MIKE’S CROTCHETS IN WAR-TIME.

You have heard a great deal about the Revolutionary War. You have heard what hardships our forefathers went through, while they were fighting the battles of liberty. But I doubt if you can form, in your own mind, any thing like a true picture of what those brave men suffered. Why, many of them had to go barefoot, for whole weeks at a time, right in the heart of winter. They could hardly get food to eat; and many and many a time, if it had not been for the thought that they were engaged in a good cause, and that God was on their side, they must have been discouraged, and given up all as lost. But they did not give up. They stood firm at their post, until they either fell before their enemies, or perished by fatigue and exposure.

When the tidings came to the neighborhood where Mike Marble lived, that Washington’s noble band were suffering every thing but death at Valley Forge, every man and woman, that could boast of any thing in the shape of a heart, were moved with pity. And they were not the people to let their kind feelings go off in fog and smoke. They were not blustering people. They believed in acting, as well as in talking. When they had heard the sad news, the next question was, “Can we do any thing?” That question was soon answered. The next was, “What can we do?” Well, it was pretty soon found out that all could do something that some could do one thing, and some another; but that every family in the parish could do something.

So they went to work. The mothers and daughters went to knitting stockings, and making under garments for the soldiers. Every chest of drawers, and wardrobe, and closet in the house was ransacked, to find bed-quilts and blankets for the army. And the fathers and sons, they went to work, with a right good will, to get shoes, and hats, and coats, and other articles of wearing apparel, so as to have them ready at the time the agent from the commander-in-chief should pass through the place.

The younger branches of the families in that neighborhood, too, caught the spirit of their fathers and mothers. I must tell you a story about the agency of the little folks in furnishing supplies for the army.

Mike Marble asked his father, one day, if he might call a meeting of the boys and girls at his house, to talk over war matters. The old man laughed, and said he might, if he chose. “But what do you children expect to do for the army, Mike?” he added. “What can you do, I should like to know?”

“I don’t know, father,” was the reply, “but I guess we can all do something; I’m pretty sure I can, for one.”

Well, the meeting was called. The schoolmaster gave out notice, one afternoon, that all the boys and girls were invited to Mr. Marcus Marble’s house, the next Wednesday, at “early candlelight,” and, to quote the precise language of Mike’s invitation for he had it all written out, and the schoolmaster read it word for word that business of importance would be brought before the meeting, which would be made known at that time.

When the hour of “early candlelight” arrived, and, indeed, before the hour of late daylight had closed, there was a crowd of boys and girls assembled in Mr. Marble’s kitchen, to talk over matters and things about the war. They appointed a chairman, (if chairman he could be called, who had numbered less than a dozen summers,) the object of the meeting was stated, and they went as orderly to work in their deliberations, as if they had been playing statesmen for half a century. Only one grown person Mr. Marble was admitted into the kitchen, and he was there only as a listener. He did not take any part in the proceedings.

My grandfather was the chairman of the evening, and the principal orator was Mike Marble. His speech at the time was not reported, nor have I any notes of it at hand. But my grandfather used to say it was one of the most eloquent addresses he ever heard in his life. I can easily believe it. One half of what is necessary in an orator is to feel what he says. If he feels, it is not so much, matter in what shape the words come from his mouth. I am a firm believer in a good style. People who speak in public ought to use chaste and elegant language. But a good style, and ever so good a delivery, are worth but little, unless the speaker has a soul, and unless he can make his hearers feel because he feels.

Mike was in earnest. It looked a little like boy’s play, to be sure, to see that group of children there, talking about great principles. But it was something more than play. Mike was in earnest, and his words, as he was describing the sufferings of the army at Valley Forge, came warm and flowing from his heart. If the character of a speech can be judged of from the effect it has, certainly the one from Mike Marble deserves a high rank; for he carried all the boys and girls along with him. Other speeches were made; but Mike was the Webster of the evening.

Well, what do you think that little band of patriots resolved to do? I doubt whether you can guess. The first thing they did was to find out how much cash each one had laid aside, to be used for spending money on such occasions as Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and Training day.

“For my part,” said Mike, “I would rather never spend another cent for sugar plums in my life, than to have the soldiers go barefoot on the snow. I tell you what it is, fellow-countrymen (Mr. Marble was observed by the chairman to bite his lips, to keep in a good round laugh, when those words, fellow-countrymen, came out) I tell you what it is, the things that are wanted now are boots, and shoes, and stockings, and jackets and not gingerbread, and sugar plums, and spruce beer, and gimcracks of that kind.”

When the little patriots came to count up their money, they found it amounted to more than ten dollars. And it was none of your paltry continental stuff. It was all made up of good hard silver and copper.

The next thing they did was to appoint a treasurer, to take charge of the money, and to see that it was paid over to Washington’s agent, who was to be instructed to pay it all out in shoes. And that was not all these young statesmen did. They resolved that they would give to the army every cent of all the spending money they might get, as long as the war lasted. Didn’t they do their work pretty well, my little lad? I think they did. They did what they could. La Fayette and Washington did no more. You will smile when I tell you one thing which was proposed that evening. One of the boys thought it would be a good plan to turn over to the poor soldiers all the stockings and shoes belonging to the assembly. He thought they could get along better walking on the snow with their bare feet, than the troops could. But some one, with a little more forethought than this generous-hearted speaker, suggested that the soldiers at Valley Forge would find it difficult to get on such stockings and shoes as the Blue Hill boys had to bestow. So that scheme failed. But it shows what stuff those lads were made of. It shows what kind, generous, noble, self-denying hearts beat in their bosoms.

I declare to you I am more than ever proud of my native land, when I think what our ancestors did, in old times, to obtain our freedom for us. God grant that we may know how to value our blessings, that we may ever be thankful for them, and that we may not abuse the liberty that has been given to us. I do not want my young readers to grow up, with their hearts full of the spirit of war. I love peace more than war. War I know to be a terrible thing. Seldom, very seldom would I go to war never, unless for some great principle, such as that for which our forefathers contended. No, I do not wish to have you get your heads and hearts full of the war spirit. But I do want you to be patriots. I want you to love your country; to be willing to make sacrifices for it; to look upon it as the brightest and dearest spot on earth. Our liberty cost a great deal a great deal of money, of hardship, of suffering, and, what is more valuable than all, a great deal of blood. It cost too much to be lightly valued too much to be trifled with. Take care that you never get into the habit which some, who are much older than you, have fallen into, of looking upon the union of these states as a matter, after all has been said and done, of not much consequence. I tell you the bonds which bind us together is a sacred one; and, next to the tie which binds us together in families, ought to be, to you and to me, the dearest tie on earth.