the land-wind failed. Alas! the land-wind failed. And ice-cold grew the night; And nevermore, on sea or shore. Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 32 He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; " Do not fear! Heaven is as near," He said, " by water as by land! " In the first watch of the night, Withont a signal's sound, Out of the sea, mysteriously, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds; Every mast as it passed, Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize. At midnight black and cold! As of a rock was the shock; Heavily the ground swell rolled. Southward through day and dark. They drift in close embrace. With mist and rain, o'er the open main; Yet there seems no change of place. Southward, forever southward, Thev drift through dark and day; And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream Sinking, vanish all away. 35 POCAHONTAS. SETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA, l6oj. Tliackcray. William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) was one of the greatest English novelists. Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight; Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds. As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the funeral pyre. And the torch of death they light; Ah! 'tis hard to die by fire! Who will shield the captive knight? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd; Cold the victim's mien and proud. And his breast is bared to die. Who wall shield the fearless heart? Who avert the murderous blade? From the throng with sudden start. See, there springs an Indian maid. Quick she stands before the knight: " Loose the chain, unbind the ring! T am daughter of the king. And I claim the Indian right! " PER OUR COUNTRY "X 34 Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife; Fondly to his heart she cHngs, And her bosom guards his Hfe ! In the woods of Powhatan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires, How a daughter of their sires Saved a captive Englishman. THE MAYFLOWER. Everett. And England sent her men, of men the chief. Who taught these sires of Empire yet to be, To plant the tree of life, — to plant fair Freedom's tree. — Campbell. Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous vessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight of the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffoca- tion in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursu- ing a circuitous route; and now, driven in fury before the raging tempest, in their scarcely seaworthy vessel. The awful voice of the storm howls through the rig- ging. The laboring masts seem straining from their base; the dismal sound of the pump is heard; the ship leaps, as it were, madly from billow to billow; the ocean breaks, and settles with ingulfing floods over the float- 35 ing deck, and beats with deadening weight against the staggered vessel. I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after a five-months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Ply- mouth, weak and exhausted from the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity of their shipmaster for a draught of beer on board, drinking nothing but water on shore, without shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile tribes. Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any principle of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful of adventurers. Tell me, man of mili- tary science, in how many months were they all swept off by the thirty savage tribes enumerated within the boundaries of New England? Tell me, politician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on which your con- ventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on this distant coast? Student of history, compare for me the baffled pro- jects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adven- tures of other times, and find the parallel of this. Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads of women and children? Was it hard labor and spare meals? Was it disease? Was it the tomahawk? Was it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enter- prise, and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the recollection of the loved and left beyond the sea? Was it some or all of these united that hurried this for- saken company to their melancholy fate? And is it possible that neither of these causes, that not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope? Is it possible that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so 36 worthy, not so much of achniration as of pity, there have gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, a reahty so important, a promise yet to be fulfihed so glorious? THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. Mrs. Heina/is. Felicia Hemans (i 794-1 835), was born at Liverpool, England. Look now abroad — another race has filled These populous borders — wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled ; The land is full of harvests and green meads. — Bryan/. This beautiful poem was written in commemoration of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, December 22, 1620. After a long and perilous voyage across the Atlantic, this '■ band of exiles moored their bark " in Massachusetts Bay and landed on Ply- mouth Rock. The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er. When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums. And the trumpet that sings of fame; Z7 Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear: They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amid the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam. And the rocking pines of the forest roared: This was their welcome home. There were men watli hoary hair Amid that pilgrim band; Why had they come to wither there. Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found. Freedom to worship God! 3^ Puritans Going to Church. 39 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. Longfellow. " He's of stature somewhat low ; Your hero should be always tall, you know." Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the cotuicil, Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming; While on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake glittered, Filled, like a quiver, with arrows: a signal and challenge of warfare. Brought by an Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiance. This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace. Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting; One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder, Judging it wise and well that some at least be con- verted. Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior! Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart captain of Plymouth, 40 Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, " What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses? Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils? Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon! " Then he advanced to the table, and thus continued dis- coursing: " Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it per- taineth. War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous, Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge! " Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden con- temptuous gesture, Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage. Saying, in thundering tones: " Here, take it! this is your answer! " Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage, Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent. Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. Ho7vitzcr — Cannon. 41 Read The Tvvent3^-second of December — Bryant, The Em- barkation — Doteii; The Pilgrim Fathers — Pia-pont; The Pil- grim's V^ision — Hobiics; The Mayflowers — Whitticr; Interview with Miles Standish —Lowell. ROGER WILLIAMS. 1636. Buticrworih. Why do I sleep amid the snows? \\' hy do the pine boughs cover me? While dark the wind of winter blows Across the Narragansett's sea. sense of right! O sense of right! Whate'er my lot in life may be, Thou art to me God's inner light, And these tired feet must follow thee. Yes, still my feet must onward go, With nothing for my hope but prayer, Amid the winds, amid the snow, And trust the ravens of the air. But though alone, and grieved at heart. Bereft of human brotherhood, 1 trust the whole, and n.ot the part, And know that Providence is good. Self-sacrifice is never lost, But bears the seed of its reward: They who for others leave the most. For others gain the most from God. 42 sense of right! I must obey, And hope and trust, whate'er betide; 1 cannot always know my way, But I can always know my Guide. And so for me the winter blows Across the Narragansett's sea. And so I sleep beneath the snows, And so the pine boughs cover me. THE COMING OF THE HUGUENOTS. Moragfie. William C. Moragne (1816-1872) was a descendant of the Huguenots. He lived at Abbeville, S. C. Individuals, led on by an ambitious desire to improve their personal fortunes, have abandoned the home of their fathers. None of these motives prompted the Huguenot ancestors of the people of Carolina to leave the delightful hills and valleys of their native France. They were no instruments in the hands of ambitious princes for the increase of their wealth or power. They did not seek a home in America through mere love of adventure, or the ordinary inducements of pecuniary gain. They sought an asylum from persecution, a home in which they might enjoy, unmolested, the sweets of political and personal liberty. They longed to bear away their altars and their faith to a land of real freedom, a land allowing free scope to the exercise of conscience in worship of their Maker. Their name is synonymous with patient endurance, noble fortitude, and high religious purpose. In revert- 43 ing to the period when a plain but high-soiiled, ener- getic people were driven, by persecutions of the Old World, to take refuge in this uncultivated wild, we trace the origin of these people, and tread upon the ashes of the pioneers of religion, of domestic peace, and social virtue. To revive the memories of the generous dead, to hold up to praise and emulation ancestral virtue, are grateful tasks, which seldom fail to achieve lasting and beneficial results. We look back to our fathers for lessons of wisdom and piety. We take pleasure in recalling their brave deeds and their exalted virtue. We like to frequent their walks and haunts. With pleasure we sit around the firesides at which they sat, and worship before the altars at which they worshipped; and who will quarrel with this just principle of our nature? Our Huguenot ancestors came to this country in the complete armor of grown up, civilized men. They had been raised under the auspices of an old and refined civilization. Their minds and hearts had undergone the severest discipline of an improved age and of bitter experience. Prohibited from acting in any branch of the learned profession, not even allowed to pursue the calling of any business by which to support their families, taking shelter in deserts and forests, with property confiscated, and religious worship of their choice interdicted, they quit their native land. Quiet and unobtrusive in their manners, faithful to their king, obedient to the civil and political laws of their country, they begged only for freedom in religious worship. No violence, no con- tempt of their rights, no harsh vituperation, could impair their fealty to their sovereign in all things per- 44 laiiiing to the legitimate claims of his station. Over his losses they lamented. He received from them sin- cere condolence for his misfortunes and fervent prayers for his happiness. His heart was steeled against such generous, simple, and truly loyal worship, and their cup of bitterness was full. The fiat of injured nature went forth. Resolved to endure no longer the oppressions of a home they loved so fondly, they prepared, even as a child still loves a parent who has mercilessly cast him upon the broad bosom of the world, friendless and penniless, to bid adieu to all they loved in their dear, native France, and find in America a new country, a real home. CHARLES II AND WILLIAM PENN. 1682. King diaries. Well, friend William! I have sold you a noble province in North America; but still, I suppose, you have no thoughts of going thither yourself. Pcnii. Yes; I have, I assure thee, friend Charles; and I am just come to bid thee farewell. K. C. What! venture yourself among the savages of North America! Why, man, what security have you that you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours after setting foot on their shores? P. The best security in the world. K. C. T doubt that, friend William; I have no idea of any securitv against those cannibals but in a regiment of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets. And mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my good- will for you and your family, to whom I am under obligations, I will not send a single soldier with you. 45 r. 1 want none of tliy soldiers, Charles; I depend on something" better than thy soldiers. K. C. Ah! what may that be? P. Why, I depend on themselves; on the working of their own hearts; on their notions of justice; on their moral sense. A'. C. A fine thing, this same moral sense, no doubt; but I fear you will not find nnich of it among" the Indians of North America. P. And why not among them, as well as others? K. C. Because if they had possessed any, they would not have treated my subjects so barliarously as they have done. P. That is no proof of the contrary, friend Charles. Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects first went to North America, they found these poor people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. Every day, they would watch for them to come ashore, and hasten to meet them, and feast them on the best fish, and \enison, and corn, which were all they had. In return for this hospitality of the savages, as w^e call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on their country and rich hunting grounds, for farms for themselves. Now, is it to be wondered at, that these much injured ])eople should have been driven to desperation by such injustice; and that, burning with revenge, they should have committed some excesses? K. C. Well, then, I hope you will not complain when they come to treat you in tlie same manner, as they probably will. P. I am not afraid of it. K. C. Ah! how will you avoid it? You mean to get their hunting grounds too, I suppose? 46 P. Yes; but not by driving these poor people away from them. K. C. No, indeed? How then will you get their lands? P. I mean to buy their lands of them. K. C. Buy their lands of them? Why, man, you have already bought them of me. P. Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too; but I did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou hadst any right to their lands. K. C. How, man? no right to their lands? P. No, friend Charles, no right, no right at all: what right hast thou to their lands? K. C. Why, the right of discovery, to be sure; the right which the Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one another. P. The right of discovery? A strange kind of right, indeed. Now, suppose, friend Charles, that some canoe load of these Indians, crossing the sea, and discovering this island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think of it? K. C. Why — why — why — I must confess, I should think it a piece of great impudence in them. P. Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a Christian prince too, do that which thou so utterly con- demnest in these people, whom thou callest savages? Yes, friend Charles; and suppose, again, that these Indians, on thy refusal to give up thy island of Great Britain, were to make war on thee, and, having weapons more destructive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects, and drive the rest away — wouldst thou not thing it horribly cruel? 47 K. C. I must say, friend William, that I should; how can I say otherwise? P. Well, then, how can I, who call myself a Christian, do what I should abhor even in the heathen? No. I will not do it. But I will buy the right of the proper owners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this, I shall imitate God Himself, in His justice and mercy, and thereby insure His blessing on my colony, if I should ever live to plant one in North America. THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME. IV/uV/ier. John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) was born in Haverhill, Mass. He devoted himself to social and political reforms. He had broad and deep sympathies with all human beings, and a keen appreciation of all that is characteristic in American life. The Quaker of the olden time! How calm and firm and true. Unspotted by its wrong and crime. He walked the dark earth through. The lust of power, the love of gain. The thousand lures of sin Arotmd him, had no power to stain The purity within. With that deep insight which detects All great things in the small. And knows each man's life affects The spiritual life of all, He walked by faith and not by sight, By love and not by law; 48 The presence of the wrong or right He rather felt than saw. He felt that wrong with wrong partakes, That nothing stands alone, That whoso gives the motive, makes His brother's sin his own. And pausing not for doubtful choice Of evils great or small, He listened to that inward voice Which called away from all. O Spirit of that early day, So pure and strong and true, Be with us in the narrow way Our faithful fathers knew. Give strength the evil to forsake. The cross of Truth to bear, And love and reverent fear to make Our daily lives a prayer! PENTUCKET. 1708. Whitfier. How sweetly on the wood-girt town The mellow light of sunset shone! Each small, bright lake, whose waters still Mirror the forest and the hill, Reflected from its waveless breast The beauty of a cloudless west. Glorious as if a glimpse were given Within the western gates of heaven, 49 Left, by the spirit of the star Of sunset's holy hour, ajar! Beside the river's tranquil flood The dark and low-walled dwellings stood, Where many a rood of open land Stretched up antl down on either hand. With corn-leaves waving freshly green The thick and blackened stumps between. Behind, un]:>roken, deep and dread, The wild, untraveled forest spread. Back to those mountains, white and cold, Of which the Indian trapper told. Upon whose summits never yet Was mortal foot in safety set. Quiet and calm, without a fear Of danger darkly lurking near. The weary laborer left his plow. The milkmaid carolled by her cow; From cottage door and household hearth Rose songs of praise, or tones of mirth. At length the murmur died away. And silence on that village lay, — — ■ So slept Pompeii, tower and hall. Ere the quick earthquake swallowed all, Undreaming of the fiery fate Which made its dwellings desolate! Hours passed away. By moonlight sped The l\Terrimac a^ong his bed. Bathed in the pallid luster, stood Dark cottage-wall and rock and wood. Silent, beneath that tranquil beam, PER. OUR COUNTRY — J. 50 As the hushed grouping of a dream. Yet on the still air crept a sound, — No bark of fox, nor rabbit's bound, Nor stir of wings, nor waters flowing, Nor leaves in midnight breezes blowing. Was that the tread of many feet. Which downward from the hillside beat? What forms were those which darkly stood Just on the margin of the wood? — Charred tree-stumps in the moonlight dim, Or paling rude, or leafless limb? No, — through the trees fierce eyeballs glowed Dark human forms in moonshine showed, Wild from their native wilderness, With painted limbs and battle-dress! A yell the dead might wake to hear Swelled on the night air, far and clear; Then smote the Indian tomahawk On crashing door and shattering lock; Then rang the rifle-shot, — and then The shrill death-scream of stricken men, — Sank the red axe in woman's brain. And childhood's cry arose in vain. Bursting through roof and window came, Red, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame; And blended fire and moonlight glared On still dead men and scalp knives bared. The morning sun looked brightly through The river willows, wet with dew. No sound of combat filled the air, 51 No shout was heard, — nor gunshot there; Yet stin the thick and suhen smoke From smouklering ruins slowly broke; And on the greensward many a stain, And, here and there, the mangled slain, Told how that midnight bolt had sped, Pentucket, on thy fated head! Even now the villager can tell Where Rolfe beside his hearthstone fell. Still show the door of wasting oak. Through which the fatal death-shot broke, And point the curious stranger where De Rouville's corse lay grim and bare; Whose hideous head, in death still feared, Bore not a trace of hair or beard, — And still, within the churchyard ground, Heaves darkly up the ancient mound. Whose grass-grown surface overlies The victims of that sacrifice. Pompeii — A city of Italy, destroyed and buried by an erup- tion of Vesuvius, A. D. 79. De Roiiville — A French officer. SONG OF BRADDOCK'S MEN. FORT DUQUESNE, 1755. Anon. " Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colors wave ! And either victory, or else a grave." To arms, to arms! my jolly grenadiers! Hark how the drums do roll it along! To horse, to horse! with valiant good cheer; 52 We'll meet our proud foe before it is long. Let not your courage fail you; Be valiant, stout, and bold; And it will soon avail you, My loyal hearts of gold. Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah! 'Tis nobly done, — the day's our own — huzzah, huzzah ! March on, march on! brave Braddock leads the fore- most; The battle is begun, as you may fairly see, Stand firm, be bold, and it will soon be over. We'll soon gain the field from our proud enemy. A squadron now appears, my boys, If that they do but stand! Boys, never fear, be sure you mind The word of command. Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah! 'Tis nobly done, — the day's our own — huzzah, huzzah! See how, see how, they break and fly before us! See how they are scattered all over the plain! Now, now — • now, now our country will adore us! In peace and in triumph, boys, when we return again! Then laurels shall our glory crown For all our actions l)old: The hills shall echo all around. My loyal hearts of gold. Huzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah! 'Tis nobly done, — the day's our own — huzzah, huzzah! 53 ACADIA. Longfellow. In the xA.cadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, seckided, still, the little village of Grand Pre Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks with- out number. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, Shut out the turl^ulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the nortliward Blomidon rose, and the forests okb and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. This is the forest primeval; Init where are the hearts that beneath it I^eaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — 54 Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand Pre. Acadia — Formerly New Brunswick and the adjacent islands, now Nova Scotia. Basin of Minas — In Acadia. Gratid Pre — Village in Acadia. DEATH OF WOLFE. QUEBEC, 1759. A7ton. With foes surrounded, midst the shades of death. These were the last words that closed the warrior's breath: " My eyesight fails! — but does the foe retreat? If they retire, I'm happy in my fate! " A generous chief, to whom the hero spoke. Cried, "Sir, they fly! — their ranks entirely broke; Whilst thy bold troops o'er slaughtered heaps advance, And deal due vengeance on the sons of France." The pleasing truth recalls his parting soul, And from his lips these dying accents stole: " I'm satisfied! " he said, then winged his way, Guarded by angels, to celestial day. 55 AMERICA'S OBLIGATION TO ENGLAND. Barrt. This is an extract from a speech in the British House of Commons, by Col. Isaac Barre (i 726-1 802), who was one of the warmest friends of the American colonists. He had himself visited America, having taken part in the French and Indian war, and having been adjutant general of Wolfe's army, that assailed Quebec. This fact will explain an allusion in the last part of the speech. The honorable member has asked, " And now will these Americans, children planted by our care, nour- ished up by our indulgence, and protected by our arms, — will they grudge to contribute their mite?" They planted by your care! No! Your oppressions planted them in America. They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they exposed themselves to almost all the hardships to which human nature is liable; and yet, actuated by principles of true English liberty, our American brethren met these hardships with pleasure, compared with those they suf- fered in their own country from the hands of those that should have been their friends. They nourished by your indulgence! They grew by your neglect! As soon as you began to care about them, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule them, — men whose behavior, on many occasions, has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within them. They protected by your arms! They have nobly taken up arms in your defense: have exerted a valor, amid their constant and laborious industry, for the defense of a country whose frontier was drenched in blood, while 56 its interior parts yielded all its little savings to your emolument. And, believe me, the very same spirit of freedom which actuated that people at first will accom- pany them still. Heaven knows I do not at this time speak from motives of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine sentiments of my heart. However superior to me in general knowledge and experience the respectable body of this House may be, yet I claim to know more of America than most of you, having seen that country, and been conversant with its affairs. The people, I believe, are as truly loyal as any su1)ject^s the king has; but they are a people jealous of their liberties, and who, if those liberties should ever be violated, will vindicate them to the last drop of their blood. NEW ENGLAND'S CHEVY CHASE. Hale. Edward Everett Hale (1822- ), a famous Boston preacher and author. One of his most popular works is "The Man Without a Country." " The love of liberty with life is ^iven, And life itself the inferior gift of heaven." 'Twas the dead of night. By the pine knot's red light Brooks lay half asleep, when he heard the alarm — Only this, and no more, from a voice at the door: '' The redcoats are out and have passed Phipps's farm!" Brooks was booted and spurred, he said never a word; Took his horn from its peg, and his gun from the rack; 57 To the cold midnight air he led out his white mare, Strapped the girths and the bridle and sprang to her back. Up the north country road at her full pace she strode, Till Brooks reined her up at John Tarbell's to say: " We have got the alarm — they have left Phipps's farm; You rouse the East Precinct, and Pll go this way." John called his hired man, and they harnessed the span; They roused Abram Garfield, and Garfield called me. " Turn out right away, let no minuteman stay — The redcoats have landed at Phipps's! " says he. By the Powder House green seven others fell in; At Nahum's the men from the sawmill came down; So that when Jabez Bland gave his word of command And said, " Forward march! " there marched forward the town. Parson Wilderspin stood by the side of the road. And he took off his hat, and he said, " Let us pray! O Lord, God of might, let thine angels of light Lead thy children to-night to the glories of day! And let thy stars fight all the foes of the right As the stars fought of old against Sisera." And from heaven's high arch those stars blessed our march Till the last of them faded in twilight away. And with morning's bright beam, by the bank of the stream, Half the country marched in, and we heard Davis say: 58 " On the king's own highway I may travel all day, And no man hath warrant to stop me," says he, " I've no man that's afraid, and I'll march at their head," Then he turned to the boys — "Forward march! Follow me." And we marched as he said, and the piper he played The old " White Cockade," and he played it right well. We saw Davis fall dead, but no man was afraid — That bridge we'd have had, though a thousand men fell. This opened the play, and it lasted all day, We made Concord too hot for the redcoats to stay. Down the Lexington way we stormed — black, white and gray; We were first at the feast and were last in the fray. They would turn in dismay as red wolves turn at bay. They levelled, they fired, they charged up the road; Cephas Willard fell dead, he was shot in the head As he knelt by Aunt Prudence's well sweep to load. John Danforth was hit just iji Lexington street, John Bridge at the lane where you cross Beaver falls; And Winch and the Snows just above John Monroe's — Swept away by one sweep of the big cannon balls. I took Bridge on my knee, but he said: " Don't mind me ; Fill your horn from mine — let me lie as I be. Our fathers," says he, " that their sons might be free. Left the king on his throne and came over the sea; 59 And that man is a knave or a fool who to save His hfe for a minute would live like a slave." Well ! all would not do. There were men good as new — From Rumford, from Saugus, from towns far away, Who filled up quick and well for each soldier that fell, And we drove them, and drove them, and drove them all day. We knew every one it was war that begun When that morning's marching was only half done. In the hazy twilight at the coming of night I crowded three buckshot and one bullet down. 'Twas my last charge of lead, and I aimed her and said: " Good luck to you, lobsters, in old Boston town." In a barn at Milk Row Ephraim Bates and Thoreau And Baker and Abram and I made a bed ; We had mighty sore feet, and we'd nothing to eat, But we'd driven the redcoats, and Amos, he said: " It's the first time," said he, " that it's happened to me To march to the sea by, this road where we've come; But confound this whole day, but we'd all of us say We'd rather have spent it this way than to home." The hunt had begun with the dawn of the sun. And night saw the wolf driven back to his den. And .never since then in the memorv of man, Has the old Bay State seen such a hunting again. Che7>y Chase — A famous ballad describing an aftray between the Douglas and the Percy on the Scottish Border. 6o LEXINGTON APRIL 19, 1775. Homics. Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894), was for many years a pro- fessor at Harvard. He was a brilliant and versatile writer both in verse and in prose. " O ! how great for our country to die, In the front rank to perish, Firm with our breast to the foe Victory's shout in our ears." Slowly the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, Bright on the dewy buds glistened the stm, When from his cotich while his children were sleeping, Rose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun. Waving her golden veil Over the silent dale, Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire; Hushed was his parting sigh, While from his noble eye Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire. On the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing, Calmly the firstborn of glory have met. Hark! the death-volley around them is ringing! Look! with their lifeblood the young grass is wet! Faint is the feeble breath, Mtu'mtiring low in death, — ■ " Tell to otir sons how their fathers have died; " Nerveless the iron hand. Raised for its native land, Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side. 6i Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, From their far hamlets the yeomanry come; As through the storm-clouds the thunderburst rolling, Circles the beat of the mustering drum. Fast on the soldier's path Darken the waves of wrath, Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall; Red glares the musket's flash, Sharp rings the rifle's crash Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, Never to shadow his cold brow again; Proudly at morning the war steed was prancing. Reeking and panting he droops on the rein; Pale is the lip of scorn, Voiceless the trumpet horn. Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high; Many a belted breast Low on the turf shall rest, Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by. Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving. Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail. Wilds where the fern by the furrow is weaving, Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale; Far as the tempest thrills Over the darkened hills. Far as the sunshine streams over the plain, Roused by the tyrant band. Woke all the mighty land. Girded for battle, from mountain to main. Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying! Shroudless and tombless they sank to their rest, — 62 While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest! Borne on her Northern pine, Long o'er the foaming brine, Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun: Heaven keep her ever free, Wide as o'er land and sea Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won! Eagle — The American emblem. Read Lexington — Whittier. THE REVOLUTIONARY ALARM. Bancroft. George Bancroft (i 800-1 891), our most eminent American historian, was born in Worcester, Mass. " Can any heart unfaithful be, To our fair country in her need .'' Can any stimulus require To noble thought and worthy deed ? " Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but it -was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the war message from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the backwoods; the plains to the highlands; and it was never suffered to droop till it had been borne North, and South, and East, and West, throughout the land. It spread over the bays that receive the Saco and the Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trappers of New Hampshire, and, ringing like bugle- notes from peak to peak, overleapt the Green Moun- tains, swept onward to Montreal, and descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the 63 cliffs of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to one another the tale. As the s*mimons hurried to the South, it was one day at New York; in one more at Philadelphia; the next it lighted a watch fire at Baltimore; thence it waked an answer at Annapolis. Crossing the Potomac near Mount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to Williamsburg. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nan- semond, along the route of the first emigrants to North Carolina. It moved onwards and still onwards, through boundless groves of evergreen, to Newberne and to Wilmington. " For God's sake, forward it by night and by day," wrote Cornelius Harnett, by the express which sped for Brunswick. Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones at the border and despatched it to Charleston, and through pines and palmettos and moss-clad live oaks, farther to the South, till it resounded among the New England settlements beyond Sa'Siannah. The Blue Ridge took up the voice, and made it heard from one end to the other of the valley of Virginia. The Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers, that the " loud call " might pass through to the hardy riflemen on the Holston, the Watauga, and the French Broad. Ever renewing its strength, powerful enough even to create a commonwealth, it breathed its inspiring- word to the first settlers of Kentucky; so that hunters who made their halt in the matchless valley of the Elk- horn commemorated the 19th day of April, 1775, by naming their encampment Lexington. With one impulse the colonies sprung to arms; with one spirit they pledged themselves to each other " to be ready for the extreme event." With one heart the con- tinent cried, " Liberty or Death! " 64 LEXINGTON. Irving. Washington Irving (1783-1859) was born in New York, N. Y. His style is marked by delicacy and refinement. His most popular work is the "Sketch-book." " For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son. Though batified oft, is ever won." The cry of blood from the field of Lexington went through the land. None felt the appeal more than the old soldiers of the French war. It roused John Stark, of New Hampshire — a trapper and hunter in his youth, a veteran in Indian warfare; a campaigner under- Aber- crombie and Amherst, now the military oracle of a rustic neighborhood. Within ten minutes after receiving the alarm, he was spurring towards the seacoast, and on the way stirring up the volunteers of the Massachusetts borders to assemble forthwith at Bedford, in the vicinity of Boston. Equally alert was his old comrade in frontier exploits, Colonel Israel Putnam. A man on horseback, with a drum, passed through his neighborhood, in Connecti- cut, proclaiming British violence at Lexington. Put- nam was in the field ploughing, assisted by his son. In an instant the team was unyoked, the plough left in the furrows; the lad sent home to give word of his father's departure, and Putnam, on horseback, in his working garb, urging with all speed to the camp. Such was the spirit aroused throughout the country. The sttirdy yeomanry, from all parts, were hastening towards Boston, with such weapons as were at hand; and happy 65 was he who could command a rusty fowHng piece and a powder horn. Abercj-oDibie and Amherst — Generals in the French and Indian War. CONCORD FIGHT. Emerson. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), poet and philosopher, was born in Concord, Mass. His essays have been said to be "the most important prose work of the nineteenth century." By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On the green bank, by this soft stream. We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may her dead redeem. When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. PER. OUR COUNTRY — <^ 66 Father and Sons for Liberty. 6/ THE MINUTEMAN. Curtis. George William Curtis (i 824-1 892) was born in Providence, R. I. He was a man of broad culture and as author, editor and lecturer exerted a powerful influence on the public afYairs of his time. He was one of the first to advocate civil service reform and some of his most notable addresses were on that subject. His writings are full of kindly humor and his style is charming. Two hundred years ago, Mary Shepherd, a girl of fifteen, was watching the savages on the hills of Concord, while her brothers thrashed in the barn. Suddenly the Indians appeared, slew the brothers, and carried her away. In the night, while the savages slept, she tnitied a stolen horse, slipped a saddle from under the head of one of her captors, mounted, fled, swam the Nashua river, and rode throtigh the forest, home. Mary Shepherd was the true ancestor of the minuteman of the Revolution. The minuteman of the Revolution! who was he? He was the husband, the father, who left the plow in the fiuTOw, the hammer on the bench, and kissing wife and children, marched to die or to be free. The minuteman of the Revolution! He was the old, the middle-aged, the young. He was Captain Miles, of Acton, wdio reproved his men for jesting on the march. He was Deacon Josiah Haines, of Sudbury, eighty years old, who marched with his company to South Bridge, at Concord, then joined in that hot pursuit to Lexing- ton, and fell as gloriously as Warren at Bunker Hill. He was James Hayward, of Acton, twenty-two years old, foremost in that deadly race from Concord to Charlestown, who raised his piece at the same 68 moment with a British soldier, each exclaiming, " You are a dead man." The Briton dropped, shot through the heart. Young Hayward fell, mortally wounded. "Father," said he, "I started with forty balls; I have three left. I never did such a day's work before. Tell mother not to mourn too much, and tell her whom 1 love more than my mother, that I am not sorry I turned out." This was the minuteman of the Revolution! The rural citizen, trained in the common school, the town meeting, who carried a bayonet that thought, and whose gun, loaded wdth a principle, brought down not a man, but a system. With brain, and heart, and con- science all alive, he opposed every hostile order of the British council. The cold Grenville, the brilliant Town- shend, the reckless Hillsborough derided, declaimed, denounced, laid unjust taxes, and sent troops to collect them, and the plain Boston Puritan laid his finger on the vital point of the tremendous controversy, and held to it inexorably. Intrenched in his own honesty, the king's gold could not buy him. Enthroned in the love of his fellow- citizens, the king's writ could not take him. And when, on the morning at Lexington, the king's troops marched to seize him, his sublime faith saw, beyond the clouds of the moment, the rising sun of America, and careless of himself, mindful only of his country, he exultingly exclaimed, " Oh, what a glorious morning! " He felt that a blow would soon be struck that would break the heart of British tyranny. His judgment, his conscience, told him the hour had come. Grenville, Townshend and Hillsborough were English states- men. 69 THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. Bryant. William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was born in Cummington, Mass. He is best known by Thanatopsis, a poem written when he was only eighteen years of age. Here patriots live, who for their country's good, In fighting fields were prodigal of blood. — Dryden. Ethan Allen and Benedict Arnold captured Ticonderoga and Crown Point May 10, 1775. The soldiers from Vermont were called Green Mountain Boys. Here halt we onr march, and pitch our tent, On the rugged forest ground, And Hght our fire with branches rent By winds from the l:)eeches round. Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, But a wilder is at hand. With hail of iron and rain of blood, To sweep and waste the land. How the dark wood rings with our voices shrill, That startle the sleeping bird! To-morrow eve must the voice be still. And the step must fall unheard. The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, In Ticonderoga's towers, And ere the sun rise twice again Must they and the lake be ours. Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides Where the fireflies light the brake, A ruddier juice the Briton hides In his fortress by the lake. 10 Build high the fire, till the panther leap From his lofty perch in flight, And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep For the deeds of to-morrow night. BUNKER HILL. Webster. Daniel Webster (1782-1852) an orator and statesman, was born in Salisbury, N. H. His literary fame rests on his numerous orations. Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable. — Webster. It is not as a mere military encounter of hostile armies that the battle of Bunker Hill presents its principal claim to attention. Yet, even as a mere battle, there were circumstances attending it, extraordinary in character, and entitling it to peculiar distinction. It was fought on this eminence, in the neighborhood of yonder city, in the presence of many more spectators than there were combatants in the conflict. Yet on the i6th of June, 1775, there was nothing around this hill but verdure and culture. There was, indeed, the note of awful preparation in Boston. There was the Provincial army at Cambridge, but here all was peace. On the 17th, everything was changed. On this eminence had arisen, in the night, a redoubt, built by Prescott, and in which he held command. Perceived by the enemy at dawn, it was immediately cannonaded from the floating bat- teries in the river, and from the opposite shore. And then ensued the hurried movement in Boston; and soon the troops of Britain embarked in the attempt to dis- lodge the colonists. In an hour everything indicated 71 an immediate and bloody conflict. Love of liberty on one side, proud defiance of rebellion on the other, hopes and fears, and courage and daring, on both sides, ani- mated the hearts of the combatants as they hung on the edge of battle. I will not attempt to describe that battle. The can- nonading, the landing of the British, their advance, the coolness with wdiich the charge was met, the repulse, the burning of Charlestown, and finally the closing assault and the slow retreat of the Americans, — the history of all these is familiar. But the consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill were greater than those of any ordinary conflict, although between armies of far greater force, and ter- minating with more immediate advantage on the one side or the other. It was the first great battle of the Revolution, and not only the first blow, but the blow which determined the contest. It did not, indeed, put an end to the war; but, in the then existing hostile state of feeling, the difificulties could only be referred to the arbitration of the sword. And one thing is certain, — that, after the New England troops had shown them- selves able to face and repulse the regulars, it was decided that peace never could be established but upon the basis of the independence of the colonies. When the sun of that day went down, the event of independence was no longer doubtful. In a few days Washington heard of the battle, and he inquired if the militia had stood the fire of the regulars. When told that they had not only stood that fire, but reserved their own till the enemy was within eight rods, and then poured it in with tremendous efTect, " Then," exclaimed he, " the lil^er- ties of the country are safe." 72 WARREN'S ADDRESS. Pierpoiit. Rev. John Pierpont (1785-1866), an American clergyman and poet. Joseph Warren was born at Roxbury, Mass., June 11, I74r, graduated at Harvard college in 1759, and began the practice of medicine in 1764. He was one of the patriots who stood out against the first British aggressions. In 1774 he was President of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, and the following year was made a major general. At the battle of Bunker Hill he served as a volunteer, musket in hand, although the chief command was oflered to him. He was killed in this action. Before the battle he said to a friend, "I know that I may fall, but Where's the man who does not think it glorious and delight- ful to die for his country } " Strike for your altars and your fires ; Strike for the green gr;ives of your sires, God and your native land ! — Halleck. Stand! the groiind's your own, my braves, Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle peal, Read it on yon bristling steel. Ask it, ye who will! Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to your homes retire? Look behind you! they're afire! And before you, see Who have done it! From the vale On they come! and will ye quail? — Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be! 7?> In the God of battles trust! Die we may — and die we must; But, oh, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well. As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head. Of his deeds to tell? Read Grandmother's Story of the Battle of Bunker Hill — Holmes THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. Williaiii R. Wallace. Waterloo was for Britons — Bunker Hill is for man ! — Bayard Taylo? He lay upon his dying bed. His eye was growing dim. When, with a feeble voice, he called His weeping son to him: " Weep not, my boy," the veteran said, " I bow to Heaven's high will; But quickly from yon antlers bring The sword of Bunker Hill." The sw^ord was brought ; the soldier's eye Lit with a sudden flame; And, as he grasped the ancient blade. He murmured Warren's name; Then said, " My boy, I leave you gold, But what is richer still, I leave you, mark me. mark me, now. The sword of Bunker Hill. 74 " 'Twas on that dread, immortal day, I dared the Briton's band, A captain raised his blade on me, I tore it from his hand; And while the glorious battle raged. It lightened Freedom's will; For, boy, the God of Freedom blessed The sword of Bunker Hill." " Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke, — A smile — and he was dead ; But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade, Upon that dying bed. The son remains, the sword remains. Its glory growing still. And twenty millions bless the sire And sword of Bunker Hill. WASHINGTON. Byron. " O courage ! there he comes; What ray of honor round him looms !'' Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great, Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state? Yes, one, — the first, the last, the best. The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one. 75 The allusion in the expressions " guilty glory " and " despicable state ' is to Napoleon, with whose character the author is con- trasting that of Washington. Cincinnatus — This old Roman farmer and patriot was called from his plow (B. C. 458) to save the Roman army, being made dictator. He defeated the enemy, and after holding supreme power for only sixteen days returned to his farm. The West — -The New World. T/ie Cincimiaius of the West — The patriot of America. UNDER THE OLD ELM. LoweU. James Russell Lowell (1819-1891), a distinguished scholar and poet, was born in Cambridge, Mass. Poem read at Cambridge on the hundredth anniversary of Washington's taking command of the American army 3d July, J775- Beneath our consecrated elm a century ago he stood, Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood, Whose red surge sought but cotild not overwhelm The life foredoomed to wield our roughhewn helm: — From colleges, where now the gown To arms had yielded, from the town, Our rude self-summoned levies fiocked to see The new-come chiefs, and wonder which was he. No need to question long: close-lipped and tall. Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone To bridle others' clamors and his own. Firmly erect, he towered above them all. The incarnate discipline that was to free With iron curb that armed democracy. Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn, 76 ^^rk 77 As life's indifferent gifts to all men born; Dumb for himself, imless it were to God, But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent. Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; Modest, yet firm as nature's self, unblamed Save by the men his nobler nature shamed. Not honored then or now because he wooed The popular voice, but that he still withstood; Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one Who was all this and ours, and all men's • — - Wash- ington. WASHINGTON. Parker. Theodore Parker (1810-1860) was a popular American lecturer. In his person, Washington was six feet high, and rather slender. His limbs were long; his hands were uncommonly large, his chest broad and full, his head was exactly round, and the hair brown in manhood, l)ut gray at fifty; his forehead rather low and retreating, the nose large and massy, the mouth wide and firm, the chin square and heavy, the cheeks full and ruddv in early life. His eyes were blue and handsome, but not quick or nervous. He required spectacles to read with at fifty. He was one of the best riders in the United States, but, like some other good riders, awkward and shambling in his walk. He was stately in his bearing, reserved, distant, and apparently haughty. Shy among- women, he was not a great talker in any company, but a careful observer and listener. He 78 read the natural temper of men, but not always aright. He seldom smiled. He did not laugh with his face, but in his body, and, while calm above, below the diaphragm his laughter was copious and earnest. Like many grave persons, he was fond of jokes, and loved humor- ous stories. He had negro story-tellers to regale him with fun and anecdotes at Mount Vernon. He was not critical about his food, but fond of tea. He took beer or cider at dinner, and occasionally wine. He hated drunkenness, gaming, and tobacco. He had a hearty love of farming and of private life. There was nothing of the politician in him, — no particle of cunning. He was one of the most indus- trious of men. Not an elegant or accurate writer, he yet took great pains with style, and after the Revolu- tion carefully corrected the letters he had written in the time of the French War, more than thirty years before. He was no orator, like Jefferson, Franklin, Madi- son, and others, who had great influence in American affairs. He never made a speech. The public papers were drafted for him. and he read them when the occa- sion came. It has been said Washington was not a great soldier; but certainly he created an army out of the roughest materials, out-generaled all that Britain could send against him, and in the midst of poverty and dis- tress, organized victory. He was not brilliant and rapid. He was slow, defensive, victorious. He made " an empty bag stand upright," which Franklin says is " hard." Some men command the world, or hold its admira- tion by their ideas or by their intellect. Washington had neither original ideas nor a deeply cultured mind. 79 He commands by his integrity, by his justice. He loved power by instinct, and strong government by reflective choice. Twice he was made Dictator, with absolute power, and never abused the awful and despotic trust. The monarchic soldiers and civilians would make him king. He trampled on their offer, and went back to his fields of corn at Mount Vernon. Washington is the first man of his type: when will there be another! As yet the American rhetoricians do not dare tell half his excellence; but the people should not complain. Cromwell is the greatest Anglo-Saxon who was ever a ruler on a large scale. In intellect he was immensely superior to Washington; in integrity, im- measurable below him. For one thousand years no king in Christendom has shown such greatness, or gives us so high a type of manly virtue. He never dis- sembled. He sought nothing for himself. In him there was no unsound spot, nothing little or mean in his character. The whole was clean and presentable. We think better of mankind because he lived, adorning the earth with a life so noble. His glory already covers the continent. More than two hundred places bear his name. He is revered as the father of his country. The people are his memorial. The New York Indians hold this tradition of him. " Alone of all white men," say they, " he has been admitted to the Indian heaven, because of his justice to the red men. He lives in a great palace, built like a fort. All the Indians, as they go to heaven, pass by, and he himself is in his uniform, a sword at his side, walking to and fro. They bow reverently, and with great humility. He returns the salute, but says noth- 8o iiig." Such is the reward of his justice to the red men. God be thanked for such a man! Cromwell — The English ruler after Charles I. FRANKLIN'S EPIGRAMS, ETC. Benjamin Franklin (1706- 1790), an illustrious patriot, states- man and philosopher. We must all hang together, or assuredly we shah all hang separately. LETTER TO STRAHAN. Philad A, July 5, 1775. Mr. Strahan, You are a Member of Parliament, and one of that Majority which has doomed my Country to Destruction. — You have begun to burn our Towns, and murder our People.— Look upon your Hands! — They are stained with the Blood of your Rela- tions. — You and I were long Friends. — You are now my Enemy, — and I am, Yours, B. Franklin. "POOR RICHARD'S SAYINGS." If pride leads the van, beggary brings up the rear. He that can travel well afoot keeps a good horse. Some men grow mad by studying much to know, but who grows mad by studying good to grow? Whate'er's begun in anger ends in shame. He that falls in love with himself will have no rivals. Against diseases, know the strongest defensive virtue, abstinence. Sloth maketh all things difficult; industry, all easy. If you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. 8i A mob is a monster; with heads enough, but no brains. There is nothing humbler than ambition when it is about to chmb. The discontented man finds no easy chair. When prosperity was well mounted, she let go the bridle, and soon came tumbling out of the saddle. A little neglect may breed great mischief. For want of a nail the shoe was lost, and for want of a shoe the horse was lost, and for want of a horse the rider was lost. A false friend and a shadow attend only while the sun shines. Plough deep wdiile sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn to sell and keep. Old boys have playthings as well as young ones; the difference is only in price. If you would keep a secret from an enemy, tell it not to a friend. . One to-day is w^orth two to-morrows. It is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repent- ance. BOSTON COMMON — THREE PICTURES. Holmes. 1630. All overgrown with bush and fern, And straggling clumps of tangled trees. With trunks that lean and boughs that turn, Bent eastward by the mastering breeze. PER. OUR COUNTRY — 6 82 With spongy bogs that (h'ip and fill A yellow pond with muddy rain, Beneath the shaggy southern hill Lies wet and low the Shawmut plain. And hark! the trodden branches crack, A crow flaps off with startled scream ; A straying woodchuck canters back; A bittern rises from the stream; Leaps from his lair a frightened deer; Another plunges in the pool; — Here comes old Shawmut's pioneer, The parson on his brindled bull! 1774. The streets are thronged with trampling feet, The northern hill is ridged with graves. By night and morn the drum is beat To frighten down the " rebel knaves." The stones of King street still are red. And yet the bloody redcoats come; I hear their pacing sentry's tread, The click of steel, the tap of drum. And over all the open green. Where grazed of late the harmless kine, The cannon's deepening ruts are seen, The war horse stamps, the bayonets shine. The clouds are dark with crimson rain Above the murderous hireling's den, And soon their whistling showers shall stain The pipeclayed belts of Gage's men. i860. Around the green, in morning light, The spired and palaced summits blaze. 83 And, sunlike, from her Beacon height The dome-crowned city spreads her rays. They span the waves, they beh the plains, They skirt the roads with bands of white. Till with a flash of gilded panes Yon farther hillside bonnds the sight. Peace, Freedom, Wealth! no fairer view. Though with the wild bird's restless wings We sailed beneath the noontide's blue, Or chased the moonlight's endless rings! Here, fitly raised by grateful hands, His holiest memory to recall, The Hero's, Patriot's image stands; He led our sires who won them all! THE RISING OF '76. Read. Thomas Buchanan Read (1822-1873), an artist and poet, was born in Chester county. Pa. " Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know/ Out of the North the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of flame. Swift as the boreal light that flies At midnight through the startled skies. And there w^as tumult in the air. The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington ; 84 And Concord, roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour. Within its shade of elm and oak The church of Berkeley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk, And some esteemed of gentle blood. In vain their feet with loitering tread Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught; All could not read the lesson taught In that republic of the dead. How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, The vale with peace and sunshine full, Where all the happy people walk, Decked in their homespun flax and wool! Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom. And every maid, with simple art, Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume; While every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender. The pastor came: his snowy locks Hallowed his brow of thought and care; And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, He led into the house of prayer. The pastor rose; the praver was strong; The psalm was warrior David's song; The text, a few short words of might, — *' The Lord of hosts shall arm the right! " 8q He spoke of wrongs too long endured, Of sacred rights to be secured; Then from his patriot tongue of fiame The starthng words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And rising on his theme's broad wing. And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle-brand, In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant king. Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed. In eloquence of attitude, Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; Then swept his kindling glance of fire From startled pew to breathless choir; When suddenly his mantle wide His hands impatient flung aside, And, lo! he met their wondering eyes Complete in all a warrior's guise. A moment there was awful pause, — When Berkley cried, " Cease, traitor! cease! God's temple is the house of peace!" The other shouted, " Nay, not so. When God is with our righteous cause; His holiest places then are ours Flis temples are our forts and towers That frown upon the tvrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's dav. There is a time to fight and pray! " And now before the open door — The warrior-priest had ordered so — 86 The enlisting" trumpet's sudden roar Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow, So loud and clear, it seemed the ear Of dusty death must wake and hear. And there the startling drum and fife Fired the living with fiercer life; While overhead, with wild increase. Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, The great bell swung as ne'er before. It seemed as it would never cease; And every word its ardor flung From off its jubilant iron tongue Was, "War! War! War!" ^' "Who dares?" — this was the patriot's cry, As striding from the desk he came, — " Come out with me, in Freedom's name, For her to live, for her to die? " A hundred hands flung up reply. A hundred voices answered, " I." Read Seventy six — Btyanf. THE AMERICAN WAR. SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. Pttf. William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (1708-1778). was born at West- minster, of a Cornish family. After a long and distinguished career in the House of Commons, he was appointed to the office of Privy Seal, and entered the House of Lords as Earl of Chat- ham. He was a devoted friend to the American Colonies and when the sfruggle for their independence began, although he was in failing health, he advocated the redress of their grievances with masterly eloquence. To the end of his life he believed 87 that reconciliation was possible, and his last public utterance was a brilliant speech denouncing the policy which favored the recognition of American independence. Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, Yet rears her crest, unconquered and sublime, Above the far Atlantic. — Byron. The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against ns; supplied with every military store, their interest consulted and their ambassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy! — and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honors the English troops than I do; I know their virtues and their valor; I know they can achieve anything but impossilMlities; and I know that the conquest of English America Is an impossihility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. \\'\\2ii is your present situation there? We do not know' the ivorst ; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered mtich. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traiific to the shambles of every German despot: your attempts will be forever vain and impotent — doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely: for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them wath the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If T were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lav down mv arms — never, never, never! 88 INDEPENDENCE BELL. The old State House Bell bore these words: "Proclaim liberty throughout the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof!" The little grandson of the bellman awaited the action of Congress, to give his grandfather the signal to ring. There was tumult in the city, In the quaint old Quaker town, And the streets were rife with people Pacing restless up and down; People gathering at corners, Where they whispered each to each, And the sweat stood on their temples. With the earnestness of speech. As the bleak Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, So they beat against the State House, So they surged against the door; And the mingling of the voices INIade a harnlony profound, Till the quiet street of chestnuts Was all turbulent with sound. " Will they do it? " "' Dare they do it? " " Who is speaking? " " What's the news? " " What of Adams? " " What of Sherman? " " O, God grant they won't refuse! " " Make some way. there! " " Let me nearer! " " I am stifling! " — " Stifle then: When a nation's life's at hazard. We've no time to think of men! " 89 So they beat against the portal — Man and woman, maid and child; And the July sun in heaven On the scene looked down and smiled; The same sun that saw the Spartan Shed his patriot blood in vain, Now beheld the soul of freedom All unconquered rise again. Aloft in that high steeple Sat the bellman, old and gray; He was weary of the tyrant And his iron-sceptered sway; So he sat with one hand ready On the clapper of the bell, When his eye should catch the signal, Very happy news to tell. See! see! the dense crowd quivers Through all its lengthy line. As the boy beside the portal Looks forth to give the sign! With his small hands upward lifted, Breezes dallying with his hair. Hark! with deep, clear intonation. Breaks his young voice on the air. Hushed the people's swelling murmur. List the boy's strong joyous cry! "Ring!'' he shouts aloud; "Ring! Grandpa! Ring! O, Ring for LIBERTY! " And straightway, at the signal. The old bellman lifts his hand, 90 v\ii(l sends the good news, making Iron mnsic throno;h the land. How they shonted! What rejoicing! How the old bell shook the air, Till the clang of freedom rnffled The calm gliding Delaware! How the bonfires and the torches Illumed the night's repose, And from the flames, like Phoenix, Fair liberty arose! The old bell now is silent, And hushed its iron tongue, But the spirit it awakened Still lives — forever young. And while we greet the sunlight On the Fourth of each July, We'll ne'er forget the bellman, Who, 'twixt the earth and sky, Rung out our Independence, Which, please God, shall never die! Quaker foivn — Philadelphia. T/ie Spartan — In the year 480 B. C, three hundred Greeks helonging to the state of Sparta, and under the leadership of Leonidas, all perished in defending the Pass of Therinop5da3 against the Persians who came to destroy the liberties of Greece. PJnvnix — A fabled bird which, according to the Greeks, rose from its own ashes. Hence the reference to the " spirit " in the lines, — "But the spirit it awakened Still lives — forever young." Adams and Sherman were members of the Continental Congress. 92 THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. Henry T. Randall. "Resolved., That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegi- ance to the British Crown, and that all political connections between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved." To the Patriots, the Declaration gave strength and courage. It gave them a definite purpose, — and a name and object commensurate with the cost. When it was formally read by the magistracy from the halls of justice and in the public marts, by the of^cers of the army at the head of their divisions, by the clergy from their pulpits, its grandeur impressed the popular imagination. The American people pronounced it a fit instrument clothed in fitting words. The public enthusiasm btirst forth, sometimes in gay and festive, and sometimes in solemn and religious observances — as the Cavalier or Puritan taste predominated. In the Southern and Middle cities and villages, the riotous populace tore down the images of monarchs and Colonial governors and dragged them with ropes round their necks through the streets — cannon thun- dered, bonfires blazed — the opulent feasted, drank toasts, and joined in hilariotis celebrations. In New England, the grimmer joy manifested itself in prayers and sermons, and religious rites. 93 NATHAN HALE. Francis M. Finch. He dares for his country or his friends to die. — Horace. After Washington's retreat from Long Island in September, 1776, he needed information as to the British strength and forti- fications Captain Nathan Hale, a tine young American officer of twenty-one, volunteered to get the information. While inside of the enemy's lines he was taken prisoner, and hanged as a spy. His last words were, " I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." To drumbeat and heartbeat, A soldier marches by: There is color in his cheek, There is courage in his eye, — Yet to drumbeat and heartbeat In a moment he must die. By starlight and moonlight. He seeks the Briton's camp: He hears the rustling flag. And the armed sentry's tramp; And the starlight and moonlight His silent wanderings lamp. With slow tread and still tread He scans the tented line, And he counts the battery guns By the gaunt and shadowy pine; And his slow tread and still tread Gives no warnins: sisrn. 94 The dark wave, the pkimed wave, It meets his eager glance; And it sparkles 'neath the stars Like the glimmer of a lance, — A dark wave, a plumed wave, On an emerald expanse. A sharp clang, a steel clang. And terror in the sound! For the sentry, falcon-eyed, In the camp a spy has found: With a sharp clang, a steel clang, The patriot is bound. With calm brow, steady brow, He listens to his doom: In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow-trace of gloom. But with calm brow and steady brow He robes him for the tomb. In the long night, the still night, He kneels upon the sod; And the brutal guards withhold E'en the solemn Word of God! In the long night, the still night. He walks where Christ has trod. 'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree; And he mourns that he can lose But one life for liberty: And in the blue morn, the sunny morn. His spirit-wings are free. 95 From the Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, From monument and urn, The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, His tragic fate shall learn; And on Fame-leaf and on Angel-leaf The name of Hale shall burn. THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. "Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are graced with wreaths of victory." On Christmas day in seventy-six Our ragged troops, with bayonets fixed, For Trenton marched away. The Delaware, see! the boats below! The light obscured by hail and snow! But no signs of dismay. Our object was the Hessian band. That dared invade fair Freedom's land. And quarter in that place. Great Washington he led us on. Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun. Had never known disgrace. In silent march we passed the night, Each soldier panting for the fight. Though quite benumbed with frost. Greene on the left at six began. The right was led by Sullivan Who ne'er a moment lost. 96 Their pickets stormed, the alarm was spread, That rebels risen from the dead Were marching into town. Some scampered here, some scampered there. And some for action did prepare; But soon their arms laid down. Twelve hundred servile miscreants. With all their colors, guns, and tents, Were trophies of the day. The frolic o'er, the bright canteen. In center, front, and rear was seen- Driving fatigue away. Now, brothers of the patriot bands, Let's sing deliverance from the hands Of arbitrary sway. And as our life is but a span. Let's touch the tankard while we can, In memory of that day. CARMEN BELLICOSUM. A SONG OF WAR. Guy H. McMaster. In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not. When the grenadiers were lunging, And like hail fell the plunging Cannon shot ; When the files Of the isles 97 From the smoky night encampment bore the banner of the rampant Unicorn, And grummer, grnmmer, grummer rolled the roll of the drnmmer, Throngh the morn! Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal Stood our sires; And the balls whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly Blazed the fires; As the roar On the shore, Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gun- powder. Cracking amain! Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red Saint George's Cannoneers ; And the " villainous saltpeter " Rung a fierce discordant meter Round their ears; As the swift Storm drift, With hot, sweeping anger, came the horseguards' clangor On our flanks. PER. OUR COUNTRY- — ^ 98 Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks! Then the old-fashioned colonel Galloped through the white, infernal Powder cloud; And his broad sword was swinging, And his brazen throat was ringing Trumpet loud. Then the blue J3ullets flew And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle breath; And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six- pounder Hurling death! Sa/nf George — Patron saint of England. Uuicorn — The British flag bears the unicorn, and lion, on the English coat of arms. Read Gertrude of Wyoming — Caiitpbell. OCCUPATION OF PHILADELPHIA. SEPTEMBER 26, 1 777. H. A. Brozun. A sense of something dreadful about to happen hangs over the town. A third of the houses are shut and empty. Shops are unopened, and busy rumor flies about the streets. Early in the morning the sidewalks are filled with a cjuiet, anxious crowd. The women 99 watch behind bowed windows with half cnrioiis, half frightened looks. The men, solemn and subdued, whisper in groups: " Will they come to-day? Are they here already? Will they treat us like a conquered people? " The morning drags along. By ten o'clock Second street, from Callowhill to Chestnut, is filled with old men and boys. There is hardly a young man to be seen. About eleven is heard the sound of approach- ing cavalry, and a scjuadron of dragoons comes gallop- ing down the street, scattering the boys right and left. In a few minutes, far up the street, there is the faint sound of martial music and something moving that glitters in the sunlight. The crowd thickens, and is full of hushed expecta- tion. Presently one can see a red mass swaying to and fro. It becomes more and more distinct. Louder grows the music and the tramp of marching men, as waves of scarlet, tipped with steel, come moving down the street. They are now but a scjuare off, their bayo- nets glancing in perfect line, and steadily advancing to the music of " God Save the King." These are the famous grenadiers. They are per- fectly ecjuipped, and look well fed and hearty. Behind them are more cavalry. No, these must be officers. The first one is splendidly mounted, and wears the uni- form of a general. A whisper goes through the bystanders, " It is Lord Cornwallis himself." But who are these in dark blue, that come behind the grenadiers? Breeches of yellow leather, leggins of black, and tall pointed hats of brass, complete their uni- form. They wear moustaches, and have a fierce foreign look; and their unfamiliar music seems to a child in that lOO crowd to cry, " Plunder! plunder! plunder! " as it times their rapid march. These are the Hessian mercenaries whom Washington surprised and thrashed so well at Christmas in '76. And now all have passed by. The time for the even- ing parade comes, and the well-equipped regiments are drawn up in line, while the sun slowly sinks in autumnal splendor in the west. The streets are soon in shadow, but still noisy with the tramping of soldiers and the clatter of arms. In High street, and on the commons, fires are lit for the troops to do their cooking, and the noises of the camp mingle with the city's hum. Most of the houses are shut, but here and there one stands wide open, while brilliantly dressed officers lounge at the windows, or pass and repass in the doorways. And thus night falls upon the Quaker City. In spite of Trenton and Princeton, and Brandywine, in spite of the wasdom of Congress and the courage and skill of the commander in chief, in spite of the bravery and fortitude of the Continental army, the forces of the king are in the rebel capital, and the " All's well " of hostile sentinels keeping guard by her northern border passes unchallenged from the Schuylkill to the Dela- ware. THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE. OCTOBER 17. 1777. When Jack, the king's commander, Was going to his duty. Through all the crowd he smiled and bowed To every blooming beauty. lOI The city rung" with feats he'd done In Portugal and Flanders, And all the town thought he'd be crowned The first of Alexanders. To Hampton Court he first repairs To kiss great George's hand, sirs; Then to harangue on state affairs Before he left the land, sirs. The " Lower House " sat mute as mouse To hear his grand oration; And " all the peers " with loudest cheers, Proclaimed him to the nation. Then off he went to Canada, Next to Ticonderoga, And quitting those away he goes Straightway to Saratoga. With grand parade his march he made To gain his wished-for station. While far and wide his minions hied To spread his " Proclamation." To such as stayed he offers made Of " pardon on submission. But savage bands should waste the lands Of all in opposition." But ah, the cruel fates of war! This boasted son of Britain, When mounting his triinnphal car, With sudden fear was smitten. I02 The sons of Freedom gathered round, His hostile 1)ands confounded, And when they'd fain have turned their back They found themselves surrounded! In vain they fought, in vain they fled; Their chief, humane and tender. To save the rest soon thought it l)est His forces to surrender. . Brave Saint Clair, when he first retired, Knew what the fates portended; And Arnold and heroic Gates His conduct have defended. THE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE. OCTOBER 17, 1777. Gen. John Waits De Pcyster. Brothers, this spot is holy! Look around! Before us flows our memory's sacred river, Whose banks are Freedom's shrines. This grassy mound, The altar, on whose height the Mighty Giver Gave Independence to our country; when, Thanks to its brave, enduring, patient men, The invading host was brought to bay and laid Beneath " Old Glory's " new-born folds, the blade The brazen thunder-throats, the pomp of war. And England's yoke, broken for evermore. Yes, on this spot, — thanks to our gracious God, — Where last in conscious arrogance it trod, lO' Defiled, as captives, Burgoyne's conquered horde; Below, their general yielded up his sword; There, to our flag bowed England's battle-torn; Where now we stand, the United States was born. AT VALLEY FORGE. H. A. Brown. The wind is cold and piercing on the old Gulf Road, and the snowflakes have begun to fall. Who is this that toils up yonder hill, his footsteps stained with blood? His bare feet peep through his worn-out shoes, his legs nearly naked, his shirt hanging in strings, his hair dishevelled, his face wan and thin, his look hungry. On his shoulder he carries a rusty gun, and the hand that grasps the stock is blue with cold. His comrade is no better off, nor he who follows. A fourth comes into view, and still another. A dozen are in sight. Twenty have reached the ridge, and there are more to come. See them as they mount the hill that slopes eastward into the Great Valley. A thou- sand are in sight, but they are but the vanguard of the motley company that winds down the road until it is lo^t in the cloud of snowflakes that have hidden the Gulf hills. Yonder are horsemen in tattered uniforms, and behind them cannon lumbering slowing over the frozen road, half dragged, half pushed by men. Are these soldiers that huddle together and bow their heads as they face the biting wind? Is this an army that comes straggling through the valley in the blind- ing snow? No martial music leads them in triumph into a captured capital. No city full of good cheer and I04 warm and comfortable homes awaits their coming. No sound keeps time to their steps save the icy wind rattHng the leafless branches, and the dull tread of their weary feet on the frozen ground. In yonder forest must they find their shelter, and on the northern slope of these inhospitable hills their place of refuge. Trials that rarely have failed to break the fortitude of men await them here. The Congress whom they serve shall prove helpless to protect them, and their country herself seem unmindful of their sufferings. Disease shall infest their huts by day, and Famine stand guard with them through the night. Frost shall lock their camp with icy fetters, and the snows cover it as with a garment; the storms of winter shall be pitiless, — but all in vain. Danger shall not frighten nor temptation have power to seduce them. Doubt shall not shake their love of country, nor suffering overcome their forti- tude. The powers of evil shall not prevail against them; for they are the Continental Army, and these are the hills of Valley Forge! THE STORMING OF STONY POINT. JULY 15, 1779. Mrs. Fannie E. Greenleaf. "And Freedom's summons-shout shall burst, Rare music! on the brain." The country was in danger, the British were elate With cruel joy and triumph o'er the rebels' coming fate. For the British held the Hudson, Stony Point was in their power. And the shadows o'er the country loomed more darkly hour by hour. 105 The nation's chief with frowning brow sat lost in anx- ious thought; He had " dipped into the Future " with pain and anguish fraught. Then starting from his seat he cries, " Send General Wayne to me; He's the man can do it, if such a man there be! " The soldier stood before him, erect and firm of mien, Eager to learn his chief's commands, with fiery eyes and keen, " That fort! it must be ours! Can you take it, Anthony Wayne? " " I'll storm it, sire," was the response, " if you'll plan the campaign." Forth came he from the presence, alert with joy and pride, The hope of triumph on his brow; and gazing far and wide, " ' That fort! it must be ours! ' ay, and this very night. Ere another morning breaking floods all the world with light, T and my bravest soldiers will mount that steep old crag, Tear down those hated colors, and plant the nation's flag." 'Twas midnight, and the shining stars with mild and tender glow. With eyes of pitying love looked on this jarring world below. W^ith eyes of love on high and low, alike on friend and foe, io6 On happy scenes of peace and joy, alas! on tears and woe. But the sweet silence of the night was broken by the tread Of soldiers marching swiftly, brave Anthony at the head; Along the road and causeway, led by a friendly hand, Softly with rapid feet they sped, till on the hill they stand. The sentinel hears the countersign, but ere the foe he spies. The soldiers throw him to the ground, and gag him as he lies. Inspired by their brave leader, they onward rush until They're half way up the slope, they've nearly climbed the hill ; Then from the battlements o'erhead a murderous fire bursts out. The cannon l^alls plough through their ranks, near put- ting them to rout. Then shouts mad Anthony. " On boys! for by the eternal powers. That fort, it must be ours! do you hear? it must be ours! On to your shoulders, comrades, I'm wounded, but I'll he Within the walls of that grim fort, one moment ere I die!" Through fire and smoke, through shot and shell, like maddened fiends they fought; And with their bayonets alone the deadly work was wrought. I07 Mounting the walls with h-antic zeal the foe they over- power, Trampling the dying and the dead in that terrific hour. " The fort is ours! " shouts Anthony, " We've scaled this steep old crag! Down with those hated colors! up with the nation's flag! " SONG OF MARION'S MEN. Bryant. General Francis Marion (born in South Carolina in 1722) won great fame in the war for Independence. With a small force of irregular or par*^,isan troops he greatly harassed the British in South Carolina. He had his camp in a swampy and wooded island, and from there he would secretly sally forth and strike swift and telling blows at the enemy. Our band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold: The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress tree: We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear: TOnfns. " Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raised." Col. Ferguson and his forces of British and Tories were defeated by the patriots at King's Mountain, S. C, Oct. 7, 1780. The Tory leaders were hanged immediately after the battle. Hark! through the gorge of the valley, 'Tis the bugle that tells of the foe; Our own quickly sounds for the rally, And we snatch down the rifle, and go. Down the lone heights now wind they together. As the mountain brooks flow to the vale. And now, as they group on the heather, The keen scout delivers his tale: — " The British — the Tories are on us; And now is the moment to prove. no To the women whose virtues liave w^on us, That our virtues are worthy their love! They have swept the vast valleys below us, With fire, to the hills from the sea; And here would they seek to o'erthrow us, In a realm which our eagle makes h-ee! " Grim dashed they away as they bounded, — The hunters to hem in the prey, — And with Deckard's long rifles surrounded. Then the British rose fast to the fray; And never, with arms of more vigor, Did their bayonets press through the strife, Where, with every swift pull of the trigger, The sharpshooters dashed out a life! 'Twas the meeting of eagles and lions, 'Twas the rushing of tempests and waves, Insolent triumph 'gainst patriot defiance. Born freemen 'gainst sycophant slaves: Scotch Ferguson sounding his whistle. As from danger to danger he flies. Feels the moral that lies in Scotch thistle. With its " touch me who dare! " and he dies. An hour, and the battle is over; The eagles are rending the prey; The serpents seek flight into cover, But the terror still stands in the way: More dreadful the doom that on treason Avenges the wrongs of the state; And the oak tree for manv a season Bears its fruit for the vultures of Fate. Ill PULASKI'S BANNER. Longfellow. Count Casimir Pulaski, a famous Polish officer, fought in behalf of the United States, 1777-^779, and was mortally wounded in the assault on Savannah Oct. 9, 1779. His crimson silk banner was given to him by the Moravian nuns of Bethle- hem, Penn. When the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head; And the censer burning swung, Where, before the altar, hung. The crimson banner, that with prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. "Take thy banner! May it wave Proudly o'er the good and brave; When the battle's distant wail Breaks the sabbath of our vale, When the clarion's music thrills To the hearts of these lone hills, When the spear in conflict shakes. And the strong lance shivering breaks. "Take thy banner! and, beneath The battle-cloud's encircling wreath. Guard it. till our homes are free! Guard it! God will prosper thee! 112 In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power,, In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand wiU shield thee then. ' Take thy banner! But when night Closes round the ghastly fight, If the vanquished warrior bow, , Spare him! By our holy vow. By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him! he our love hath shared! Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared! " Take thy banner! and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier. And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for thee." The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud! THE DANCE. Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all, — By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall ! — John Dickinson. Cornwallis led a country dance. The like was never seen, sir. Much retrograde and much advance, And all with General Greene, sir. 113 They rambled up and rambled down, Joined hands, then off they run, sir. Our General Greene to Charlestown, The earl to Wilmington, sir. Greene in the South then danced a set, And got a mighty name, sir, Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette, But suffered in his fame, sir. Then down he figured to the shore. Most like a lordly dancer, And on his courtly honor swore He would no more advance, sir. Now housed in York, he challenged all, At minuet or allemande. And lessons for a courtly ball His guards by day and night connedc This challenge known, full soon there came, A set who had the bon ton, De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame Fut brillaiit pour itii long temps. And Washington, Columbia's son, Whom easy nature taught, sir. That grace which can't by pains be won, Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir. Now hand in hand they circle round Tin's ever-dancing peer, sir; Their gentle movements soon confound The earl as they draw near, sir. PER. OUR COUNTRY — 8 114 His music soon forgets to play — His feet can move no more, sir, And all his bands now curse the day They jigged to our shore, sir. Now Tories all, what can ye say? Come — is not this a griper, That while your hopes are danced away, 'Tis you must pay the piper? Note. — Fnt hrillant pour tin long temps — Was glorious for a lone: time. TALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD. " Oh ! that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight, Passed from a daylight of honor into the terrible night; Fell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in peace, fell. Fell from the patriot's heaven down to the loyalist's hell." There was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre, direct from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by the bloodhounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of property and power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America in a ship about to sail. He was a beggar, and a wanderer to a strange land, to earn his daily bread by daily labor. " Is there an American staying at your house? " he asked the landlord of the hotel. " I am bound across the water, and would like a letter to a person of influ- ence in the New World." The landlord hesitated a moment, then replied — " There is a gentleman up stairs, either from America or Britain, but whether an American or an Englishman, I cannot tell." 115 He pointed the way, and Talleyrand — who, in his life, was Bishop, Prince, and Prime Minister — ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant, he stood before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered. In the farther corner of the dimly lighted room sat a man of some fifty years, his arms folded and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly oppo- site, a flood of light poured over his forehead. His eyes looked from beneath the downcast brows and gazed on Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching expression. His face was striking in outline, the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will. His form, vigor- ous even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad hi a dark, but rich and distinguished, costume. Talleyrand advanced, stated that he was a. fugitive, and under the impression that the gentleman before him was an American, he solicited his kind offices. He poured forth his history in elocj^uent French and broken English. " I am a wanderer — an exile. I am forced to f\y to the New World, without a friend or home. You are an American! Give me, then, I beseech you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able to earn my bread. I am willing to toil in any manner — the scenes of Paris have seized me with such horror, that a life of labor would be a paradise to a career of luxury in France. You will give me a letter to one of your friends? A gentle- man like you has doubtless many friends." The strange gentleman arose. With a look that Talleyrand never forgot he retreated towards the door of the next chamber. He spoke as he stepped back- ward - — his voice was full of meaning. " I am the only man born in the New World who can ii6 raise his hand to God and say, I have not a friend — not one, in all America! " Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness of the look which accompanied these words. " Who are you? " he cried, as the strange man retreated to the next room; " your name? " '' My name," he replied, with a smile that had more mockery than joy in its convulsive expression — " my name is Benedict Arnold! " He was gone. Talley- rand sank into a chair, gasping the words — ''Arnold the Traitor! " Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another Cain, with the wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even in that secluded room at that inn in Havre his crime found him out, and forced him to tell his name — that name the synonym of infamy. The last twenty years of his life were covered with a cloud, from the darkness of which but a few gleams of light flashed out upon the page of history. The manner of his death is not exactly known. But we cannot doubt that he died utterly friendless — that remorse pursued him to the grave, whispering the name of Andre in his ear, and that the memory of his course of glory gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring forever — " True to your country, faithful to your duties as an American soldier and general, what might you have been, Arnold tJic Traitor!" Talleyrand (1854-1838), a French statesman fled to the U. S. when Louis XVI fell. He afterward returned and held several hig^h offices under Napoleon. Louis XVIII and Louis Phillipe. From the execution of Louis XVI, June 2, 1793, tojuly 27, 1794, Robespierre had control of the government of France. On account of the many trials and butcheries during this period, it is called the Reign of Terror. 117 ANDRE TO WASHINGTON. Wi'llis. Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806-1867) was born at Portland, Me. One of his best poems is "Absalom." " Though those that are betrayed do feel the treason deeply, Yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe." It is not the fear of death That damps my brow; It is not for another breath I ask thee now; I can die with a Hp unstirred, And a quiet heart — Let but this prayer be heard Ere I depart. I can give up my mother's look — My sister's kiss; I can think of love — yet brook A death like this! I can give up the young fame I bin-ned to win; All — but the spotless name I glory in. Thine is the power to give, Thine to deny. Joy for the hour I live, Calmness to die By all the brave should cherish By my dying breath. I ask that I may perish By a soldier's death. ii8 WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF. Adams. John Quincy Adams (1767-1848), sixth president of the United States, was born at Braintree, Mass. 'J'hc sword of Washington! The staff of FrankHn! Oh, sir, what associations are Hnked in adamant with these names! Wasliins^ton, whose sword was never (h'awn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause! Frank- hn, the ])hilosopher of the thun(lerl)oh, the printing press, and the plowshare! What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind! Washington and Franklin! What other two men whose lives belong to the eighteentli century of Christ- endom, have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they lived, and upon all after time? Washingtf)!!, the warrior and the legislator! In war, contending by the wager of battle for the inde- pendence of his country and for the freedom of the human race, ever manifesting amid its horrors, l)y pre- cept and by exam])le, his reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sym])athies of humanity; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord among his own countrymen into harmony and union, and giving to that very sword, now presented to his country, a charm more potent tlian that attributed in ancient times to the lyre of Orpheus. Franklin, the mechrmic of liis own fortune; teach- ing in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth; and, in the shade of obscurity, the path 119 to i;rcatiicss; in llic iiialuril)' of luaiiliood, (lisarniiiii^ the tluiiulcr of its terrors, the hghtiiiiiL; of its fatal hlast; and wreslint;' from the tyrant's hand the still more afllictive seepter of o|)|)ression; while descending into the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving in the dead of winter the haltle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the charier of in(lci)endence which he had contribnted to form; and tendering, from the self- created nation to the mightiest monarchs of Enroj)c, the oHve branch of ])eace, the nicrcnrial wand of com- merce, and the anuilet of protection and safety to the man of peace on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. yXnd, linally, in the last stage of life, with four score winters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable disease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after contributing by his counsels, under the presidency of Washington, and recording his name, under the sanc- tion of devout pra\cr in\'oked by him to ( iod, to that constitution under authority of which we are here assembled as the representatives of the North American peo])le, to receive in their name and for them, these venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of (nu' great confederated republic, these sacred symbols of our golden age. May they be de])osited among the archives of our government! And may every American who shall hereafter behold them, ejactdate a mingled olTering of l^raise to that Supreme Ruler of the universe, by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto jircserved through all the \icissilndes and revoliUions of this tur- bulent world, and of pra\er for the continuance of these I20 blcssiiijj^s by the 7 But yoiingei' men arc in the field, and claim to have their part; They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it clown! " '■' But General " — still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, " I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide; And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least can I, — So give the voung ones place to fight, but me a place to die! ' " If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in com- mand Put me upon the rampart, with the flagstaff in my hand : No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shells may fly; I'll hold the stars and stripes aloft, and hold them till I die! " I'm ready, General, so you let a post to me be given, Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest heaven. And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be. General Wayne: ' There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane!' " And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly. When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky, 138 If any shot should hit me, and lay mc on my face, My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's place!" THE PICKET GUARD. Ethel Lynn Dccrs. Do but think how well the same he spends Who spends his blood his country to reheve. — Daniel. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. — Longfellow. " All quiet along the Potomac," they say, " Except now and then a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat to and h'o, By a rifleman hid in the thicket." 'Tis nothing — a private or two now and then Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an ofificer lost — only one of the men Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle. All quiet along the Potomac to-day, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon Or the light of the watch fire, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard, for the army is sleeping. There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. 139 And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep — For their mother — may Heaven defend her! Tlie moon seems to shine just as brightly as on That night when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips — when low-murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes ofif tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, As if to keep dov^^n the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree. The footstep is lagging and weary; Yet onward he .^oes through the broad belt of light, Toward the shade of the forest so dreary. Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves? Was it moonlight so wonderously flashing? It looked like a rifle — " Ha! Mary, good-by!" And the lifeblood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to-night. No sound save the rush of the river; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead — The picket's off duty forever! Read Killed at the Ford, and A Nameless Grave. — Loiigfelloiv. 140 THE CAVALRY CHARGE. Taylor. Benjamin Franklin Taylor (1822-1887) was born at Lowville, N. Y. His best known poems are "The Isle of the Long Ago " and "The Old Village Choir." Singing of men that in battle array, Ready in heart and ready in hand, March with banner, and bugle, and fife, To the death, for their native land. - Te?inyson. Hark! the rattling roll of the musketeers, And the ruffled drums and the rallying cheers, And the rifles burn with a keen desire Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire, And the singing shot and the shrieking shell. And the splintered fire of the shattered hell, And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke As the growling guns by batteries spoke; And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue Where the iron surge rolled heavily through. That the colonel builds with a breath again,, As he cleaves the din with his " Close up, men! " And the groan torn out from the blackened lips, And the prayer doled slow with the crimson drips, And the beaming look in the dying eye As under clouds the stars go by, " But his soul marched on," the captain said. " For the Boy in Blue can never be dead! " And the troopers sit in their saddles all Like statues carved in an ancient hall. And they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks, And their spurs are close to the horses' flanks, And the fingers work of the saber hand — o 142 O, to bid them live, and to make them grand! And the bugle sounds to the charge at last, And away they plunge, and the front is passed! And the jackets blue grow red as they ride, And the scabbards too that clank by their side, And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod As they gallop right on o'er the plashy red sod — Right into the cloud all spectral and dim, Right up to the guns black-throated and grim, Right down on the hedges bordered with steel, Right through the dense columns, then " right about wheel!" Hurrah! A new swath through the harvest again! Hurrah for the flag! To the battle, Amen! READY. Phoebe Cary, " Make way for liberty ! " he cried, — Made way for liberty and died ! — Montgomery. Loaded with gallant soldiers, A boat shot in to the land. And lay at the right of Rodman's Point, With her keel upon the sand. Lightly, gayly, they came to shore, And never a man afraid; When sudden the enemy opened fire From his deadly ambuscade. Each man fell flat on the bottom Of the boat; and the captain said: *' If we lie here, we all are captured. And the first who moves is dead! " 143 Then out spoke a negro sailor, No slavish soul had he: " Somebody's got to die, boys, ' And it might as well be me! " Firmly he rose, and fearlessly Stepped out into the tide; He pushed the vessel safely off. Then fell across her side: Fell, pierced by a dozen bullets. As the boat swung clear and free; But there wasn't a man of them that day Who was fitter to die than he! THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR. 1862. George M. Baker. *' Onward, 'tis our country needs us. Honor's self now proudly leads us! Freedom ! God, and Right!" Out of a Northern city's bay, 'Neath lowering clouds, one bleak March day. Glided a craft, — the like I ween, On ocean's crest was never seen Since Noah's float, That ancient boat. Could o'er a conquered deluge gloat. No raking masts, with clouds of sail. Bent to the breeze or braved the gale; 144 No towering chimney's wreaths of smoke Betrayed the mighty engine's stroke; But low and dark, Like the crafty shark, Moved in the waters this novel bark. The fishers stared as the flitting sprite Passed their huts in the misty light. Bearing a turret huge and black And said, " The old sea serpent's back. Carting away, By light of day, Uncle Sam's fort from New York bay." Forth from a Southern city's dock, Our frigates' strong blockade to mock, Crept a monster of rugged build, The work of crafty hands, well skilled — Old Merrimac, With an iron back Wooden ships would find hard to crack. Straight to where the Cumberland lay The, mail-clad monster made its way; Its deadly prow struck deep and sure, And the hero's fighting' days were o'er. Ah! many the braves Who found their graves With that good ship beneath the waves. [But with their fate is glory wrought. Those hearts of oak like heroes fought 145 With desperate hope to win the clay, And crush the foe that -fore them lay. Our flag uprun, The last-fired gun Tokens how bravely duty was done.] Flushed with success, the victor flew, Furious, the startled squadron through; Sinking, burning, driving ashore, Until the Sabbath day was o'er, Resting at night. To renew the fight With vengehd ire by morning's light. Out of its den it burst anew, When the gray mist the sun broke through, Steaming to where, in clinging sands, The frigate Minnesota stands, A sturdy foe To overthrow, But in woeful plight to receive a blow. But see! beneath her bow^ appears A champion no danger fears; A pigmy craft, that seems to be. To this new lord that rules the sea. Like David of old To GoHath bold — Youth and giant, by scripture told. Round the roaring despot playing, With willing spirit helm obeying, PER. OUR COUNTRY — lO 146 Spurning the iron against it hurled, While belching turret rapid whirled, And swift shots seethe, With smoky wreath, Told that the shark was showing his teeth, — The Monitor fought. In grim amaze The Merrimacs upon it gaze, Cowering 'neath the iron hail, Crashing into their coat of mail. They swore " this craft, The devil's shaft, Looked like a cheese-box on a raft," Hurrah! little giant of '62! Bold Worden with his gallant crew Forces the fight; the day is won; Back to his den the monster's gone. With crippled claws And broken jaws, Defeated in a reckless cause. Hurrah for the master mind that wrought. With iron hand, this iron thought! Strength and safety with speed combined, Ericsson's gift to all mankind; To curb abuse, And chains to loose, Hurrah for the Monitor's famous cruise! The battle between the Monitor and the Merriinac was fought in Hampton Roads, Virginia, March 9, 1862. 147 KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES. MAY 31, 1862. Stcdinan. Edmund Clarence Stedman (1833- ), an author of note, was born at Hartford, Conn. This is my own, my native land ! — Scott. General Philip Kearney lost his life at the battle of Chantilly, Va., September i, 1862, by becoming separated from his men and riding by mistake into the Confederate line. So that soldierly legend is still on its journey — That story of Kearney who knew not to yield! 'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry and Birney, Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine, Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest. No charge like Phil Kearney's along the whole line. When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, He rode down the length of the withering column, And his heart at our war cry leaped up with a l)ound. He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder, — His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign; Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder: " There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line!" 148 How he strode his Ijrown steed! How we saw his blade Ijrighten In the one hand still left — and the reins in his teeth! He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, , Asking where to go in — through the clearing or pine? '* O, anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same. Colonel: You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line! " O, evil the l)lack shroud of night at Chantilly, That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride! Yet we dream that he still — in that shadowy region Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum- mer's sign — Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion. And the word still is Forward! along the whole line. FREDERICKSBURG. DECEMBER I 3, I 862. Aldrich. Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836- ), an eminent author, was born in Portsmouth, N. H. " On, on to the combat ! the heroes that bleed For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed ! " The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, And on the churchyard by the road, I know It falls as white and noiselessly as snow. 149 'Twas such a night two weary summers lied. The stars, as now, were waning overhead. Listen! Again the shrill-Hpped bugles blow Where the swift currents of the river flow Past Fredericks1nu-g: far otT the heavens are red With sudden conflagration: on yon height, Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their l^reath: A signal-rocket pierces the dense night, Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath: Hark! the artillery massing on the right. Hark! tlie black squadrons wheeling down to Death. KEENAN'S CHARGE. LatJirop. George Parsons Lathrop (1851-1892), journalist, was born at Honolulu, Hawaii. March on ! March on ! all hearts resolved On victory or death. — Tlie Maj'seillaise Hymn. At the battle of Chancellorsville, Va., May 2, 1863, it became necessary to bring a Federal battery into position to resist a sudden onset by Stonewall Jackson. To gain a few minutes' time, Major Peter Keenan, of the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, was ordered to charge the enemy ; and, with three or four hundred men, he rode against ten thousand, in a charge as gallant as that of the Light Brigade. By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, Brave Keenan looked in Pleasanton's eyes For an instant — clear, and cool, and still; Then, with a smile, he said: " I will." " Cavalry, charge! " Not a man of theili shrank, Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, 150 Rose joyously, with a willing breath — ■ Rose like a greeting hail to death. Then forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed; Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, In their faded coats of blue and yellow; And above in the air, with an instinct true, Like a bird of war their pennon flew. With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds. And blades that shine like sunlit reeds. And strong brown faces bravely pale For fear their proud attempt shall fail, Three hundred Pennsylvanians close On twice ten thousand gallant foes. Line after line the troopers came To the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame; Rode in and sabered and shot — and fell: Nor came one back his wounds to tell. And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall, While the circle-stroke of the saber, swung 'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung. Line after line; ay, whole platoons. Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons By the maddened horses were onward borne And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn; As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. So they rode, till there were no more to ride. But over them, lying there, shattered and mute. What deep echo rolls? — 'Tis a death salute 151 From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved Your fate not in vain; the army was saved! Over them now — year following year — Over the graves, the pine cones fall, And the whip-poor-will chants his specter-call; But they stir not again; they raise no cheer; They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. The rush of their charge is sounding still. That saved the army at Chancellorsville. THE BLACK REGIMENT. PORT HUDSON, LA., JUNE. 1863. Geo. H. Boker. Loose the folds asunder Flag we conquer under. — Welch Song. Dark as the clouds of even, Ranked in the western heaven, Waiting the breath that lifts All the dread mass, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land ; — So still and orderly, Arm to arm, knee to knee. Waiting the great event, Stands the Black Regiment. Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; And the bright ba}onet, Bristling and firmly set, Flashed with a purpose grand, Long ere the sharp command Of the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come, Told them what work was sent For the Black Regiment. -&' " Now," the flag-sergeant cried, " Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound, — Bound with red stripes of pain In our old chains again! " Oh, what a shout there went From the Black Regiment! " " Charge! " Trump and drum awoke. Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and saber stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush. With 1)ut one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff. In the guns' mouths they laugh; Or at the slippery brands Leaping with open hands. Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with bloodv heel Over the crashing steel. oo iVll their eyes forward bent, Rushed the Blaek Regniieiit. " Freedom! "' their battle cry — " Freedom! or leave to die! " Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us 'tis heard, Not a mere party shout: They gave their spirits out; Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death; Praying, — alas! in vain! That they might fall again. So they could once more see That burst to liberty! This was what " freedom " lent To the Black Regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well; Scourges and shackles strong Never shall do thenr wrong. Oh, to the li\ing few. Soldiers, be just and true! Hail them as comrades tried; Fio-ht with them side bv side. Never in Field or tent. Scorn the Black Regiment. 154 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. Bret Hartc. Bret Harte (1839- ) was born in Albany, N. Y. He has written many poems of Western life. " Wave, wave, your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the North And from the fields your arms have won to-day, go proudly forth !" Have you heard the story that gossips tell Of Burns of Gettysburg? No? Ah, well; Brief is the glory that hero earns, Briefer the story of poor John Burns; He was the fellow who won renown — The only man who didn't back down When the rebels rode through his native town; But held his own in the fight next day, When all his townsfolk ran away. That was in July, sixty-three, — The very day that General Lee, Flower of Southern chivalry. Baffled and beaten, backward reeled From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. I might tell how, but the day before, John Burns stood at his cottage door. Looking down the village street, Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine. He heard the low of his gathered kine, And felt their breath with incense sweet; Or, I might say, when the sunset burned The old farm gable, he thought it turned The milk that fell like a babbling flood Into the milk pail, red as blood; 155 Or, how he fancied the hum of bees Were bullets buzzing among the trees. But all such fanciful thoughts as these Were strange to a practical man like Burns, Who minded only his own concerns, Troubled no more by fancies fine Than one of his calm-eyed long-tailed kine, - Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, Slow to argue but quick to act. That was the reason, as some folk say. He fought so well on that terrible day. And it was terrible. On the right Raged for hours the heady fight, Thundered the battery's double bass — Difificult music for men to face; While on the left — where now the graves Undulate like living waves That all the day unceasing swept Up to the pits the rebels kept — Round-shot ploughed the upland glades, Sown with bullets, reaped with blades; Shattered fences here and there. Tossed their splinters in the air; The very trees were stripped and bare; The barns that once held yellow grain Were heaped with harvests of the slain; The cattle bellowed on the plain. The turkeys screamed with might and main, And brooding barn fowl left their rest With strange shells bursting in each nest. Just where the tide of battle turns. Erect and lonely, stood old John Burns. t5^> How do you think the man was dressed? He wore an ancient, long l)uff vest. Yellow as saffron — Ijut his Ijest ; And buttoned over his manly breast Was a bright blue coat with a rolling collar, And large gilt buttons — size of a dollar, — With tails that the country folk called " swaller." He wore a broad-brimmed, bell crowned hat. White as the locks on which it sat. Never had such a sight been seen For forty years on the village green, Since old John Burns was a country beau. And went to the quiltings long ago. Close at his elbows all that day Veterans of the Peninsula, Sunburnt and bearded, charged away; And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, — Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore. Then at the rifle his right hand bore; And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, With scraps of slangy repertoire: " How are you, White Hat? " " Put her through! " Your head's level! " and " Bully for you! " Called him "Daddy," — begged he'd disclose The name of the tailor who made his clothes, And what was the value he set on those; While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff. Stood there picking the rebels off — With his long brown rifle, and bell crowned hat. \nd the swallowtails they were laughing at. 157 'Twas Ijiit a moment, for that respect Which clothes aU courage their voices checked; And something the wildest could understand Spake in the old man's strong right hand, And his corded throat, and the lurking frown Of his eyebrows under his old bell crown; Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, In the antique vestments and long white hair, The Past of the Nation in battle there; And some of the soldiers since declare That the gleam of his old white hat afar, Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, That dav was their oriflamme of war. Thus raged the battle. You know the rest; How the rebels, 1)eaten, and l)ack\var(l pressed, Broke at the final charge and ran. At which John Burns — a practical man — Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows. And then went iiack to his bees and cows. That is the story of old John Burns; This is the moral the reader learns: In fighting the battle, the question's wliether You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather. John Burns wns born in Burlinsrton, N. J., Sept. 5, 1793, and died in Gettysburg-, Pa . Sept. 7, 1872. He fought in the war of 1812, and in the war with Mexico; he was one of the first to volunteer for the civil war, but was rejected on account of his advanced age. Rfpcrtoire — Vocabularv, or stock of words. N'avarre — King- Henry of France. 159 ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG. NOVEMBER 19, 1863. Abraham Lincoln. Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that ah men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their hves that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have conse- crated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. i6o THE BATTLE ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Howells. William Dean Howells (1837- ) was born at Martin's Ferry, Ohio. His works are noted for their delicate and accurate portrayal of character. [The day had been one of dense mists and rains, and much of General Hooker's battle was fought above the clouds, on the top of Lookout Mountain. — General Meigs's Report of t lie Battle before Chattanooga, Nov. 23-25, 1S63.] Where the dews and the rains of heaven have their fountain, Like its thunder and its hghtning our brave burst on the foe, Up above the clottds on Freedom's Lookotit Mountain, Raining hfeblood Hke water on the vaUays down below. O, green be the laurels that grow, O, sweet be the wild buds that blow. In the dells of the mountains where the brave are lying low. Light of our hope and crown of our story, Bright as sunlight, pure as starlight shall their deeds of daring glow. While the day and the night out of heaven shed their glory. On Freedom's Lookout Mountain when they routed Freedom's foe. O. soft be the gales where they go Throttgh the pines on the summit where they 1)low, Chanting solenm music \v>x the souls that passed below. I (14 l62 THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE. Mrs. Robbins. With malice toward none With charity for all. — Lmcoln. " I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his country, that not a father in all this broad land made so precious a gift — no, not one. This dear boy only slept a minute, just one little minute, at his post; I know that was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How prompt and reliable he was! I know he only fell asleep one little second — he was so young, and not strong, that boy of mine. Why, he was as tall as I, and only eighteen! And now they shoot him because he was found asleep when doing sentinel duty. Twenty-four hours the telegram said, only twenty-four hours. Where is Bennie now? " '' We will hope with his heavenly Father," said Mr. Allen, soothingly. " Yes, yes; let us hope; God is very merciful! " " ' I should be ashamed, father,' Bennie said, ' when 1 am a man, to think I never used this great right arm ' — and he held it out so proudly before me — ' for my country, when it needed it. Palsy it rather than keep it at the plow.' Go, then, go, my boy,' T said, ' and God keep you! ' God has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen! " and the farmer repeated these last words slowly, as if, in spite of his reason, his heart doubted them. " Like the apple of his eye, Mr. Owen, doubt it not! " Blossom sat near them listening, with blanched cheek. She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had 'ss-s-^sTs^^spsirafMrw:^ 1 The Soldier's Reprieve. xC3 164 1)een so concealed that no one had noticed it. She had occupied herself mechanically in the household cares. Now she answered a gentle tap at the kitchen door, opening it to receive from a neighbor's hand a letter. " It is from him," was all she said. It was like a message from the dead! Mr. Owen took the letter but could not break the envelope, on account of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allen, with the helplessness of a child. The minister opened it, and read as follows: — " Dear Father: — When this reaches you, I shall be in eternity. At first, it seemed awful to me; but I have thought about it so much now, that it has no terror. They say they will not bind me, nor blind me; l)ut that I may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, it might have been on the battle field, for my counrty, and that, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but to l)e shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it, — to die for neglect of duty! O, father, I wonder the very thought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you. I am going to write you all about it; and when I am gone, you may tell my comrades. I cannot now. " You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother, I would look after her boy; and, when he fell sick, I did all I could for him. He was not strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night, T carried all his luggage, besides my own, on our march. Toward night we went in on double-quick, and though the luggage began to feel very heavy, every body else was tired too; and as for Jemmie, if T had not lent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped by the wav. I was all tired out when we carne into camp, and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry, and i65 1 would take his place; but 1 was too tired, father. 1 could not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not know it until — well, until it was too late." " God be thanked! " interrupted Mr. Owen, rever- ently. " I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep care- lessly at his post." " They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve, — given to me by circumstances, — ' time to write to you,' our good Colonel says. Forgive him, father, he only does his duty; he would gladly save me if he could; and do not lay my death up against Jemmie. llie poor boy is broken-hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my stead. " I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom. Com- fort them, father! Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when the war is over, they will not be ashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me; it is very hard to bear! Good-by, father! God seems near and dear to me; not at all as if He wished me to perish forever, but as if He felt sorry for his poor, sinful, broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with Him and my Savior in a better — better life." A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen's heart. " Amen," he said solemnly, — " Amen." " To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all coming home from pasture, and precious little Blos- som stand on the back stoop, waiting for me, — but T shall never, never come! God bless you all! Forgive your poor Bennie." Late that night the door of the " back stoop " opened softly, and a little figure glided out, and down the foot- path that led to the road by the mill. She seemed 1 66 rather flying than walking, turning her head neither to the right nor the left, looking only now and then to Heaven, and folding her hands, as if in prayer. Two hours later, the same young girl stood at the Mill Depot, watching the coming of the night train; and the conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the tear-stained face that was upturned toward the dim lantern he held in his liand. A few questions and ready answers told him all; and no father could have cared more tenderly for his only child, than he for our little Blossom. She was on her way to Washington, to ask President Lincoln for her brother's life. She had stolen away, leaving only a note to tell her father where and why she had gone. She had brought Bennie's letter with her: no good, kind heart, like the President's could refuse to be melted by it. The next morning they reached New York, and the conductor hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, now, might be the means of saving her brother's life. And, so, in an incredibly short time. Blossom reached the capital, and hastened immediately to the White House. The President had just seated himself to his morning task of looking over and signing important papers, when, without one word of announcement, the door softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded hands, stood before him. "Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheer- ful tones, " what do you want so bright and early in the morning? " " Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom. " Bennie? Who is Bennie? " 167 " My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post." " Oh, yes; " and Mr. Lincohi ran his eyes over the papers before him. " I remember. It was a fatal sleep. You see, child, it was a time of special danger. Thou- sands of lives might have been lost for his negligence." " So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely. "But poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jem- mie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never thought about himself, that he was tired, too." " What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not understand; " and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at what seemed a justification of an ofYense. Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face toward his. How tall he seemed; and he was the Presi- dent of the United States, too! A dim thought of this kind passed for a moment through Blossom's mind; but she told her simple and straightforward story, and handed Bennie's letter to Mr. Lincoln. He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines and rang his bell. Blossom heard this order given: " Send this dispatch at once." The Presi- dent then turned to the girl and said, " Go home, my child, and tell your father, who could approve his country's sentence even when it took the life of a child like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be lost. Go back, or — wait until to-mor- row; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death; he shall go with you." 108 " God l:)less you, sir," said Blossom; and who shall doubt that God heard that prayer? Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the White House with his little sister. He was called into the President's j^rivate room, and a strap was fas- tened upon his shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said, " The soldier that could carry a sick comrade's baggage and die for the act so uncomplainingly, deserves well of his country." Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to welcome them back; and, as Farmer Owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he said fervently, '" Tlic Lord be f>raiscd." SHERIDAN'S RIDE. OCTOBER 19, 1864. T. B. Read. But when your country called you forth, Your flaming courage and your matchless worth. To fierce contention gave a prosperous end. -- Waller Up from the south, at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay. The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door. The terrible grumble, and rumble and roar, Telling the battle Avas on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thunder'd along the horizon's bar And louder vet into Winchester rolled 1 69 The roar of that red sea uncontroll'd Making the Ijlood of the hstener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, With Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town. A good broad highway leading down. And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed, as black as the steeds of night. Was seen to pass as with eagle flight — As if he knew the terrible need. He stretched away with the utmost speed; Hills rose and fell — but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls. Impatient to be where the battlefield calls; Every nerve of tiie charger was strained to full play With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed. And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind: And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire. Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire. But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire — He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan onlv five miles awav. 170 The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; — What was done — what to do — a glance told him both, Then striking his spurs with a muttered oath. He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs, And the wave of retreat checked its course there because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say, " / liavc brought you Sheridan all the ivay From WincJiester down to save the day! " Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high Under the dome of the Union sky, — The American soldier's temple of Fame, — There, with the glorious General's name, Be it said in letters both bold and bright: " Here is the steed that saved tJie day By carrying Sheridan into the light From IVinchester — twenty miles azvay!" CHICKAMAUGA. SEPTEMBER 20, 1 863. Butterworih. It was the Sabbath; and in awe We heard the dark hills shake. And o'er the mountain turrets saw The smoke of battle break. I7T The morning breaks with screaming guns From batteries dark and dire, And where the Chickamauga runs Red runs the muskets' ire. 1 see bold Longstreet's darkening host Sweep through our hues of flame, And hear again, " The right is lost! " Swart Rosecrans exclaim. "But not the left," young Garfield cries; " From that you must not sever, While Thomas holds the field that lies On Chickamauga River! " On Mission Ridge the sunlight streams Above the fields of fall. And Chattanooga calmly dreams Beneath her mountain wall; Old Lookout Mountain towers on high, As in heroic days. When 'neath the battle of the sky Were seen the summit's blaze. MUSIC IN CAMP. foh7t R. Thompson. Tw^o armies covered hill and plain, Where Rappahannock's waters Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain Of battle's recent slaughters. Down flocked the soldiers to the banks; Till, margined by its pebbles, 172 One wooded shore was l^lue with " Yanks " And one was gray with " Rebels." Then all was still; and then the band, With movement light and tricksy, Made stream and forest, hill and strand, Reverberate with '* Dixie." The conscious stream, with burnished glow Went proudly o'er its pebbles, But thrilled throughout its deepest flow With yelling of the Rebels. Again a pause; and then again The trumpet pealed sonorous. And " Yankee Doodle " was the strain To which the shore gave chorus. The laughing ripple shoreward flew To kiss the shining pebbles; Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue Defiance to the Rebels. And yet once more the bugle sang Above the stormy riot; No shout upon the evening rang — There reigned a holy quiet. No unresponsive soul had heard That plaintive note's appealing, So deeply " Home, Sweet Home " has stirred The hidden founts of feelin«-. ^73 Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees. As by the wand of fairy, The cottage "neath the live oak trees, The cabin by the prairie. Thus memory, waked by music's art. Expressed in simple numbers, Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart, Made light the Rebel's slumbers. y\nd fair the form of Music shines — That bright celestial creature — Who still 'mid War's embattled lines Gave this one touch of Nature. ROLL CALL. A^. G. Shepherd. From Ilar/iet's Magazine, by permission. "Our business is like men to fight, And herolike to die!" " Corporal Green! " the orderly cried; " Here! " was the answer, loud and clear. From the lips of the soldier who stood near, And " Here! " was the word the next replied. " Cyrus Drew! " — then a silence fell, — This time no answer followed the call; Only his rear-man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded, he could not tell, 174 There they stood in the faihng Hght, These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books. While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hillside was splashed with blood. And down in the corn where the poppies grew Were redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson-dyed was the river's fiood. For the foe had crossed from the other side That day, in the face of a murderous fire That swept them down in its terrible ire; And their lifeblood went to color the tide. "Herbert Kline!" At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. " Ezra Kerr! " — and a voice answered, " Here! " "Hiram Kerr!" — but no man replied. They were brothers, these two, the sad winds sighed. And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. " Ephraim Deane! " — then a soldier spoke: " Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said; " Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke." " Close to the roadside his body lies; I paused a moment and gave him a drink, And Death came with it, and closed his eyes, He murmured his mother's name, I think." 175 'Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us clear, — For that company's roll when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered " Here! " CAVALRY SONG. Stedman. Our good steeds snuff the evening air, Our pulses with their purpose tingle; The foeman's fires are twinkling there; He leaps to hear our sabres jingle! Halt! Each carbine sends its whizzing ball: Now, cling! clang! forward all. Into the fight! Dash on beneath the smoking dome: Through level lightnings gallop nearer! One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home: The guidons that we bear are dearer. Charge! Cling! clang! forward all! Heaven help those whose horses fall! Cut left and right! They flee before our fierce attack! They fall! they spread in broken surges! Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the foeman to his dirges. Wheel! The bugles sound the swift recall: Cling! clang! 1:)ackward all! Home, and good-night! 176 SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA. Satmiel H. M. Byers. Savannah, Georgia, Dec. 22, 1864. To his Excellency^ President Lincoln^ Washington, D. C: I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with one hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammunition ; also about twenty-five thousand bales of cotton. W. T. Sherman, MaJ.Geiil. Our camp fires shone bright on the mountain That frowned on the river below. As we stood by our guns in the morning. And eagerly watched for the foe; When a rider came out of the darkness That hung over mountain and tree, And shouted, " Boys, up and be ready! For Sherman will march to the sea! " Then cheer tipon cheer for bold Sherman Went up from each valley and glen. And the bugles reechoed the music That came from the lips of the men; For we knew that the stars in our banner More bright in their splendor wotdd be. And that blessings from Northland would greet us When Sherman marched down to the sea. Then forward, boys! forward to battle! We marched on our wearisome way, We stormed the wild hills of Resaca — God bless those who fell on that day! Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, Frowned down on the flag of the free; 177 But the East and the West bore our standard, And Sherman marched on to the sea. StiH onward we pressed, till our banners Swept out from Atlanta's grim w^alls, And the blood of the patriot dampened The soil wdiere the traitor-flag falls; We paused not to weep for the fallen Who slept by each river and tree, Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel, As Sherman marched down to the sea. O, proud was our army that morning, That stood where the pine darkly towers, When Sherman said, " Boys, you are weary, But to-day fair Savannah is ours! " Then sang we the song of our chieftain. That echoed o'er river and lea, And the stars in our banner shone brighter When Sherman marched down to the sea. THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. Finch. And, leaving in battle no blot on their name, Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame. " By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron had fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass cpiiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead : — Under the sod and the dew; Waiting the judgment day; Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray. TKR. OUK COUNIRV — 12 178 These in the robings of glory, Those in the gloom of defeat; All with the battle blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet; — Under the sod and the dew; Waiting the judgment day; Under the laurel, the Blue; Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners go. Lovingly laden with fiowers, Alike for the friend and the foe; — Under the sod and the dew; Waiting the judgment day; Under the laurel, the Blue; Under the willow, the Gray. 'So with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender. On the blossoms blooming for all; — Under the sod and the dew; Waiting for judgment day; Broidered with gold, the Blue; Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drops of rain; Under the sod and the dew; Waiting for judgment day; Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray. 179 Sadly, l3ut not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done; In the storm of the years, now fading. No braver battle was won; Under the sod and the dew; Waiting for judgment day; Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war cry sever. Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead. Under the sod and the dew; Waiting the judgment day; Love and tears for the Blue; Tears and love for the Gray. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 1865. IVa// Whitman. Walt Whitman (1819-1892), an eccentric poet, was born at West Hill, Long Island, N. Y. This poem represents the national government as a ship, Lincoln as the Captain, and Peace, the port. O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The shi[) has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; i8o But () heart; heart! heart! ( ) tlie bleeding drops of red, Where on the deek my Captain Hes, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills; For you l)Ouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Hear Captain! dear father! Idiis arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still: My father does not feel ni}- arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; Exult, C^ shores, and ring, O bells! But T with mournful tread. Walk the deck where my Captain lies. Fallen cold and dead. To die is landing on some silent shore, Where billows never break nor tempests roar; Ere well we feel the friendly stroke 'tis o'er. — Sir Saimicl Garth. i8i DEATH OF LINCOLN. Bryant. Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, Gentle and merciful and just! Who, in the fear of God, didst bear The sword of power, a nation's trust! In sorrow by the bier we stand, Amid the awe that hushes all. And speak the anguish of a land That shook with horror at thy fall. Thy task is done; thy bonds are free; We bear thee to an honored grave. Whose proudest monument shall be The broken fetters of the slave. Pure was thy life; its l)Ioody close Hath placed thee with the sons of light, Among the noble host of those Who perished in the cause of right. THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. 1871. Will Carle/on. From "Farm Legends," Copyright, 18S7, by H,irJ>er b' Brot/iers. 'Twas night in the beautiful city, The famous and wonderful city. The proud and magnificent city. The Queen of the North and the West. 182 The riches of nations were gathered in wondrous and plentiful store; The swift speeding bearers of Commerce were waiting on river and shore; The great staring walls towered skyward, with visage undaunted and bold, And said, " We are ready, O Winter! come on with your hunger and cold! Sweep down with your storms from the northward! come out from your ice-guarded lair! Our larders have food for a nation! our wardrobes have clothing to spare! For off from the corn-bladed prairies, and out from the valleys and hills. The farmer has swept us his harvests, the miller has emptied his mills. And here, in the lap of our city, the treasures of autumn shall rest. In golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, " the Queen of the North and the West! " Then straight at the great, quiet city. The strong and over-confident city, The well-nigh invincible city. Doomed Queen of the North and the West, The Fire-devil rallied his legions, and speeded them forth on the wind. With tinder and treasures before him, with ruin and tempests behind. The tenement crushed 'neath his footstep, the mansion oped wide at his knock. And walls that had frowned him defiance, they trembled and fell with a shock. 1 83 And down on the hot, smoking housetops came raining a dehige of fire; And serpents of flame writhed and clambered, and twisted on steeple and spire; And beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of riches and fame. Was swept by a storm of destruction, was flooded by billows of flame. The Fire-king loomed high in his glory, with crimson and flame-streaming crest, And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, doomed Queen of the North and the West. O crushed but invincible city! O broken but fast-rising city! O glorious and unconquered city. Still Queen of the North and the West! The long golden years of thy future, with treasures increasing and rare. Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall twine in the folds of thy hair! From out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of beauty shall rise, And glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation's proud flag to the skies! From ofT thy wide prairies of splendor the treasures of Autumn shall pour, The breezes shall sweep from the northward, and hurry the ships to thy shore! For Heaven will look downward in mercy on those who've passed under the rod. And happ'ly again they will prosper, and bask in the blessings of God. Battle of the Bl^ Horn. —Death of Custer. 185 Once more shall thou stand mid the cities, l)y prosper- ous breezes caressed, O grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the North and the West! CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE. Frederick IVhittakcr. General George A. Custer and all his men were killed June 25, 1876, near the Big Horn River in Montana Territory in an attack upon the Sioux Indians. Death is the worst ; a fate which all must try And for our country 'tis a bliss to die. — Iliad. Dead! Is it possible? He, the bold rider, Custer, our hero, the first in the fight, Charming the Indlets of 3'ore to fly wider. Far from our battle-king's ringlets of light! Dead, our young chieftain, and dead, all forsaken! No one to tell us the way of his fall! Slain in the desert, and never to waken, Never, not even to victory's call! Proud for his fame that last day that he met them! All the night long he had been on their track, Scorning their traps and the men that had set them, W'ild for a charge that should never give back. There on the hilltop he halted and saw them, — Lodges all loosened and ready to fl}'^; Hurrying scouts with the tidings to awe them. Told of his coming before he was nigh. i86 All the wide valley was full of their forces, Gathered to cover the lodges' retreat! — ■ Warriors running in haste to their horses, Thousands of enemies close to his feet! Down in the valleys the ages had hollowed, There lay the Sitting Bull's camp for a prey! Numbers! What recked he? What recked those who followed — Men who had fought ten to one ere that day? Out swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred, Into the battle-line steady and full; Then down the hillside exultingly thundered, Into the hordes of tire old Sitting Bull! Wild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, Wild Horse's braves, and the rest of their crew, Shrank from that charge like a herd from a lion, — Then closed around, the grim horde of wild Sioux! Right to their center he charged, and then facing — Hark to those yells! and around them, O see! Over the hilltops the Indians come racing. Coming as fast as the waves of the sea! Red was the circle of fire about them; No hope of victory, no ray of light, Shot through that terrible black cloud without them, Brooding in death over Custer's last fight. Then did he blench? Did he die like a craven, Begging those torturing fiends for his life? Was there a soldier who carried the Seven Flinched like a coward or fled from the strife? No, by the blood of our Custer, no quailing! There in the midst of the Indians they close, 18; Hemmed in by thousands, but ever assailing, Fighting like tigers, all 'bayed amid foes! Thicker and thicker the bullets came singing; Down go the horses and riders and all; Swiftly the warriors round them were ringing, Circling like buzzards awaiting their fall. See the wild steeds of the mountain and prairie, Savage eyes gleaming from forests of mane; Quivering lances with pennons so airy, War-painted warriors charging amain. Backward, again and again, they were driven, Shrinking to close with the lost little band; Never a cap that had worn the bright Seven Bowed till its wearer was dead on the strand. Closer and closer the death circle growing. Even the leader's voice, clarion clear, Rang out his words of encouragement glowing, " We can but die once, boys, — we'll sell our lives dear! " Dearly they sold them like Berserkers raging. Facing the death that encircled them round; Death's bitter pangs by their vengeance assauging. Marking their tracks l:)y their dead on the ground. Comrades, our children shall yet tell their story, — • Custer's last charge on the old Sitting Bull; And ages shall swear that the cup of his glory Needed but that death to render it full. Sette7i is the number of the res^iment, the " Seventh U. S. Cavalry." Berserkers were mythical Norse heroes who were subject to fits of wild furv in battle during which they were reputed to be proof against fire and steel. PRESIDENT GARFIELD. LongfcUoxv. James Abram Garfield, twentieth president of the United States, was born in Orange, Ohio, Nov. 19, 1831. He was shot by an assassin July 2, 1881, and died Sept. 19, 1881. E venni dal martirio a questa pace. — Paradiso, xv, 148. These words the poet heard in Paradise, Uttered Ijy one who, l^ravely dying here, In the true faith was Hving in that sphere Where the celestial cross of sacrifice Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies; The souls magnanimous, tliat knew not fear. Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear, Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain. Were not the suffering followed by the sense, Of infinite rest and infinite .release! This is our consolation; and again A great soul cries to us in our suspense, "I came from martyrdom unto this i)eace!" THE PRIVATE SOLDIER. U. S. Grant. What saved the country was the coming forward of the young men of the nation. They came from their hoines and their fields, as they did in the time of the Revolution, giving everything to their country. To ' . . I lll 141 I, .,„! ' ' n ' li ' I.I, "i II 1,1,1,11, I 'I lli'„i' , . I I I , ,11 1'! 'i.i'n:i(f|i « •4^:^ t their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in command. So long as our young men are animated by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union." DEATH OF GRANT. IVa// Whitman. Let us have peace. — Grant. "To reap the harvest of perpetual peace, By this one bloody trial of sharp war." " Tis much he dares ; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor To act in safety." As one by one withdraw the lofty actors From that great play on history's stage eternal, That lurid, partial act of war and peace — of old and new contending, Fought out through v/rath, fears, dark dismays, and many a long suspense; All past — and since, in countless graves receding, mellowing, Victor and vanquished — Lincoln's and Lee's — now thou with them, Man of the mighty day — and equal to the day! Thou from the prairies? — and tangled and many- veined and hard has been thy part. To admiration has it been enacted! 191 CENTENNIAL HYMN. 1876. Whittier. Voters are the uncrowned kings who rule the nation. — Morgan. Our Father's God! from out whose hand The centuries fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free. And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done, And trust thee for the opening one. Here, where of old, by Thy design, Thy fathers spake that word of Thine Whose echo is the glad refrain Of rended bolt and falling chain, To grace our festal time from all The zones of earth our guests we call. Be with us while the New World greets The Old World thronging all its streets, Unvailing all the triumphs won, By art or toil beneath the sun ; And unto common good ordain This rivalship of hand and brain. Thou, who hast here in concord furled The war flags of a gathered world. Beneath our Western skies fulfil The Orient's mission of good will; And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece, Send back its Argonauts of peace. 192 For art and labor met in truce, For beauty made the bride of use, We thank Thee; but, withal, we crave The austere virtues strong to save, The honor proof to place or gold, The manhood never bought nor sold! Oh, make Thou us, through centuries long. In peace secure, in justice strong; Around our gift of freedom draw The safeguards of Thy righteous law; And, cast in some diviner mold, Let the new cycle shame the old! Ar£-onau/s — The heroes who sailed to Colchis in the ship Argo in search of the Golden Fleece. HAVANA HARBOR. FEBRUARY I 5, iSqS. Martha E. Oliver. No thought of harm disturbed each breast. In peace they laid them down to rest. Close sheltered in " The Maine." The sentry called put: " All is well." The ship so gently rose and fell The anchor felt no strain. A flash, a crash, a sullen roar! The gallant vessel floats no more In beauty on the sea. Rut, 'neath the waves of foreign port. Of wind and waters is the sport — A thing of mystery. 193 Brave men and true from many a town With ship and armor aU went down Six fathoms in the sea. For not 'mid storm and tempest tossed, Nor in a battle, were they lost, With shouts of victory. But, helpless, those brave men were hurled To borders of another world, With scarce a moment's prayer. For them all hope, all life was o'er, Two hundred gallant men, and more. Were murdered, martyred, there. Though in the ocean's stormy wave The sailor-hero finds his grave, And calmly, sweetly sleeps. Or in a far and foreign strand, Or in his own dear native land, For him his country weeps. Then, lest our navy's hope and pride, Who lived for fame, for nought have died, Their sacrifice in vain. We'll hold their mem'ry ever dear. And for them shed the pitying tear Who perished with " The Maine." 194 A BALLAD OF MANILA BAY. Charles G. D. Roberts. From Harper's Magazine, Copyright, i8g8, by HarJ>er &' Brothers. Your threats how vain, Corregidor; Your rampired batteries, feared no more; Your frowning guard at Manila gate, — When our Captain went before! Lights out. Into the unknown gloom From the windy, glimmering, wide sea-room, Challenging fate in that dark strait We dared the hidden doom. But the death in the deep awoke not then; Mine and torpedo they spoke not then; From the heights that loomed on our passing line The thunders broke not then. Safe through the perilous dark we sped, Quiet each ship as the quiet dead, Till the guns of El Fraile roared too late. And the steel prows forged ahead. Mute each ship as the mute-mouth grave, A ghost leviathan cleaving the wave; But deep in its heart the great fires throb, The travailing engines rave. The ponderous pistons urge like fate, The red-throat furnaces roar elate, And the sweating stokers stagger and swoon In a heat more fierce than hate. 195 So through the dark we stole our way Past the grim warders and into the bay, Past Kahbuyo, and past Sahnas, — And came at the break of day Where strong Cavite stood to oppose, — Where, from a sheen of silver and rose, A thronging of masts, a soaring of towers, The beautiful city arose. How fine and fair! But the shining air With a thousand shattering thunders there Flapped and reeled. For the fighting foe — We had caught him in his lair. Surprised, unready, his proud ships lay Idly at anchor in Balsor Bay; — Unready, surprised, but proudly bold, Which was ever the Spaniard's way. Then soon on his pride the dread doom fell, Red doom, — for the ruin of shot and shell Lit every vomiting, bursting hulk With a crimson reek of hell. But to the brave, though beaten, hail! All hail to them that dare not fail! To the dauntless boat that charged our fleet And sank in the iron hail! ***** H« * Manila Bay; Manila Bay! How proud the song on our lips to-day! A brave old song of the true and strong And the will that has its way; ig6 Of the blood that told in the days of Drake, When the fight was good for the fighting's sake! For the blood that fathered Farragut Is the blood that fathered Blake; And the pride of blood will not be undone While war's in the world and a fight to be won. For the master now, as the master of old. Is " the man behind the gun." The dominant blood that daunts the foe, That laughs at odds, and leaps to the blow, — It is Dewey's glory to-day, as Nelson's A hundred years ago ! THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS. yo/ai C Shea. When the boat's crew of the warship Brooklyn, after securing the standard compass from the wreck of the Infanta Maria Teresa, the flagship of Admiral Cervera, presented it to Commo- dore Schley, he replied with a trembling voice: ''I am much obliged to you, but the great credit of that victory belongs to you boys — the men behind the guns. Without you no laurels would come to our country." The thunders of that Sabbath morn — That morn so bright, so calm, so fair — Told that the Spanish ships, in scorn. Had come, like bloodhounds, from their lair; And Sampson's men, Columbia's sons. Sprang, rallying there, behind the guns. On, on, they come! Determined foe! — One chance for freedom on the seas — jisBsiaiis;;v!iSiKi.sss 197 igS, They strive to give us blow^ for blow, But two for one we give with ease, And thundering where Teresa runs. Our seamen stand behind the guns! New York, the flagship, where was she? — Look eastward! Ah, she's miles away; But Sampson reads the signal free — From ships now rushing to the fray — " The foe escapes! " But noble ones Are ready there behind the guns! And quickly now the words go back, In answer to the signal there; " Close on the enemy; attack! " And cannon's voices fill the air. For men die fast when hot blood runs — And freemen stand behind the guns! Impatient, Sampson views the gleam Of burning ships in deadly line; His heart throbs faster than the steam Forced on by furnace glow and shine. And all around war's noble sons Stand grim and fierce behind the guns! Schley, on the Brooklyn, giving blows. That made the foeman faint and reel, Knew, as every brave man knows, What joy of heart would Sampson feel Could he be with the foremost sons Who fought and stood behind the guns! The Spanish ships along the shore, Burned by fire and smashed by shell, 199 Are blackened pyres and nothing more — Yet some are dying where they fell, Brave, but misguided Spanish sons, You lost when freemen manned the guns! And while our warships plough the seas. And valor holds its glorious sway; And while " Old Glory " feels the breeze. That wafts brave thoughts back o'er the way The Nation's safe when freedom's sons Stand man to man behind the guns! WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. James Lindsay Gordon. Into the thick of the fight he went, pallid and sick and wan. Borne in an ambulance to the front, a ghostly wisp of a man; But the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved in the long ago. Went into the fight in that ambulance, and the body of Fighting Joe. Out from the front they were coming back, smitten of Spanish shells — Wounded boys from the Vermont hills and the Ala- bama dells; "Put them into this ambulance; I'll ride to the front," he said; And he climbed to the saddle, and. rode right on, that little old ex-Confed. 200 From end to end of the long Ijlue ranks rose up the ringing cheers, And many a powder-blackened face was furrowed with sudden tears, As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and hair and beard of snow, Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old Fighting Joe! Sick with fever and racked with pain, he could not stay away. For he heard the song of the yester-years in the deep- mouthed cannon's bay — He heard in the calling song of the guns there was work for him to do. Where his country's best blood splashed and flowed 'round the old Red, White and Blue. Fevered body and hero heart! This Union's heart to you Beats out in love and reverence — and to each dear boy in blue Who stood or fell 'mid the shot and shell, and cheered in the face of the foe. As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight rode little old Fighting Joe! 201 "DON'T CHEER, THE POOR DEVILS ARE DYING." Mark S. Hubbell. Respectfully dedicated to Captain John Philip, of the United States battleship Texas. " Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying." The Angel of Death on the blast Had swept from the mouths of our cannon to wither the foe as he passed. " Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying; " there spoke the true soul of a man, And hushed were the voices of victors that cheered on the ship in the van. The bravest of words ever uttered to ring down the reaches of Time, That hold that exulting o'er sorrow is not very distant from crime; Like Nelson's last words, ''Kiss me. Hardy;" brave Perry's, " Don't give up the ship," These words are the flowers of the spirit that leap from the heart to the lip. " Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying," brave thought of a lion of the West, Enshrining the soul of a nation by heaven directed and blest, That show that compassion and pity are dominant traits of the brave, That the soul of the hero is gentle as woman's when watching a grave. Oh, nations of decadent Europe, the best of your past centers here. 202 Kind hearts are more noble than miters, and love is more mighty than fear. We war not for rapine or conquest, in God and His jus- tice we trust; Through Him we shall live when thrones totter, and coronets crumble to dust. Thrones totter — the old order changeth its greed and its hatred are through. And over the ways of the future there streams the brave light of the new. " Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying; " till the sky shall turn up like a scroll These words of a God-inspired mercy through uncounted ages shall roll. The will of the people, God's will is, when the generous heart finds its voice. And the peans of liberty conquered shall echo from lips that rejoice; But this shall ring true, through the ages, from Asian to Occident shore: " Don't cheer, the poor devils are dying," till Time shall itself be no more. BOUNDARIES OF THE UNITED STATES. Fhke. We join ourselves to no party that does not carry the flag and keep step to the music of the Union. — Ritfjts CJioate. Among the legends of our late Civil War there is a story of a dinner party given by the Americans residing in Paris, at which were propounded sundry toasts concerning not so much the past and present as 203 the expected glories of the great American Nation. In 'the general character of these toasts geographical considerations were very prominent, and the principal fact which seemed to occupy the minds of the speakers, was the unprecedented bigness of our country. " Here's to the United States," said the first speaker, " bounded on the north by British America, on the south by the Gulf of Mexico, on the east by the Atlantic, and on the west by the Pacific Ocean." " But," said the second speaker, " this is far too limited a view of the subject; in assigning our boundaries we must look to the great and glorious future which is prescribed for us by the manifest destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race. Here's to the United States, — bounded on the north by the North Pole, on the south by the South Pole, on the east by the rising and on the west by the setting sun." Emphatic applause greeted this aspiring prophecy. But here arose the third speaker — a very serious gentleman from the Far West. " If we are going," said this truly patriotic American, " to leave the his- toric past and present, and take our manifest destiny into the account, why restrict ourselves within the nar- row limits assigned by our fellow-countryman who has just sat down? I give you the United States, — bounded on the north by the aurora borealis, on the south by the precession of the equinoxes, on the east by the primeval chaos, and on the west by the Day of Judgment! " 2a4 THE SCHOOLHOUSE STANDS BY THE FLAG. Butterworth. A star for every State, a State for every star. — Winthrop. Ye who love the RepubHc, remember the claim Ye owe to her fortunes, ye owe to her name, To her years of prosperity past and in store, A hundred behind you, a thousand before. 'Tis the schoolhouse stands by the flag, Let the Nation stand by the school; 'Tis the school bell that rings for our Liberty old, 'Tis the schoolboy whose ballot shall rule. The blue arch above us is Liberty's dome, The green fields beneath us, Equality's home. But the schoolroom to-day is Humanity's friend, — Let the people the flag and the schoolhouse defend. 'Tis the schoolhouse stands by the flag. Let the Nation stand by the school; 'Tis the school bell that rings for our Liberty old, 'Tis the schoolboy whose ballot shall rule. Books for Supplementary Reading Study. By James G Needham's Outdoor Studies A Reading Book of Nature Needham Dana's Plants and their Children By Mrs. William Starr Dana. Illustrated by Alice Josephine Smith Kelly's Short Stories of Our Shy Neighbors By Mrs. M. A. B. Kelly. Illustrated ... McGuffey's Natural History Readers. Illustrated McGufley's Familiar Animals and their Wild Kindred . McGuffey's Living Creatures of Water, Land, and Air Treat's Home Studies in Nature. Illustrated By Mrs. Mary Treat. Part I.— Observations on Birds Part II.— Habits of Insects. Part III.— Plants that Con sume Animals. Part IV.— Flowering Plants Monteith's Popular Science Reader By James Monteith. Illustrated .... Carpenter's Geographical Reader — Asia .... Carpenter's Geographical Reader — North America . By Frank G. Carpenter. With Maps and Illustrations. Payne's Geographical Nature Studies For Primary Work in Home Geography. By Frank Owen Payne, M.Sc. Fully Illustrated Guyot's Geographical Reader and Primer A series of journeys round the world. Illustrated Johonnot's Geographical Reader By James Johonnot. Illustrated Van Bergen's Story of Japan By R. Van Bergen. With Double Map of Japan and Korea and Numerous Illustrations Hoibrook's 'Round the Year in Myth and Song By Florence Holbrook. With beautiful Illustrations $0.40 .65 .50 .50 .50 .90 .75 .60 .60 .25 .60 LOO 1.00 .60 Copies of any of these books will be sent prepaid to any address, on receipt of the price, by the Publishers : New York (7) American Book Company * Cincinnati ♦ Chicago School Histories of the United States McMaster's School History of the United States By John Bach McMaster. Cloth, i2mo, 507 pages. With maps and illustrations . . . . . . $1.00 Written expressly to meet the demand for a School History which should be fresh, vigorous, and interesting in style, accurate and impartial in statement, and strictly historical in treatment. Field's Grammar School History of the United States By L. A. Field. With maps and illustrations . . .1.00 Barnes's Primary History of the United States For Primary Classes. Cloth, i2mo, 252 pages. With maps, illustrations, and a complete index ..... .60 Barnes's Brief History of the United States Revised. Cloth, 8vo, 364 pages. Richly embellished with maps and illustrations . . . . . . . 1 .00 Eclectic Primary History of the United States By Edward S. Ellis. A book for younger classes. Cloth, i2mo, 230 pages. Illustrated ..... .50 Eclectic History of the United States By M. E. Thalheimer. Revised. Cloth, i2mo, 441 pages. With maps and illustrations .... 1 .00 Eggleston's First Book in American History By Edward Eggleston. Boards, i2mo, 203 pages. Beautifully illustrated ....... .60 Eggleston's History of the United States and Its People By Edward Eggleston. Cloth, 8vo, 416 pages. Fully illustrated with engravings, maps and colored plates. . 1.05 Swinton's First Lessons in Our Country's History By William Swinton. Revised edition. Cloth, i2mo, 208 pages. Illustrated 48 Swinton's School History of the United States Revised and enlarged. Cloth, i2mo, 383 pages. With new maps and illustrations ....... .90 White's Pupils' Outline Studies in the History of the United States By Francis H. White. For pupils' use in the application of laboratory and library methods to the study of United States History ......... .30 Copies of any of the above books will be sent, prepaid, to any address on receipt of the price by the Publishers : American Book Company NEW YORK ♦ CINCINNATI ♦ CHICAGO (8) Eclectic School Readings A carefully graded collection of fresh, interesting and instructive supplementary readings for young children. The books are well and copiously illustrated by the best artists, and are handsomely bound in cloth. Folk-Story Series Lane's Stories for Children . Baldwin's Fairy Stories and Fables Baldwin's Old Greek Stories Famous Story Series Baldwin's Fifty Famous Stories Retold Baldwin's Old Stories of the East Defoe's Robinson Crusoe Clarke's Arabian Nights ).25 .35 .45 .35 .45 .50 .60 Historical Story Series Eggleston's Stories of Great Americans Eggleston's Stories of American Life and Adventure Guerber's Story of the Thirteen Colonies Guerber's Story of the English Guerber's Story of the Chosen People Guerber's Story of the Greeks Guerber's Story of the Romans . Classical Story Series Clarke's Story of Troy Clarke's Story of Aeneas Clarke's Story of Caesar .40 .50 .65 .65 .60 .60 .60 .60 .45 .45 Natural History Series Needham's Outdoor Studies Kelly's Short Stories of Our Shy Neighbors Dana's Plants and Their Children .40 .50 .65 Copies of any of these books -will be sent prepaid to any address, on receipt of the price, by the Publishers ■: New York (15) American Book Company ♦ Cincinnati ♦ Chicago Historical Readings FOR THE Young Eggleston's Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans Cloth, 1 2 mo. 159 pages. Illustrated . 40 cents This book of stories is designed for young pupils of the Second Reader Grade. Its primary aim is to provide reading lessons that will excite attention and give pleasure and thus make the difficult task of learning to read easier. Another purpose is to interest children at an early age in the history of our country by making them familiar with its great characters and leading events. This is most effectively done in this little book by entertaining and instructive stories which every American child ought to know, and by vivid descriptions of scenes and incidents which pertain very largely to the childhood of the great actors represented. The numerous illustrations that accompany the text have all been planned with special reference to awakening the child's attention and they add greatly to the lessons and purpose of the book. Eggleston's Stories of American Life and Adventure Cloth, i2mo. 214 pages. Illustrated , 50 cents This book, which is intended for the Third Reader Grade, includes reading matter that is intensely attractive and interesting to the young — stories of Indian life, of frontier peril and escape, of pioneer adventure and Revolu- tionary daring, of dangerous voyages, explorations, etc. With these are interspersed sketches of the homes and firesides, the dress and manners, the schools and amuse- ments of the early colonial and pioneer periods. The stories of this book represent in a general way every section of our country and every period of its history. Copies of the above books will be sent prepaid to any address, on receipt of the price, by the Publishers : American Book Company Nevr York ♦ Cincinnati ♦ Chicago NOV 10 1899