to itself, and called loudly for the restoration of its favorite
general. And then the general, whose portrait I have placed at the
head of a previous chapter, and who sat in his easy chair in
Washington, and brought our armies to grief, called loudly for
General George to come and help him out of his trouble. This, you
will see, my son, was first tying a man's hands, and then asking him
to come and help whip a giant.

Yes, my son, there was toil and trouble enough in Washington just
then; and the errors our wise men had committed were like witches
rising up and haunting them. It is said that the little bell-ringer
of the State Department had his traps packed up, and ready to move;
and that fear had made the burly man in the War Department civil.
Newly recruited volunteers, well fed, well clothed, and fresh
looking, were marching into the city with colors flying and drums
beating. The militia, which had come to Washington to do ornamental
duty for thirty days, were marching home with colors flying and
drums beating. Neither of these could give us relief in our trouble.
The nation had only the good old army of the Potomac to lean upon in
this its day of trouble. And how few of us, my son, think of this
matter properly, or are willing to give the brave men, who composed
that army, credit for what they had done. Like the English, we are
an exacting people, and inclined to ask too much of those who fight
our battles. Some of our public men were for forgetting what those
sun-scorched, ragged, and fever-stricken heroes had done for us on
the Peninsula, and even for wiping out their record of heroism.

I confess it was to me a sad and touching sight to see these
soldiers, who had served their country so well, who had suffered in
swamps, and fought and defeated the enemy, treated with what seemed