“I'm only a humble student,” said the poet. “Think what we've learnt in a hundred years. That little Devil, who rode across Europe killing an' burning an' spreading terror until they stopped him at Waterloo, he taught us a great lesson. He made us hate war, and that was the beginning o' the end of it. There were to be other wars, but they have been steps only in the conquest of Peace.” “And there will be no more war?” I queried. “Yes; but the learned races will put an end to it by and by,” he went on. “The upper classes have all learnt their lesson—they know too much. We know suthin' 'bout war here in Faraway. Let me tell ye a story.” The old poet sat on a rock near, and began this little epic of the countryside: 8039 “So ye're runnin' fer Congress, mister? Le' me tell ye 'bout my son, Might make you fellers carefuller down there in Washington: He clings to his rifle an' uniform—folks call him Whisperin' Bill, An' I tell ye the war ain't over yit up here on Bowman's Hill. “This dooryard is his battle-field—le's see, he was nigh sixteen When Sumter fell, an' as likely a boy as ever this world has seen, An' what with the news o' battle lost, the speeches, an' all the noise, I guess ev'ry farm in the neighborhood lost a part of its crop o' boys. “'Twas harvest time when Bill left home, ev'ry stalk in the fields o' rye Seemed t' stan' tip-toe t' see him off an' wave a fond good-bye. His sweetheart was here with some other gals—the sassy little miss— An' pertendin' she wanted t' whisper 'n his ear, she give him a rousin' kiss. 8040 “Oh, he was a han'some feller! an* tender an' brave an' smart, An' though he was bigger 'n I was, the boy had a woman's heart. I couldn't control my feelin's, but I tried with all my might, An' his mother an' me stood a-cryin' till Bill was out o' sight. “His mother she often tol' him, when she knew he was goin' away, That God would take care o' him, maybe, if he didn't fergit to pray; An' on the bloodiest battle-fields, when bullets whizzed in the air, An' Bill was a fightin' desperit, he used to whisper a prayer. 'Oh, his comrades has often told me that Bill never flinched a bit When ev'ry second a gap in the ranks tol' where a ball had hit. An' one night when the field was covered with the awful harvest o' war, They found my boy 'mongst the martyrs o' the cause he was fightin' for. 8041 “His fingers was clutched in the dewy grass —oh, no sir, he wasn't dead, But he lay kind o' helpless an' crazy with a rifle-ball in his head; An' he trembled with the battle-fear a-lay- in' in the dew, An' he whispered, as he tried to rise: 'God 'll take care o' you.' 'An officer wrote an' tol' us how the boy had been hurt in the fight, But he said the doctors reckoned they could bring him around all right, An' then we heard from a neighbor, dis- abled at Malvern Hill, That he thought in the course of a week or so he'd be cornin' home with Bill.