order given for the march to begin,--the march of which you all
have heard. You know what a sorry time the Red-coats had of it
in getting back to Boston; how they were fought at every inch of
the way, and waylaid from behind every convenient tree-trunk, and
shot at from tree-tops, and aimed at from upper windows, and
beseiged from behind stone walls, and, in short, made so
miserable and harassed and overworn, that at last their depleted
ranks, with the tongues of the men parched and hanging, were fain
to lie down by the road-side and take what came next, even though
it might be death. And then THE DEAD they left behind them!

Ah! there's nothing wholesome to mind or body about war, until
long, long after it is over, and the earth has had time to hide
the blood, and send it forth in sweet blooms of liberty, with
forget-me-nots springing thick between.

The men of that day are long dead. The same soil holds regulars
and minute-men. England, who over-ruled, and the provinces, that
put out brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends
to-day, and have shaken hands over many a threshold of hearty
thought and kind deeds since that time.

The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, for the men of
the Revolution planted it well and surely. God himself HATH
given it increase. So we gather to-day, in this our story, a
forget-me-not more, from the old town of Concord.

When the troops had marched away, the weary little woman laid
aside her silken gown, resumed her homespun dress, and
immediately began to think of getting Uncle John down-stairs