soldier--never a patriot."

"I might combat that last remark," said Davenport, "but I'll let it go."

"Come, Brown, more music," exclaimed Warner. "The dinner and the dull
conversation makes some of us drowsy. Stir us up, man!"

"There's nothing like the fife and drum for rousing men," said
Kinnison. "I hate these finnicking, soft and love-sick instruments, such
as pianos, guitars and some others they play on now-a-days. There's no
manliness about them."

Brown and Hanson, having produced their old martial instruments, then
struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner," the best of the national anthems
of America. Soon after the last roll of the fife had ended, Hand,
without invitation, struck up the anthem itself, and sang the words with
great force, the whole company joining in the two last lines of every
verse. The music and the anthem thoroughly roused the old as well as the
young members of the company, and, at its conclusion, three cheers were
lustily given for the stars and stripes. One of the young men then said
that he had a song to sing, which would be new to the company; but still
was not an original composition. The music was stirring and appropriate.
The words were as follows:--

Freemen! arise, and keep your vow!
The foe are on our shore,
And we must win our freedom now,
Or yield forevermore.

The share will make a goodly glaive--
Then tear it from the plough!
Lingers there here a crouching slave!
Depart, a recreant thou!

Depart, and leave the field to those
Determined to be free,
Who burn to meet their vaunting foes
And strike for liberty.

Why did the pilgrim cross the wave?
Say, was he not your sire?
And shall the liberty he gave
Upon his grave expire!

The stormy wave could not appal;
Nor where the savage trod;
He braved them all, and conquer'd all,
For freedom and for God.

We fight for fireside and for home,
For heritage, for altar;
And, by the God of yon blue dome,
Not one of us shall falter!

We'll guard them, though the foeman stood
Like sand-grains on our shore,
And raise our angry battle-flood,
And whelm the despots o'er.

We've drawn the sword, and shrined the sheath
Upon our father's tomb;
And when the foe shall sleep in death,
We'll sheath it o'er their doom.

Firm be your step, steady your file,
Unbrok