At ten o'clock on the morning of the 6th, General Stuart's cavalry entered the city. There were some Marylanders in the Rebel army, who were warmly welcomed by their friends. A few ladies waved their handkerchiefs, but the majority of the people of the city had made up their minds to stand by the old flag, and manifested no demonstrations of joy. Many of them, however, took down the stars and stripes, when they saw the Rebels advancing; but over one house it waved proudly in the morning breeze, as General Jackson rode into town. His soldiers dashed forward to tear it down. What followed has been beautifully told by Whittier. BARBARA FRIETCHIE. "Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand, Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished Rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall, When Lee marched over the mountain-wall. Over the mountain winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her four score years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the Rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced, the Old Flag met his sight. 'Halt!' the dust brown ranks stood fast. 'Fire!' out blazed the rifle blast. It shivered the window, pane, and sash. It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick as it fell from the broken staff, Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. 'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag,' she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came. The nobler nature within him stirred To life, at that woman's deed and word. 'Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!' he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet. All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the Rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well, And through the hill-gap sunset light Shone over it with a warm good night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er; And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her! And let a tear Fall for her sake on Stonewall's bier, Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of freedom and union wave!