t, the dismay of the
retreat--alike we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the
internal foe, and outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat, night
after, night, beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldiers'
fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us
to duty, or the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy
sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed, the knapsack for his
pillow.

'And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in a peaceful valley,
on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away behind yonder
heights--the sunlight that, to-morrow morn, will glimmer on scenes of
blood. We have met, amid the whitening tents of our encampment,--in
times of terror and of gloom have we gathered together--God grant it may
not be for the last time!

'It is a solemn moment. Brethren, does not the solemn voice of nature
seem to echo the sympathies of the hour? The flag of our country droops
heavily from yonder staff; the breeze has died away along the green
plain of Chadd's Ford--the plain that spreads before us, glistening
in the sunlight; the heights of the Brandywine arise gloomy and grand
beyond the waters of yonder stream, and all nature holds a pause of
solemn silence, on the eve of the uproar and bloodshed and strife of
to-morrow.'

"The propriety of this language was manifest. Breathless attention was
pictured upon every countenance, and the smallest whisper could be
distinctly heard. Pausing a moment, as if running back, in his mind's
eye, over the eventful past, he again repeated his text:--

"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'

'And have they not taken the sword?

'Let the desolated plain, the blood-soddened valley, the burnt
farm-house, blackening in the sun, the sacked village, and the ravaged
town, answer; let the whitening bones of the butchered farmer, strewn
along the fields of his homestead, answer; let the starving mother, with
the babe clinging to the withered breast, that can afford no sustenance,
let her answer; with the death-rattle mingling with the murmuring tones
that mark the last struggle for life--let the dying mother and her babe
answer!

'It was but a day past and our land slept in peace. War was not
here--wrong was not here. Fraud, and woe, and misery, and want, dwelt not
among us. From the eternal solitude of the green woods arose the blue
smoke of the settler's cabin, and golden fields of co