For they, poor souls, are trying Like the rest of us to live: And it's not like tramping the country And calling on folks to give. Not that I meant a word, sir No offence in the world to you: I think, now I look at it closer, Your coat is an army blue. Don't say? Under Sherman, were you? That was-how many years ago? I had a boy at Shiloh, Kearney-a sergeant-Joe! Joe Kearney, you might a' met him? The pride of his mother's heart. We were off to Kittery, then, sir, Small farmers in dear old Maine; It's a long stretch from there to Kansas, But I couldn't go back again. He was all we had, was Joseph; I wasn't a lookin' for trouble Well, well, 'taint no use o' talking. My old man said, said he; The Lord loves a willing giver;" And that's what I tried to be. Well the heart and the flesh are rebels, And hev to be fought with grace; Take care, you are spillin' your tea, sir, Hunted by dogs, did you say! I'm thankful my Joe was shot, sir, "How do you know that he died ?” 'Twas certified, sir, by the surgeon. Here's the letter, and-" mebbe he lied!" Well, I never! you shake like the ager. My Joe! there's his name and the date; "Joe Kearney, 7th Maine, sir, a sergeantLies here in a critical state 516 WORSE THAN CIVIL WAR. WORSE THAN CIVIL WAR. From Senator Baker's Speech at Union Square, New York, April 20th, 1861. ET no man underrate the dangers of this controversy. Civil war, for the best of reasons on the one side, and the worst upon the other, is always dangerous to liberty, always fearful, always bloody; but, fellow-citizens, there are yet worse things than fear, than doubt and dread, and danger and blood. Dishonor is worse. Perpetual anarchy is worse. States forever commingling and forever severing are worse. Traitors and secessionists are worse. To have star after star blotted out-to have stripe after stripe obscured-to have glory after glory dimmed, to have our women weep and our men blush for shame throughout generations to come-that and these are infinitely worse than blood. When we march, let us not march for revenge. As yet we have nothing to revenge. It is not much that where that tattered flag waved guarded by seventy men against ten thousand; it is not much that starvation effected what an enemy could not compel. We have as yet something to punish; but nothing or very little to revenge. The President himself, a hero without knowing it—and I speak from knowledge, having known him from boyhood-the President says: "There are wrongs to be redressed already long enough endured." And we march to battle and to victory because we do not choose to endure this wrong any longer. They are wrongs not merely against us-not against you, Mr. President—not against me—but against our sons and against our grandsons that surround us. They are wrongs against our Union; they are wrongs against our Constitution; they are wrongs against human hope and human freedom; and thus, if it be avenged, still, as Burke says, "It is a wild justice at last." Only thus we will revenge them. The national banners, leaning from ten thousand windows in your city to-day, proclaim your affection and reverence for the Union. You will gather in battalions "Patient of toil, serene amidst alarms, Inflexible in faith, invincible in arms;" and as you gather, every omen of present concord and ultimate peace will surround you. The ministers of religion, the priests of literature, the historians of the past, the illustrators of the present, capital, science, art, invention, discoveries, the works of genius-all these will attend us in our march, and we will conquer. And if from the far Pacific a voice feebler BY THE SHORE OF THE RIVER. 517 than the feeblest murmur upon its shore may be heard to give you courage and hope in the contest, that voice is yours to-day; and if a man whose hair is gray, who is well-nigh worn out in the battle and toil of life, may pledge himself on such an occasion and in such an audience, let me say, as my last word, that when, amid sheeted fire and flame, I saw and led the hosts of New York as they charged in contest upon a foreign soil for the honor of your flag, so again, if Providence shall will it, this feeble hand shall draw a sword, never yet dishonored-not to fight for distant honor in a foreign land, but to fight for country, for home, for law, for Government, for Constitution, for right, for freedom, for humanity; and in the hope that the banner of my country may advance, and wheresoever that banner waves, there glory may pursue and freedom be established. BY THE SHORE OF THE RIVER. T C. P. CRANCH. HROUGH the gray willows the bleak | Silently came a black boat o'er the billows; winds are raving Here on the shore with its driftwood Rustling footsteps were heard through the |