ith

"The Union of hearts, the Union of hands,
And the flag of our Union forever."

Old Glory has floated victoriously on many a gallant fight by sea
and land, but never do its silver stars glitter more bravely or its
blood-red stripes curve more proudly on the fawning breeze than when it
floats above the school-house, over the daily battle against ignorance
and prejudice (which is ignorance of our fellows), for freedom and for
equal rights. It is no mere pretty sentimentality that puts the flag
there, but the serious recognition of the bed-rock principle of our
Union: That we are all of one blood, one bounden duty; that all these
anti-social prejudices are just as shameful as illiteracy, and that they
must disappear as soon as ever we shall come to know each other well.
Knowledge is power. That is true. And it is also true: A house divided
against itself cannot stand.

"The Flag of our Union forever!" is our prayer, our heart's desire for
us and for our children after us. Heroes have died to give us that,
heroes that with glazing eyes beheld the tattered ensign and spent their
latest breath to cheer it as it passed on to triumph. "We who are about
to die salute thee!" The heart swells to think of it. But it swells,
too, to think that, day by day, thousands upon thousands of little
children stretch out their hands toward that Flag and pledge allegiance
to it. "We who are about to LIVE salute thee!"

It is no mere chance affair that all our federal buildings should be so
ugly and so begrudged, and that our school-houses should be so beautiful
architecturally--the one nearest my house is built from plans that took
the first prize at the Paris Exposition, in competition with the
whole world--so well-appointed, and so far from being grudged that the
complaint is, that there are not enough of them.

That So-and-so should be the President, and such-and-such a party
have control is but a game we play at, amateurs and professionals; the
serious business is, that in this country no child, how poor soever it
may be, shall have the slightest let or hindrance in the equal chance
with every other child to learn to read, and write, and cipher, and do
raffia-work.

It is a new thing with us to have splendid school-houses. After all, the
norm, as you might say, is still "The Old Red School-house." You must
recollect how hard the struggle is for the poor farmer, with wheat only
a dollar a bushel, and eggs only six for a