PATRIOTISM

General Gordon, the Confederate commander, used to tell the following story:  He was sitting by the roadside one blazing hot day when a dilapidated soldier, his clothing in rags, a shoe lacking, his head bandaged, and his arm in a sling, passed him.  He was soliloquizing in this manner: 

“I love my country.  I’d fight for my country.  I’d starve and go thirsty for my country.  I’d die for my country.  But if ever this damn war is over I’ll never love another country!”

A snobbish young Englishman visiting Washington’s home at Mount Vernon was so patronizing as to arouse the wrath of guards and caretakers; but it remained for “Shep” Wright, an aged gardener and one of the first scouts of the Confederate army, to settle the gentleman.  Approaching “Shep,” the Englishman said: 

“Ah—­er—­my man, the hedge!  Yes, I see, George got this hedge from dear old England.”

“Reckon he did,” replied “Shep”.  “He got this whole blooming country from England.”

Speaking of the policy of the Government of the United States with respect to its troublesome neighbors in Central and South America, “Uncle Joe” Cannon told of a Missouri congressman who is decidedly opposed to any interference in this regard by our country.  It seems that this spring the Missourian met an Englishman at Washington with whom he conversed touching affairs in the localities mentioned.  The westerner asserted his usual views with considerable forcefulness, winding up with this observation: 

“The whole trouble is that we Americans need a ——­ good licking!”

“You do, indeed!” promptly asserted the Britisher, as if pleased by the admission.  But his exultation was of brief duration, for the Missouri man immediately concluded with: 

“But there ain’t nobody can do it!”

A number of Confederate prisoners, during the Civil War, were detained at one of the western military posts under conditions much less unpleasant than those to be found in the ordinary military prison.  Most of them appreciated their comparatively good fortune.  One young fellow, though, could not be reconciled to association with Yankees under any circumstances, and took advantage of every opportunity to express his feelings.  He was continually rubbing it in about the battle of Chickamauga, which had just been fought with such disastrous results for the Union forces.

“Maybe we didn’t eat you up at Chickamauga!” was the way he generally greeted a bluecoat.

The Union men, when they could stand it no longer, reported the matter to General Grant.  Grant summoned the prisoner.

“See here,” said Grant, “I understand that you are continually insulting the men here with reference to the battle of Chickamauga.  They have borne with you long enough, and I’m going to give you your choice of two things.  You will either take the oath of allegiance to the United States, or be sent to a Northern prison.  Choose.”