Once

our history on Decoration Day, we are at war. more upon the soil of old Virginia the federal bayonets are agleam. From day to day the boys in blue pass by; the reveille, the bugle call is heard even in this city. of the silent dead. This time, thank God, the war is not sectional. There are no brothers arrayed against brothers; no Americans against Americans. There is only one uniform in all the land, one flag in all the sky, one sentiment in the breasts of all the heroes of the republic.

To-day I see the surviving veterans of the old Grand Army of the Republic, grizzled and gray, some with empty sleeves, some stumping their way on wooden pegs; and I remember that in the years gone by these old veterans were boys; boys who left the plow, the forge, the loom, the shop, the office, the college, the sanctuary, to fight the battles of their country. They too broke the clasp of loving arms to go; they too left good-by kisses on tiny lips; they too had mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts; they too turned from home and comfort and peace to follow the flag. God bless them, living and dead. May there be cheers for the living as long as the last survivor blesses the earth, may there be tears for the dead to the end of time.

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Soldier, rest, thy warfare o'er,

Dream of fighting fields no more.

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil or night of waking."

Yes! rest in peace, oh, mighty dead. The cause for which you fought can never be assailed again. Rest in peace, the race whose freedom you achieved will

bless you with their latest breath. Rest in peace, the Union you preserved remains forever, and liberty, equal rights, and justice is the heritage of your descendants to the judgment day. God bless the men who followed the flag!

III

THE WAR

BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SIS

TER CAROLINE

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Written in December, 1860, when South Carolina adopted the Ordinance of Secession

She has gone, she had left us in passion and pride,-
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!

O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,

We can never forget that our hearts have been one,-
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name,
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame!

You were always too ready to fire at a touch;

But we said: "She's a beauty,-she does not mean much."

We have scowled when you uttered some turbulent threat;

But Friendship still whispered: "Forgive and forget."

Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown

cold?

Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold?