And it is a mark--a mark of distinction--a badge of honor, worn by many a brave fellow who has gone forth, borne and upheld by a love for the dear old flag, to fight, to suffer, to die if need be, for it; won in the fierce contest, amid the clashing strokes of the steel and the wild whistling of bullets; won by unflinching nerve and unyielding muscle; worn as a badge of the proudest distinction an American can reach. If these lines come to one of those that have thus fought and suffered--though his scars were received in some unnoticed, unpublished skirmish, though official bulletins spoke not of him, 'though fame shall never know his story'--let them come as a tribute to him; as a token that he is not forgotten; that those that have been with him through the trials and the triumphs of the field, remember him and the heroic courage that won for him by those honorable scars; and that while life is left to them they will work and fight in the same cause, cheerfully making the same sacrifices, seeking no higher reward than to take him by the hand and call him 'comrade,' and to share with him the proud consciousness of duty done. Shoulder-straps and stars may bring renown; but he is no less a real hero who, with rifle and bayonet, throws himself into the breach, and, uninspired by hope of official notice, battles manfully for the right. Hopeful Tackett, humble yet illustrious, a hero for all time, we salute you. JOHN BULL TO JONATHAN. You grow too fast, my child! Your stalwart limbs, Herculean in might, now rival mine; The starry light upon your forehead dims The lustre of my crown--distasteful sign. Contract thy wishes, boy! Do not insist Too much on what's thine own--thou art too new! Bend and curtail thy stature! As I list, It is _my_ glorious privilege to do. Take my advice--I freely give it thee-- Nay, would enforce it. I am ripe in years-- Let thy young vigor minister to me! Restrain thy freedom when it interferes! No rival must among the nations be To jeopardize my own supremacy! JONATHAN TO JOHN BULL. Thanks for your kind advice, my worthy sire! Though thrust upon me, and but little prized. The offices you modestly require, I reckon, will be scarcely realized. My service to you! but not quite so far That I will lop a limb, or force my lips To gratify your longing. Not a star Of my escutcheon shall your fogs eclipse! Let noble deeds evince my parentage. No rival I; my aim is not so low: In nature's course, youth soon outstrippeth age, And is survivor at its overthrow. Freedom is Heaven's best gift. Thanks! I am free, Nor will acknowledge your supremacy! AMERICAN STUDENT LIFE. SOME MEMORIES OF YALE.