and not merely a sentimental and ornamental organization. It has been
particularly active in saving throughout the country valuable historical
landmarks, such as the headquarters of Jonathan Trumbull, in Connecticut,
which has been obtained and is now used for a museum. It is marking
historical spots and, directly and indirectly, securing the erection of
memorials of the Revolutionary heroes, such as the Bennington Monument,
near that famous battle-field, the statue of Gen. John Stark, in New
Hampshire, and a monument to be erected in Baltimore to Maryland’s heroes
of the Revolution. It has obtained from Congress a law providing for the
collection and indexing of the records of service of the Revolution. It
has stimulated the general observance of national patriotic holidays,
and was influential in setting apart June 14th as “Flag Day” in
commemoration of the adoption of the Stars and Stripes as the national
standard.
THE SOCIETY OF COLONIAL WARS
“The Society of Colonial Wars,” originated in New York, and was
instituted August 18, 1892, and incorporated October 18, 1892. In
May, 1893, the New York society with the societies in the states of
Pennsylvania, Maryland, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and the District
of Columbia organized the general society, these states, having been
previously chartered by the society in the State of New York. The objects
of the organizations are similar to those of the previously named
societies, from which they differ only in minor details. The present
membership is approximately 3,000. On June 14th of this year (1898) this
society joined with the Sons of the Revolution in appropriate ceremonies
attending the unveiling of commemorative tablets at Fort Ticonderoga,
intended to perpetuate the memories of the capture of the fort by Colonel
Ethan Allen and his gallant band, the Colonial battles fought in the
vicinity of Fort Ticonderoga, etc.
THE MILITARY ORDER OF FOREIGN WARS
“The Military Order of Foreign Wars” is, as its name implies, a military
organization with patriotic objects, having for its scope the period of
American history since national independence. The principal feature of
the order is the perpetuating of the names, as well as the services, of
commissioned officers who served in either the War of the Revolution,
the War with Tripoli, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, or the War
with Spain. Veteran Companionship is conferred upon such officers, and
Hereditary Companionship upon their direct lineal descendants in the
male line. The present membership is 1,400, which is rapidly growing.
Other societies that merit more extended notice but which can here
only be named are the “Order of Cincinnati,” the “Society of the War
of 1812,” the “Aztec Club,” the “Loyal Legion,” the “Grand Army of the
Republic,” the “Flag Association,” “Colonial Order of the Acorn,” “Order
of Washington,” the “Pilgrim Society,” and some others.
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION
It is quite natural that women, whose patriotic services during the late
Civil War have often been the subject of grateful eulogy, should become
interested in this new movement. There are several patriotic societies,
composed exclusively of women, the objects of which are practically the
same as the organizations which have just been mentioned. The society
known as the “Daughters of the Revolution” was organized by Mrs. Flora
Adams Darling, September 9, 1891. In October, 1890, was organized
the more important society known as the “Daughters of the American
Revolution,” which now has a membership of about 3,500. This society has
state chapters existing in most of the states. To become a member of this
society a woman must be not less than eighteen years of age, and be the
descendant of an ancestor who loyally rendered material aid as a soldier,
sailor or civil officer to the cause of independence. The Daughters of
the American Revolution have presented to the City of Paris an equestrian
statue of Lafayette designed and executed by Daniel C. French. It was
intended to be a return of the compliment to the American people conveyed
by the French Government when it presented to the United States the
statue of Washington which is now at the National Capital. The unveiling
took place with imposing ceremonies on July 3rd.
THE COLONIAL DAMES OF AMERICA
The “Colonial Dames of America,” an organization incorporated in 1893,
requires of a member that she shall be descended in her own right from
some ancestor of worthy life who came to reside in the American colony
prior to 1750. This ancestor, or some one of his descendants, shall be
a lineal ascendant of the applicant, and shall have rendered efficient
service to his country during the colonial period either in the founding
of the commonwealth, or of an institution which has survived and
developed into importance, or who shall have held an important position
in the Colonial Government and by distinguished services shall have
contributed to the founding of the Nation. Services rendered after 1783
are not recognized.
UNITED STATES DAUGHTERS, 1776-1812
Still another woman’s patriotic organization is known as the “United
States Daughters, 1776-1812.” This society was founded by Mrs. Flora
Adams Darling, and incorporated in 1892. Ladies to be eligible must be
lineal descendants of an ancestor who assisted in the wars of 1776-1812,
either as a military or naval officer, soldier, sailor, or in any way
gave aid to the cause, tho’ the society reserves to itself the privilege
of rejecting any nomination that may not be acceptable to it.
Another patriotic woman’s organization tho’ not of recent date, which
has for years rendered important service, is the “Mount Vernon Ladies’
Association,” of Washington, D. C. This association has under its care
and direction the Washington estate at Mount Vernon, Va. In 1895 a
volume entitled “Ancestry” was published by Bailey, Banks and Biddle
(Philadelphia) in connection with their Department of Heraldry that
contained a complete list of the various patriotic societies, then
forty-seven in number. Since the publication of this volume many new
societies have sprung up.
CENTENNIAL POEMS
CENTENNIAL HYMN[14]
BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
SUNG AT THE OPENING OF THE WORLD’S FAIR AT PHILADELPHIA, IN 1876.
Our fathers’ 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,
The 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 our streets,
Unveiling 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 fulfill
The Orient’s mission of good will,
And, freighted with Love’s Golden Fleece,
Send back the Argonauts of Peace.
For Art and Labor, met in truce,
For Beauty made the bride of Use,
We thank Thee; while, 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.
WELCOME TO THE NATION[15]
(Centennial Hymn sung on Independence Day, 1876.)
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
Bright on the banners of lily and rose,
Lo, the last sun of our country sets!
Wreathe the bright cannon that scowled on our foes,
All but her friendships the Nation forgets,
All but her friends, and their welcome, forgets.
These are around her: but where are her foes?
Lo, while the sun of her century sets,
Peace, with her garlands of lily and rose!
Welcome! a shout like the war-trumpet’s swell
Wakes the wild echoes that slumber around!
Welcome! it quivers from Liberty’s bell;
Welcome! the walls of her temple resound!
Hark! the gray walls of her temple resound!
Fade the far voices o’er hillside and dell;
Welcome! still whisper the echoes around!
Welcome! still trembles on Liberty’s bell!
Thrones of the continents! isles of the sea!
Yours are the garlands of peace we entwine;
Welcome once more to the land of the free,
Shadowed alike by the palm and the pine;
Softly they murmur, the palm and the pine,
“Hushed is our strife, in the land of the free;”
Over your children their branches entwine,
Thrones of the continents! isles of the sea!
LIBERTY’S LATEST DAUGHTER
BY BAYARD TAYLOR
(Third Canto.)
Foreseen in the vision of sages,
Foretold when martyrs bled,
She was born of the longing of ages,
By the truth of the noble dead,
And the faith of the living, fed!
No blood in her lightest veins
Frets at remembered chains,
Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head
In her form and features still,
The unblenching Puritan will,
Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace,
The Quaker truth and sweetness,
And the strength of the danger-girdled race
Of Holland, blend in a proud completeness.
From the homes of all, where her being began,
She took what she gave to man:
Justice that knew no station,
Belief as soul decreed,
Free air for aspiration,
Free force for independent deed.
She takes, but to give again,
As the sea returns the rivers in rain;
And gathered the chosen of her seed
From the hunted of every crown and creed.
Her Germany dwells by a gentler Rhine;
Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine;
Her France pursues some dream divine;
Her Norway keeps his mountain-pine;
Her Italy waits by the western brine;
And, broad-based under all
Is planted England’s oaken-hearted mood,
As rich in fortitude
As e’er went world-ward from the island wall.
Fused in her candid light,
To one strong race all races here united;
Tongues melt in hers; hereditary foemen
Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan;
’Twas glory, once, to be a Roman;
She makes it glory, now, to be a man.
“SCUM O’ THE EARTH”[16]
BY ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER
I
At the gate of the West I stand,
On the isle where the nations throng.
We call them “scum o’ the earth”;
Stay, are we doing you wrong,
Young fellow from Socrates’ land?—
You, like a Hermes so lissome and strong
Fresh from the master Praxiteles’ hand?
So you’re of Spartan birth?
Descended, perhaps, from one of the band—
Deathless in story and song—
Who combed their long hair at Thermopylæ’s pass?...
Ah, I forget the straits, alas!
More tragic than theirs, more compassion-worth,
That have doomed you to march in our “immigrant class”
Where you’re nothing but “scum o’ the earth.”
II
You Pole with the child on your knee,
What dower bring you to the land of the free?
Hark! does she croon
That sad little tune
That Chopin once found on his Polish lea
And mounted in gold for you and for me?
Now a ragged young fiddler answers
In wild Czech melody
That Dvořak took whole from the dancers.
And the heavy faces bloom
In the wonderful Slavik way;
The little, dull eyes, the brows a-gloom,
Suddenly dawn like the day.
While, watching these folk and their mystery,
I forget that they’re nothing worth;
That Bohemians, Slovaks, Croatians,
And men of all Slavik nations
Are “polacks”—and “scum o’ the earth.”
III
Genoese boy of the level brow,
Lad of the lustrous, dreamy eyes
Astare at Manhattan’s pinnacles now
In the first, sweet shock of a hushed surprise;
Within your far-rapt seer’s eyes
I catch the glow of the wild surmise
That played on the Santa Maria’s prow
In that still gray dawn,
Four centuries gone,
When a world from the wave began to rise.
Oh, it’s hard to foretell what high emprise
Is the goal that gleams
When Italy’s dreams
Spread wing and sweep into the skies.
Cæsar dreamed him a world ruled well;
Dante dreamed Heaven out of Hell;
Angelo brought us there to dwell;
And you, are you of a different birth?—
You’re only a “dago,”—and “scum o’ the earth”!
IV
Stay, are we doing you wrong
Calling you “scum o’ the earth,”
Man of the sorrow-bowed head,
Of the features tender yet strong,—
Man of the eyes full of wisdom and mystery
Mingled with patience and dread?
Have I not known you in history,
Sorrow-bowed head?
Were you the poet-king, worth
Treasures of Ophir unpriced?
Were you the prophet, perchance, whose art
Foretold how the rabble would mock
That shepherd of spirits, erelong,
Who should carry the lambs on his heart
And tenderly feed his flock?
Man—lift that sorrow-bowed head.
Lo! ’tis the face of the Christ!
The vision dies at its birth.
You’re merely a butt for our mirth.
You’re a “sheeny”—and therefore despised
And rejected as “scum o’ the earth.”
V
Countrymen, bend and invoke
Mercy for us blasphemers,
For that we spat on these marvelous folk,
Nations of darers and dreamers,
Scions of singers and seers,
Our peers, and more than our peers.
“Rabble and refuse,” we name them
And “scum o’ the earth,” to shame them.
Mercy for us of the few, young years,
Of the culture so callow and crude,
Of the hands so grasping and rude,
The lips so ready for sneers
At the sons of our ancient more-than-peers.
Mercy for us who dare despise
Men in whose loins our Homer lies;
Mothers of men who shall bring to us
The glory of Titian, the grandeur of Huss;
Children in whose frail arms shall rest
Prophets and singers and saints of the West.
Newcomers all from the eastern seas,
Help us incarnate dreams like these.
Forget, and forgive, that we did you wrong.
Help us to father a nation, strong
In the comradeship of an equal birth,
In the wealth of the richest bloods of earth.
LIBERTY AND UNION ONE AND INSEPARABLE
BY DANIEL WEBSTER
I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the
prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our
Federal Union. It is to that Union that we owe our safety at home, and
our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are
chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That
Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe
school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered
finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign
influences these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead,
and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has
teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and, although
our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population
spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its
benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social,
and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond
the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I
have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds
that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed
myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my
short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I
regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this government, whose
thought should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may be
best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people
when it should be broken up and destroyed.
While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects
spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not
to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain
may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies
behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the
sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored
fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant,
belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in
fraternal blood!
Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous
ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still
full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original
luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured;
bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, _What is all
this worth?_ nor those other words of delusion and folly,—_Liberty first
and Union afterwards_; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of
living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float over the sea
and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other
sentiment, dear to every true American heart,—_Liberty_ and _Union_,
_now_ and _forever_, _one_ and _inseparable_!
ADDRESS TO LIBERTY
BY WILLIAM COWPER
Oh, could I worship aught beneath the skies
That earth hath seen, or fancy could devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair
As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air.
Duly, as ever on the mountain’s height
The peep of morning shed a dawning light;
Again, when evening in her sober vest
Drew the gray curtain of the fading west;
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise
For the chief blessings of my fairest days:
But that were sacrilege: praise is not thine,
But His, who gave thee, and preserves thee mine;
Else I would say,—and, as I spake, bid fly
A captive bird into the boundless sky,—
This rising realm adores thee: thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;
We feel thy force still active; at this hour
Enjoys immunity from priestly power;
While conscience, happier than in ancient years,
Owns no superior but the God she fears.
Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rights have suffered, and our land, too long;
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share
The fears and hopes of a commercial care;
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt;
But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood:
And honest merit stands on slippery ground
Where covert guile and artifice abound.
Let just restraint, for public peace designed,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind,—
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,—
But let insolvent innocence go free.
THE TORCH OF LIBERTY
BY THOMAS MOORE
I saw it all in Fancy’s glass—
Herself, the fair, the wild magician,
Who bade this splendid day-dream pass,
And named each gilded apparition.
’Twas like a torch-race,—such as they
Of Greece performed, in ages gone,
When the fleet youths, in long array,
Passed the bright torch triumphant on.
I saw the expectant nations stand
To catch the coming flame in turn;
I saw, from ready hand to hand,
The clear, though struggling, glory burn.
And oh, their joy, as it came near,
’Twas, in itself, a joy to see;
While Fancy whispered in my ear,
“That torch they pass is Liberty!”
And each, as she received the flame,
Lighted her altar with its ray;
Then, smiling, to the next who came,
Speeded it on its sparkling way.
From Albion first, whose ancient shrine
Was furnished with the flame already,
Columbia caught the boon divine,
And lit a flame, like Albion’s, steady.
Shine, shine forever, glorious flame,
Divinest gift of gods to men!
From Greece thy earliest splendor came,
To Greece thy ray returns again.
Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round;
When dimmed, revive; when lost, return;
Till not a shrine through earth be found
On which thy glories shall not burn!
HOROLOGE OF LIBERTY
ANONYMOUS
The world heard: the battle of Lexington—one; the Declaration
of Independence—two; the surrender of Burgoyne—three; the siege
of Yorktown—four; the treaty of Paris—five; the inauguration of
Washington—six; and then it was the sunrise of a new day, of which we
have seen yet only the glorious forenoon.
THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC
BY GEORGE BANCROFT
In the fullness of time, a Republic rose up in the wilderness of America.
Thousands of years had passed away before this child of the ages could be
born. From whatever there was of good in the systems of former centuries
she drew her nourishment; the wrecks of the past were her warnings.
With the deepest sentiment of faith fixed in her inmost nature, she
disenthralled religion from bondage to temporal power, that her worship
might be worship only in spirit and in truth.
The wisdom which had passed from India through Greece, with what
Greece had added of her own; the jurisprudence of Rome; the mediæval
municipalities; the Teutonic method of representation, the political
experience of England, the benignant wisdom of the expositors of the law
of nature and of nations in France and Holland, all shed on her their
selectest influence. She washed the gold of political wisdom from the
sands wherever it was found; she cleft it from the rocks; she gleaned it
among ruins. Out of all the discoveries of statesmen and sages, out of
all the experience of past human life, she compiled a perennial political
philosophy, the primordial principles of national ethics.
The wise men of Europe sought the best government in a mixture of
monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; and America went behind these
names to extract from them the vital elements of social forms, and blend
them harmoniously in the free Commonwealth, which comes nearest to
the illustration of the natural equality of all men. She entrusted the
guardianship of established rights to law; the movements of reform to the
spirit of the people, and drew her force from the happy reconciliation of
both.
A NEW NATIONAL HYMN
BY FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
Hail, Freedom! thy bright crest
And gleaming shield, thrice blest,
Mirror the glories of a world thine own.
Hail, heaven-born Peace! our sight,
Led by thy gentle light,
Shows us the paths with deathless flowers strewn.
Peace, daughter of a strife sublime,
Abide with us till strife be lost in endless time.
Her one hand seals with gold
The portals of night’s fold,
Her other the broad gates of dawn unbars;
O’er silent wastes of snows,
Crowning her lofty brows,
Gleams high her diadem of northern stars;
While, clothed in garlands of warm flowers,
Round Freedom’s feet the South her wealth of beauty showers.
Sweet is the toil of peace,
Sweet is the year’s increase,
To loyal men who live by Freedom’s laws;
And in war’s fierce alarms
God gives stout hearts and arms
To freemen sworn to save a rightful cause.
Fear none, trust God, maintain the right,
And triumph in unbroken Union’s might.
Welded in war’s fierce flame,
Forged on the hearth of fame,
The sacred Constitution was ordained;
Tried in the fire of time,
Tempered in woes sublime,
An age was passed and left it yet unstained.
God grant its glories still may shine,
While ages fade, forgotten, in time’s slow decline!
Honor the few who shared
Freedom’s first fight, and dared
To face war’s desperate tide at the full flood;
Who fell on hard-won ground,
And into Freedom’s wound
Poured the sweet balsam of their brave hearts’ blood.
They fell; but o’er that glorious grave
Floats free the banner of the cause they died to save.
In radiance heavenly fair,
Floats on the peaceful air
That flag that never stooped from Victory’s pride;
Those stars that softly gleam,
Those stripes that o’er us stream,
In war’s grand agony were sanctified;
A holy standard, pure and free,
To light the home of peace, or blaze in victory.
Father, whose mighty power
Shields us through life’s short hour,
To Thee we pray: Bless us and keep us free;
All that is past forgive;
Teach us, henceforth, to live
That, through our country, we may honor Thee;
And, when this mortal life shall cease,
Take Thou, at last, our souls to Thine eternal peace.
VII
FICTION
JIM’S AUNT
BY FRANCES BENT DILLINGHAM
“I wish you could take him in,” the minister said, almost entreatingly.
“He isn’t a bad boy, you know; his family is quite respectable; but when
his aunt said she couldn’t afford to take him into the country with her
children, it seemed too bad for him to stay in the city.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Miss Lucinda assented hastily. “If only he wasn’t a
boy!”
The minister sighed. “I want you to do what you think best.”
It was Miss Lucinda’s turn to sigh now—a long-drawn breath of surrender.
“Well, I’ll take him,” she said.
The minister rose to go. “It’s very kind of you, Miss Tarbox; be sure I
appreciate your self-sacrifice;” and then he added, in a hesitating sort
of way, “You are always full of good works.”
The color flamed up in Miss Lucinda’s face. “Oh!” she exclaimed, lifting
her proud head still higher, “I don’t do anything!” and the minister felt
the usual sense of defeat he experienced in Miss Tarbox’s presence.
He was quite dejected as he went down the garden walk. “So excellent
a woman,” he murmured to himself, and he mournfully contrasted her
uncompromising manner with the flattering air of other single ladies of
his parish as he glanced back furtively toward her parlor window.