colors. This roused the indignation of a half-dozen guests, whose
sympathies lay with the Rebellion. They threatened to leave, but
were so far in arrears that they could not settle their accounts.
The hotel-keeper endeavored to soothe them by promising to give his
printing, for the future, to another house. Several loyal guests were
roused at this offer, and threatened to secede at once if it were
carried out. The affair resulted in nothing but words.

On the morning of the 11th of July I left St. Louis, to join General
Lyon in the Southwest. It was a day's ride by rail to Rolla, the
terminus of the Southwest Branch of the Pacific road. I well recollect
the strange and motley group that filled the cars on that journey.
There were a few officers and soldiers _en route_ to join their
comrades in the field. Nearly all of them were fresh from civil life.
They wore their uniforms uneasily, as a farmer's boy wears his Sunday
suit. Those who carried sabers experienced much inconvenience when
walking, on account of the propensity of those weapons to get between
their legs. In citizen's dress, at my side, sat an officer of the old
army, who looked upon these newly-made warriors with much contempt,
mingled with an admiration of their earnestness. After an outburst
of mild invective, he pronounced a well-merited tribute to their
patriotism.

"After all," said he, "they are as good as the material the Rebels
have for their army. In some respects, they are better. The Northern
blood is cold; the Southern is full of life and passion. In the first
onset, our enemies will prove more impetuous than we, and will often
overpower us. In the beginning of the struggle, they will prove our
superiors, and may be able to boast of the first victories. But their
physical energy will soon be exhausted, while ours will steadily