OUR BATTLE FLAGS.

At the opening of the session of Congress in 1872, Charles Sumner reintroduced two measures which, as he thought, should complete the record of his political life. One was his Civil Rights bill, which had failed in the last Congress, and the other a resolution providing that the names of the battles won over fellow-citizens in the War of the Rebellion should be removed from the regimental colors of the army, and from the army register. It was indeed only a repetition of a resolution which he had introduced ten years before, in 1862, during the war, when the first names of victories were put on American battle-flags. This resolution called forth a new storm against him. It was denounced as an insult to the heroic soldiers of the Union, and a degradation of their victories and well-earned laurels. It was condemned as an unpatriotic act.

Charles Sumner insult the soldiers who had spilled their blood in a war for human rights! Charles Sumner degrade victories, and depreciate laurels won for the cause of universal freedom! How strange an imputation!

Let the dead man have a hearing. This was his thought: No civilized nation, from the republics of antiquity down to our day, ever thought it wise or patriotic to preserve in conspicuous and durable form the mementoes of victories won over fellow-citizens in civil war. Why not? Because every citizen shall feel himself, with all others, as the child of a common country, and not as a defeated foe. All civilized governments of our days have instinctively fllowed the same dictate of wisdom and patriotism. The Irishman, when fighting for Old England at Waterloo, was not to behold on the red cross floating above him the name of the Boyne. The Scotch Highlander, when standing in the trenches of Sebastopol, was not by the colors of his regiment to be reminded of Culloden. No French soldier at Austerliz or Solferino had to read upon the tricolor any reminiscence of the Vendée. No Hungarian at Sadowa was taunted by any Austrian banner with the surrender of Villagos. No Ger. man regiment, from Saxony or Hanover, charging under the iron hail of Gravelotte, was made to remember by words written on a Prussian standard that the Black Eagle had conquered them at Koniggratz and Langensalza. Should the son of South Carolina, when at some future day defending the Republic against some for.

eign foe, be reminded by an inscription on the colors floating over him that under this flag the gun was fired that killed his father at Gettysburg? Should this great and enlightened Republic, proud of standing in the front of human progress, be less wise, less largehearted, than the ancients were two thousands years ago, and the kingly governments of Europe are to-day? Let the battle flags of the brave volunteers, which they brought home from the war with the glorious record of their victories, be preserved intact as a proud ornament of our State houses and armories. But let the colors of the army under which the sons of all the States are to meet and mingle in common patriotism, speak of nothing but union,—not a union of conquerors and conquered, but a union which is the mother of all, equally tender to all, knowing of nothing but equality, peace, and love among her children. Do you want shining mementoes of your victories? They are written upon the dusky brow of every freeman who was once a slave; they are written on the gate-posts of a restored Union; and the most shining of all will be written on the faces of a contented people, reunited in common national pride.

CARL SCHURZ.

LAUGHING IN MEETING.

We were in disgrace, we boys, and the reason of it was this; we had laughed out in meeting-time! To be sure, the occasion was a trying one, even to more disciplined nerves. But by Sunday evening, as we gathered around the fire, the reaction from undue gayety to sobriety had taken place, and we were in a pensive and penitent state. Grandmother was gracious and forgiving, but Aunt Lois still preserved that frosty air of reprobation which she held to be a salutary means of quickening our consciences for the future. It was, therefore, with unusual delight that we saw our old friend Sam come in and seat himself quietly down on the block in the chimney corner. With Sam we felt assured of indulgence and patronage, for, though always rigidly moral and instructive in his turn of mind, he had that fellow-feeling for transgressors which is characteristic of the loose-jointed, easy-going style of his individuality.

"Lordy massy, boys—yis,” said Sam, virtuously, in view of some of Aunt Lois' thrusts, "ye ought never to laugh right out in meetin`;

that are's so, but then there is times when the best on us gets took down. We gets took unawares, ye see-even ministers does. Yis, natur will get the upper haud afore they know it."

“Why Sam, ministers don't ever laugh in meetin'. Do they?”

We put the question with wide eyes. Such a supposition bordered on profanity, we thought; it was approaching the sin of Uzzah, who unwarily touched the ark of the Lord.

"Laws yes. Why haven't you never heard how there was a council held to try Parson Morrell for laughin' out in prayer-time?"

"Laughin' in prayer-time!" we both repeated, with uplifted hands and eyes.

My grandfather's mild face became luminous with a suppressed smile, which brightened it as the moon does a cloud, but he said nothing.

"Yes, yes," said my grandmother, "that affair did make a dreadful scandal in the time on't. But Parson Morrell was a good man, and I'm glad the council wasn't hard on him."

"Wal," said Sam Lawson, "after all, it was more Ike Babbitt's fault than't was anybody's. Ye see, Ike was allers for gettin' what he could out o' the town, and he would feed his sheep on the meetin-house green. Somehow or other Ike's fences allers contrived to give out come Sunday, and up would come his sheep, and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back Sunday, and so there they was. He was talked to enough about it, 'cause, ye see, to have sheep and lambs a ba-a-n' and a blatin' all prayer and sermon time wa'n't the thing. 'Member, that are old meetin'-house up to the north end, down under Blueberry Hill, the land sort o' sloped down, so as a body had to come into the meetin' house steppin' down instead o' up.

"Fact was, they said 't was put there 'cause the land wa'n't good for nothin' else, and the folks thought puttin' a meetin'-house on 't would be a clear savin'; but Parson Morrell he didn't like it, and was free to tell 'em his mind on 't, that 't was bringin' the lame and the blind to the Lord's service-but there 't was.

"There warn't a better minister nor no one more set by in all the State than Parson Morrell. His doctrine was right up and down and good and sharp, and he give saints and sinners their meat in due seaon, and for consolin' and comfortin' widders and orphans, Parson Morrell hadn't his match. The women sot lots by him, and he was allus ready to take tea round, and make things pleasant and comfortable, and he had a good story for every one, an' a word for the chil

dren, and maybe an apple or a cookey in his pocket for 'em. Wal, you know there ain't no pleasin' everybody, and ef Gabriel himself, night down out o' heaven, was to come and be a minister, I expect there'd be a pickin' at his wings, and sort o' fault-findin'. Now Aunt Jerusha Scran and Aunt Polly Hokum, they sed Parson Morrell wa'n't solemn enough. Ye see there's them that thinks that a minister ought to be jest like the town hearse, so that ye think of death, judgment, and eternity, and nothin' else, when you see him round; and if they see a man rosy and chipper, and havin' a pretty nice sociable sort of time, why they say he ain't spiritooal-minded. But in my times I've seen ministers that's the most awakenin' kind in the pulpit was the liveliest when they was out on 't. There is a time to laugh, Scriptur' says, tho' some folks never seem to remember that ar. "But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Babbitt's fault? What was it about the sheep ?"

"O wal, yis-I'm comin' to that ar. It was all about them sheep -I expect they was the instrument the devil sot to work to tempt Parson Morrell to laugh in prayer time.".

"Ye see there was old Dick, Ike's bell-wether, was the figetin'est old crittur that ever yer see. Why Dick would butt his own shadder, and everybody said it was a shame the old critter should be left to run loose, 'cause he run at the children and scared the women half out of their wits. Wal, I used to live out in that parish in them days, and Lem Sudoc and I used to go out sparkin' Sunday nights to see the Larkin gals—and we had to go right 'cross the lot where Dick was-so we used to go and stand at the fence and call, and Dick would see us and put down his head and run at us full chisel, and come bunt agin the fence, and then I'd ketch him by the horns and hold him while Lem run and got over the fence t'other side the lot, and then I'd let go and Lem would holler and shake a stick at him, and away he'd go full butt at Lem, and Lem would ketch his horns and hold him till I came over-that was the way we managed Dick-but ef he came sudden up behind a fellow he'd give him a butt in the small of his back that would make him run on all fours one while-he was a great rogue, Dick was. Wal, that summer I remember they had old Deacon Titkins for tithing-man, and I can tell you he give it to the boys lively. There warn't no sleepin' nor no playin', for the Deacon had eyes like a gimblet, and he was quick as a cat, and the youngsters hed to look out for themselves. It did really seem as if the Deacon was like them four beasts in the Revelation that was full o' eyes behind and before,

for whichever way he was standin' if you gave only a wink he was down on you and hit you a tap with his stick. I know once Lem Sudoc jist wrote two words in the psalm-book and passed it to Keziah Larkin, and the Deacon give him such a tap that Lem grew red as a beet, and vowed he'd be up with him some day for that.

"Well, Lordy massy! folks that is so chipper and high-steppin' has to have their comedowns, and the Deacon he had to have his.

"That ar Sunday, I remember it now jes as well as if't was yesterday. The parson he give us his gret sermon, reconcilin' decrees and free agency-everybody said that ar sermon was a masterpiece. He preached it up to Cambridge at Commencement, but it so happened it was one o' them bilin' hot days that come in August, when you can fairly hear the huckleberries a sizzling and cookin' on the bushes, and the locust keeps a gratin' like a red hot saw. Wal, such times, decrees or no decrees, the best on us will get sleepy. The old meetin'-house stood right down at the foot of a hill that kep' off all the wind, and the sun blazed away at them gret west winders, and there was pretty sleepy times there. Wal, the Deacon he flew round a spell, and woke up the children and tapped the boys on the head, and kep' everything straight as he could till the sermon was most through, when he railly got most tuckered out, and he took a chair, and he sot down in the door right opposite the minister, and fairly got to sleep himself, jest as the minister got up to make the last prayer.

"Wal, Parson Morrell had a way o' prayin' with his eyes open. Folks said it wa'n't the best way, but it was Parson Morrell's, anyhow, and so as he was prayin' he couldn't help seein' that Deacon Titkins was a noddin' and a bobbin' out toward the place where old Dick was feedin' with the sheep, front o' the meetin'-house door."

"Lem and me we was sittin' where we could look out, and we could jest see old Dick stop feedin' and look at the Deacon. The Deacon had a little round head, as smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered wig on it, and he sot there makin' bobs and bows, and Dick begun to think it was suthin' sort o' pussonel. Lem and me was settin' jest where we could look out and see the whole picter, and Lem was fit to split.

"Good, now,' says he, 'that critter'll pay the Deacon off lively, pretty soon.'

"The Deacon bobbed his head a spell, and old Dick he shook his horns and stamped at him sort o' threatenin.' Finally the Deacon he gave a great bow and brought his head right down at him, and old