The Brit-ish troops went in boats, and took their stand on the bank of the Charles. They had two men to our one, and were full of skill in the use of arms. Our men had come in from the farm or the shop. They did not know what a drill meant; but their place was more safe back of the earth works, while the troops of the foe were out in full sight in the field. It is a grand sight; the long lines, the red coats and white pants of the Brit-ish; the white cross belts, the beat of drums, the play of fifes. The sky is clear and hot. Great white clouds sail on the blue. The folks crowd on the roof of each house in the town.

So our men laid in wait, as the troops took up a slow march on them. The Eng-lish found the day hot, and they had their arms and food to weigh them down. But they had no doubts, and their march was sure. They would fire now and then, and few shots fell on them. On they came, till they got ten rods from the earth works. Then the word rang out on our side, "Fire!" When the smoke was gone it was seen that the dead lay on the ground here and there; and those who were left had set off to run.

A great shout went up from the forts; a cheer came back from those at the rail fence. They, too, had held back their fire to the last, and then three fourths of those who had set out to chase them fell in the ranks, and the rest ran. Gen-er-al Put-nam was one of our great men in this fight. When the foe came on, he had said to his men, "Aim low; wait till you can see the whites of their eyes," and their aim was sure. When they saw the Brit-ish troops in flight, they thought they would give them chase; but they had no more shot, and so could not make good what they had won. They fell back with sad hearts, one by one, and lost more as they did so than they had done in the fight.

This was the fight of Bunk-er Hill, and though the A-mer-i-cans did not win the day, they made plain to all men that they had stout hearts, and could deal a blow for their rights. In this fight Gener-al War-ren lost his life.

CHAPTER VI.
FIRST IN WAR—FIRST IN PEACE.

The first thing George Wash-ing-ton was heard to ask when news came of this fight was, "Did our men stand fire?" And when he was told that they did, he said, "Then the rights of our land are safe." From this day our men took heart and were of good cheer. The Brit-ish lost one in four of their men in that fight; and on our side we did not lose half as much. In Eng-land men did not know what to make of so great a loss to their troops from so small a force as ours.

In this land there was a call for more troops, and George Wash-ing-ton was put at their head. He had shown that he was a brave and true man. He came from Vir-gin-ia, his home, and met the rest 'neath a great elm tree in Cam-bridge. This tree is known as the "Wash-ing-ton Elm" to this day. All felt a wish to see this brave man, who had no small fame; they came from all sides to greet him, and saw a man more than six feet tall, with a broad chest, large hands and feet, a fine face, a clear eye, and the air of one born to rule. He wore a blue coat, with buff small clothes, and a black plume in his hat.

Wash-ing-ton saw, in his turn, a crowd of men of all sorts and kinds, rude and rough in their looks, and with odd kinds of arms, no two of which were alike, in their hands. Some were in old coats, some in their shirt sleeves. No state suits or gold bands or fine plumes were there. And when Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton went round to the camp, he found things were in a bad state. Some had straight lines of tents, neat and nice, but most were in small huts made of boards or stones or turf. The food was rough and scarce, and the men had not the first means for war; not as much as would load their guns more than a few times.

It would not have been strange if Wash-ing-ton had felt his heart sink at such a sight. But he went to work in a brave way to do the best he could. Some store ships of food fell, by good luck, in the hands of our men, who had been sent out to get what they could; so that food was not so scarce. But still they had no food for their guns, and could not march on the foe.

The Brit-ish troops still held Bos-ton; but could not get food and wood for fires. The small-pox, too, broke out in their midst. They had to pull down an old house now and then and burn it to keep warm; and they sent crowds out of the town to be fed. They put troops in each church, and made a play house of the Town Hall. At times they would send out play bills to Wash-ing-ton and his men. They did not want them to know that things were so hard with them.

Once in this hall they had a play on the times. It was meant to show how they were shut in by the foe, and of course to make fun at the same time. In one part, a man in a dress like Wash-ing-ton, with a great wig, and a long sword all rust, came on the stage. By his side was a green lad, with an old gun. This was done to cast a slur on our men. But just then there was a cry, "The Yan-kees are on Bunk-er Hill." At first this was thought to be a part of the play; but when Gen-er-al Howe said, in a loud voice, "Men, to your posts!" there was great fright. Men ran, their wives fell in a faint, and all felt there was no fun in such a scare. In a short time the Eng-lish left Bos-ton; for they could not be safe from the fire that came down on them from all the hills round.

But they did not give up the fight. When the King and his court heard of Bunk-er Hill, they made up their minds they would rule this land, let it cost what it would. So they cut off our trade as far as they could, and they brought in all the men they could find from all lands which would give them help. So you may be sure they had a great crowd to come on us and try to bend us to their will. But our folk kept up a stout heart in the face of all. They felt they had gone too far to go back.

There were some wise men who were known as the "Con-gress," who had met in Phil-a-del-phia. They gave it as their mind that "These States are and of right ought to be free;" and they stuck to this text. The troops had to fight, and it was the part of Con-gress to raise the men, the pay, and the arms. It would seem that they had the worst part to do. To be sure, when they thought of the past, they might take heart. In the face of such a foe, it must be said, our men had done well. Doc-tor Frank-lin felt that way; but there were some rich men who thought it would be death to the States to make war.

So Con-gress met to see if it were best that they should strike the blow at once that would make them free. They had more than one talk on this, and at first the time did not seem ripe. They were to break all ties with Eng-land, to pay no more tax, and to try to find help if they could, in their fight to be free. Some great men wrote out the plan, and you can still see it in the Hall in Phil-a-del-phia. This sheet is called the "Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence." It meant that they were bound to be free, and so they wrote it down. It was made Ju-ly 4th, 1776, and that is why you hear the noise of fire works and see signs of joy on each Fourth of Ju-ly since that day.

When the men came to sign this Dec-la-ra-tion, the one who wrote his name first, said, "We must be one; we must all pull the same way; we must hang side by side." "Or we shall hang with none at our side," said Frank-lin. But no doubt there were sad hearts that day, though these words did raise a laugh.

They did not change this dec-la-ra-tion much from the way they wrote it first. There was one clause on the slave trade which the men from the South did not like; so it was struck out. There were twelve States—though they did not call them States in those days—that gave their vote for it. New York would not vote at all. The bell of the State House was to ring if the "Dec-la-ra-tion" should pass. This bell had been put up years since, and one might read on it, though these are not just the words, "Let all the land be free." So the old man who was wont to ring this bell, put his boy at the door of the hall where the men met.

When at last the Dec-la-ra-tion should pass, the man who kept the door was to make a sign to the boy. You may think how all hearts beat when this boy ran out with a cry of "Ring, ring;" and what a peal of joy rang out from the bell! Then the Dec-la-ra-tion was read to each of the troops, and there were loud cheers on cheers from all sides. That night the form of George the Third, on horse-back, which had been wrought in stone, and stood in one of the squares, was laid low in the dust by the crowd.

Yet for all this brave show, the men were sad at heart. They knew how poor they were, and how few, and the true state of the troops, and all that could be brought to put them down. They set out to make a flag of their own; for they had all sorts of flags at this time. One had a pine tree on a white ground, and was known as the "pine tree flag." On this flag were words which meant, "Call to God for help."

When Wash-ing-ton came to take the head of the troops, he had a new flag made with stripes of red and white, as now; but on one end was a red and white cross, like that which marks the Brit-ish flag. This flag went with our troops in Bos-ton, when the Brit-ish took up their march out of that place. But, by vote of Con-gress, a change was made, and it was said that our flag must have red and white stripes, and white stars on a blue ground—a star and a stripe for each State. Now when they make a new State, they put a new star on our flag. Count them and see how strong we are.

The first man to hoist the new flag was Cap-tain Paul Jones. He was at the head of a man-of-war, and from that ship it was first flung out on the breeze. This is the flag that now waves in town and camp, and on our ships to all the ports of the land. We have more stars now, but the stripes stay the same.

CHAPTER VII.
THE REST OF THE WAR.

Up to this time, most of the fights had been round Bos-ton. But Wash-ing-ton now saw that there would be a move made on New York; so he sent Gen-er-al Lee to help keep the town, and he soon went there too. Some men came to their aid from the South, and Lord Howe, with a great mass of Eng-lish troops, were there to meet them. Lord Howe had word from King George first to speak of peace, but he did not know to whom he should speak. He wrote a note to "George Wash-ing-ton;" but our chief would not read it, as he said his true name, as head of the troops, should be on it. So Lord Howe wrote no more. He saw that the hour to fight had come.

At first the A-mer-i-can troops came to grief, and Wash-ing-ton and his men had to make their way back for a time. The Brit-ish took heart from this, and our men were sad. They were poor, and had few clothes, and some had no shoes for that long, hard march; so that one could track their steps by the blood on the ground.

Wash-ing-ton saw there was no time to lose, and he must strike a swift blow. He knew there were troops of Ger-mans at Tren-ton, and that they still held to the ways of their land. Do you know the name of that day when you have a tree with nice gifts and lights hung on it? It is the day when Christ was born, and which we keep to this time for His sake. Well, Wash-ing-ton knew these folk would cling to the ways of their old homes. That they would keep the feast and be off their guard. So on the eve of that day he set out to march on them with his men. A storm of sleet came up in the night, but they went on, and when the dawn rose, these brave men, who had come through the snow and ice, stood in ranks for the fight. Some one wrote a note, and a man ran all the way to Tren-ton to warn the Ger-mans. But they were at cards. The Gen-er-al had his cards in his hands, and it was his turn to play. He must look at his cards first.

Yes, his life is at stake, but he does not know it. In the dim gray of the dawn our men march in on them. There is the sound of wheels and a shout. Co-lon-el Kall hears the drums beat, and the cards drop from his hands—too late! He got his death in that fight, and all his men were held and bound. These things put our troops in heart once more, and it was the wish of all to go on; but they had a hard, sad time through the days of storm and cold at Val-ley Forge.

If we could see that camp at Val-ley Forge, in our mind's eye, we would know how much those poor men had to bear in this war to make us free. They had lost some by death, and more were ill. They had so few clothes to put on when they slept, that some sat up all night by the fires to keep warm. At one time there were few who had shoes, and the sick had to lie on the bare ground, for want of straw. The head men had to wear old quilts or bed spreads round in the camp, to keep them warm, for want of the right kind of clothes.

The troops were not paid; or the sort of pay they got would not buy them food. Food was so scarce that, at last, the pass word was, "No food—no man." There were men in this camp who had been at the court of kings; who had fed on rich food, and had wine to drink, and now they were like to starve.

All this time Wash-ing-ton did his best to keep up the heart of his troops. He did not tell Con-gress how few and worn they were; and there were those who gave him blame that he did not do great things with these few worn out men. All this time the Brit-ish troops in Phil-a-del-phia had what they chose of good fare, and led a gay life. Some of them, with Gen-er-al Bur-goyne at their head, in the mean time, had two or three fights with our men, but found they did not gain much. At last they were glad to go back. Just as they made a move to do so, our men had the luck to hem them in on all sides in one place and won the day. This was at Sar-a-to-ga. This was good news to those in Val-ley Forge. It brought cheer to them, and they felt brave to go on.

In Eng-land men did not know what to make of our luck. It made a stir in France, where we had friends; and some of their young men came here to join our troops. We had some great French men with us at that time. One whose name is still held in love by all—the great La-fa-yette.

At this time France made a vow to us that she would stand our friend, and give us aid. When this was known in Eng-land, fears rose on all sides; for they knew how much help France could give, and how strong it would make us. They sent men over to talk to us of peace, but it was too late. The A-mer-i-cans had no thought but to be free, and they would take no less than that. But these men still came, and thought they would see what bribes could do. A large sum of gold was held out to Gen-er-al Reed, if he would aid their cause. He said, "I am not worth so much; but such as I am, the King of Eng-land has not so much gold as would buy me!"

But the aid from France was less than they thought it would be. Fleets were sent, but they gave small help to the cause. And so the war went on for three years more. At times our men would make a good fight, and then there would be dark days when the foe had things all his own way. The Eng-lish had paid some tribes of In-di-ans to fight on their side; and once there was a sad scene, where men and their wives and babes were put to death by these fierce wild men. This was not war, of course. We give it a much worse name.

Then there were sea-fights. In one of these, the men on the ships fought three hours, and the ships took fire more than once; but at last the Brit-ish gave up. In that ship the man who took the lead on our side was Paul Jones.

There is a tale told of what the brave wife of one of those men, to whom we give the name of Friends, did for our cause at this time. Gen-er-al Howe made his home in her house, a long low brick one, at Tren-ton. He said to her one day, "I want to have some friends here to night, and I would like to have the spare back room to meet them in."

"It shall be as thee says," said Friend Ruth.

"See that all the folks in the house are in bed at a good hour," said Gen-er-al Howe.

"I will move that they go," said Friend Ruth.

So when the men came to see Gen-er-al Howe that night, it was all still in the house. Friend Ruth let them in.

"You may go to bed and stay till I call," said Gen-er-al Howe.

Ruth went to her room and lay down awhile; but did not take off her clothes. She must know what these men meant to do. At last she took off her shoes and went to the door of the room, and put her ear to the key hole. This is what she heard. Some one reads, "Our troops will make a move by stealth on the foe, and we will take them ere they know we are on them!"

There was no more sleep for Friend Ruth that night. She lay in her bed till dawn; but all her aim was to think of a plan to help our troops, and not to let them fall in the snare. At last she hit on a plan to get out of the lines. She was in need of some flour; and to get flour, she must go to a grist mill, for they did not sell it at stores in those days. Gen-er-al Howe could not say he would not let her get flour, as he ate at her house; so he gave her a pass. While they ground the grist for her at the mill, she rode on as fast as she could, till she came to one of our guards. She said some words to him in a low voice, and rode back, got her flour, and was home in no time.

When Gen-er-al Howe came on our troops the next day, he found them all drawn up in rank and file in good trim to meet him. He thought it best not to have a fight at all; and it was a strange thing to him how they could have known of his move.

Down in the South there were brave men at the head of our troops. One was Ma-ri-on, who led his men through the woods by paths that were known to few. They gave him the name of the "Swamp Fox," and the Brit-ish cast slurs on him, and said he would not come out for a fight in a bold way, but took their posts at night, and when they were off guard. But he gave them a proof of what he could do, when he and Greene fought them and won the day in a fair field. Greene made such a name in this fight that he took rank next to Wash-ing-ton from that time.

We have to tell a sad tale now of one of our own men—a man, too, who had won fame in the war. He had shown that he was brave; but men did not like him much, for he thought more of his own gain than of his land, and he had the wish for a high place, which he did not get. His name was Ben-e-dict Ar-nold, and his bad act was, that he made a plan to sell his own land to the Eng-lish. He wrote to the foe all he could of the moves our troops were to make, and their state, but he did not sign his own name. Once he had his camp at the head of some men at West Point, and he made up his mind to give this place, which was strong with forts, to the Brit-ish. This he would have done, and the whole land would have come to grief, but for a chance that brought the vile plan to light.

One day a young man rides down the path by the stream. There is a wood of oak near. On the ground, by the trees, there are three young men. They have a game of cards. They have been out all night, and have sat down to rest.

They hear the sound of hoofs.

"Some one on his way to New York for trade," says one.

His friend peers out. "No; his clothes are too good for that," he says.

All three spring to their feet, and cry, "Halt!"

The man on the horse stops, and says, "I hope you are on our side."

"Which side is that?" cry the men.

"The side of the King."

"All right," they say; for they wish to find out more.

"Thank God, I am once more with friends!" he says, as he takes out his gold watch. "I must get on. I am in great haste."

"We can not let you go," say the men.

"But I have a pass."

"Whose?"

"Gen-er-al Ar-nold's."

"You must get off your horse."

"But, I tell you, you will get in a scrape if you stop me. Read this pass."

"No good. You said you were Brit-ish; we must search you."

"I have naught."

"We will see. Take off your coat."

The coat is laid off, and the boots. Ah, what is this? The hand of Ar-nold in this; and "West Point" the date. A shout went up, "He is a spy!"

He was a young Eng-lish man by the name of An-dré. He took his watch and purse, and said he would give them all, if they would let him go free. They would not, but took him to the near A-mer-i-can Post to try him. Of course, what Ar-nold had done all came out. He had known this would be the case, for as soon as the news was brought that An-dré was in the hands of our men, he took leave of his wife, gave a kiss to his boy, and sped on his way to an Eng-lish ship. He got to Eng-land, and was paid a large sum of gold; and they gave him a fine place at the head of some troops; but no man would make a friend of him. The Eng-lish had been glad to use him, but they would not take him by the hand.

You may think what a life he had. His own land had cast him out, but he came back to fight her at the head of the foe. But the new land where he had made his home had no real place for him. Once in the great house in Eng-land, where the wise men meet to talk of their laws, one rose to make a speech. But when he saw Ar-nold in a seat near him, he said, "I will not speak while that man is in the house." Long years after, when one of the great men of France had it in his mind to come to this land, he went to Ar-nold for some notes to his friends. Ar-nold said, "I was born in A-mer-i-ca. I spent my youth there; but Ah! I can call no man in A-mer-i-ca my friend."

In the mean time An-dré, the young Eng-lish man, who had met Ar-nold, and got the plans which were to give us up in to the hands of the foe, was shown to be a spy. There was but one doom for a spy. He must be hung. All felt for his fate. He was young, and had a fine face, and the air of good birth; but his hour had come. Tears were shed at his death; though he was our foe. All knew he was a brave man, who had not been slow to risk his life in the cause of his land. He thought he was right, and took all means to serve his own ends. For Ar-nold, who would have sold his own, there was but hate, and they gave him a name which would serve to show what his crime had been to all time—Ar-nold the Trai-tor!

All this while the French had been our friends; but they had not met with a chance to show what they could do, till a great fight came which made an end of this war. This was at a place by the name of York-town, in Vir-gin-ia. Wash-ing-ton was there with his troops, and the French Gen-er-al, who had a hard name, which you may learn one of these days, was with him at the head of his men. They took the best works of the Brit-ish, and made such a brave stand, that Lord Corn-wal-lis thought it would be wise to leave by night, with all his troops. But a storm came, and they could not get off, so they all had to give up to Wash-ing-ton.

There was a grand scene that day, in the fall of 1781, when Wash-ing-ton and his French friends stood in two ranks, and their old foes took up a slow march by them, and laid down their arms as they went. Great was the joy in all the land when the news was known. Those who woke that night in Phil-a-del-phia, heard the watch cry, "Past two o'clock and Corn-wal-lis is ours!" When the news came to Con-gress, they sent out word for a day to be set, in all the States, to give thanks to God, and all who were held for debt, or for crime, or what cause it might be, were set free, that they might share the great joy.

Well might they all be glad, for this meant the end of the war. It had cost them dear in gold as well as lives; but it had been worse for Eng-land than for them. The sums she had spent were vast, and one could not count the lives she had lost. Add to this the fact that she had lost this great land, which had once been all her own, and now was made free. Our land now took a new name. You can read it, I know, though it is not in short words, "The U-nit-ed States of A-mer-i-ca."

CHAPTER VIII.
IN TIMES OF PEACE.

When peace came, the men who had been in camp went to their own homes. They were all poor, and did not know what to do. There was no gold in the land, but a kind of cash which was so bad that it took more than you could count to buy a pair of shoes. Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton found his task more hard to keep all in good cheer, now there were no fights on hand, than when they were at war. There had to be a tax on some things to keep all right, and they did not want to pay the tax, or their debts at this time. Wash-ing-ton felt that things were at loose ends, and he must make them more strong.

Each State had a wish to be first; and it would seem that, with no foe to fight, they were on the point of war with their own selves. There was need of a strong hand to rule the whole land. So men were sent out of each State to meet in Phil-a-del-phia and talk of the best plan. They had a long talk, and at last wrote what we call the "Con-sti-tu-tion." Ten of the States gave it their vote at once; but three held back for a while.

There were grand times in our land when it was known that the Con-sti-tu-tion was to be our guide; that we were to be in truth, "The U-nit-ed States of A-mer-i-ca," with one will, one aim, one soul as it were, while time should last.

A great crowd came out in Phil-a-del-phia to show their joy. Each trade had its men there, with the tools of the trade in their hands. There was a grand car, made in the shape of that bird which we chose as the sign of our land. It was drawn by six steeds, and in it sat those who were to judge the folk in our great courts. They held a staff, and on it was our "Con-sti-tu-tion," in a frame, and on the top of the staff a cap, which we might call the cap of the free—a kind they were fond of in France at that time. There were ten ships on the river, gay with flags and gilt, to show forth the ten States that had cast their vote in the right way.

George Wash-ing-ton was made the first Pres-i-dent, and as he took his way to New York, which was then the seat of rule, he met joy and kind words on all the route.

At Tren-ton, where he had fought, there was an arch thrown out on a bridge, where he must pass. This was hung with wreaths, and young girls stood with hands full of sweet buds and bloom, which they flung in his path, as they sung a song to greet him, and thank him for all he had done.

As he drew near New York, a barge came out to meet him. It had a crew all in white, and was meant to show the States—a man for each State. Then more boats came to join them, with our flag on each. Wash-ing-ton was led in great state to his new home. When the time came for him first to meet with the folk and take the oath to be true to the Con-sti-tu-tion, there was such a rush to the place that some one said, "One might walk on the heads of the crowd." When Wash-ing-ton came out where all could see him, and the oath was read to him, and he took it, a great cheer rent the air, and a cry rang out, "Long live George Wash-ing-ton, Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States." There was a flag flung out from that Hall, a peal of bells rang, and a blast was sent out from the guns, to show the joy and the love with which they took him for their chief. This was on April 30, 1789.

War is bad for all folks; for it is hard, when it is past, for men to learn the arts of peace. Wash-ing-ton found the whole land in debt. They did not want a tax, and the red men were still their foes. But in a few years he made a great change. The In-di-ans were put down, and France and Spain and Eng-land were brought to deal with us as friends. It was a man by the name of John Jay, who wrote out the terms with Eng-land, and so we had peace for a time.

Just then there was a great fight in France, not with a foe, but in their own midst. The men there had seen how our land had won the day, and they had a mind to be free and have no King. They did not go at it in the same way that we did; but shed much blood of their own folk, and cut off the heads of their King and Queen, and did things which made good men sad. But they said they did it all to be free. There was a reign of fright for a time. But at last, the mob could rule no more, and they were glad to take a King.

Wash-ing-ton kept up great state, for those times, in his own home, and when he drove out he had a state coach, cream white in hue, and drawn by six steeds on state days. He took but one horse on the Lord's day, when he rode to church. This coach was of the shape of a half sphere, and had wreaths, and the forms of small fat boys with wings, drawn on it in gay tints. He set days for all to come and see him in his home. Those who came would see Wash-ing-ton in front of the fire place, and near him the band of great men who gave him help with their wise words. He would be, seen in a coat of black, with a vest of white or pearl, and buff gloves. His hair was made white with a kind of dust they had in use in those days; and it was put in a sort of silk bag at the back of his head. That was a queue.

He would have his hat in his hand, and he wore a long sword. He did not shake hands with his guests, but made them a bow, and had some word for each. His wife, too, had times for her friends to come; and all must be in full dress—the dames in low necks and short sleeves. On the birth day of Wash-ing-ton, men would meet to dine in all the large towns; and those who made rhymes would write odes to the great man. There were some who did not like all this state and form and show. They thought it was too much like the style of kings in the old land, and they would have been glad to have a new mode here. They did not wish to see a Judge in a robe of red, or the man who was to preach in the church in a wig, with gown and bands. They were for plain dress and plain ways.

You may see now bits of the stiff, rich silks of those days, or it may be a quaint old gown, rich in lace, which has been kept from that time. You may see in your mind the dame who wore it, as she waves her fan, sent from France, with the head of Wash-ing-ton on it. The hair of this dame would be drawn high on her head, and made white with the dust of which I spoke, and put in great puffs. The men whose trade it was to dress hair in those days had such a crowd of folks to fix, that they had to get up at four to do the work. I have heard of great dames who sat up all night to keep their hair in good style for some ball, or the play. The men, too, thought quite as much of dress as their wives, and in those days they did not wear plain cloth suits as now. Then a man put on a wig, and a white stiff stock, that held up his chin; a vest of white silk, it may be with rose-buds on it, and all the rest of his clothes were rich.

It was the mode to have a snuff box in those days; it might be of gold, or some dear stuff, with much work on it, and when one met a friend they would be as sure to stop and take a pinch of snuff as to lift the hat in our time.

They gave Balls in those days, which were quite grand, but they did not dance in the same way as now. They had all sorts of slow steps and bows. There was a kind of stiff grace in their style, and some would like it more now, than the rush and whirl of our mode of to-day. The dames were borne in a sort of chair through the streets to these Balls.

All this was the way of life with the rich. The poor still wore the clothes they spun and wove, and they made their own lights, and struck fire with two flints. They had not seen a match then, and did not dream of gas, or of the strange new light which has been found in our time. They went to bed with the chicks, and rose when the cock crew. The towns at the North throve the best. At the South towns were few, and in the far West the foot of man had not yet found its way.

Those brave men who had first come to this land, had seen here and there in the South a strange plant. It had a sort of bulb full of a fine white down, and those who had seen it in hot lands knew it could be spun, and cloth made from it. It was not hard to make it grow; but the white fluff was so full of seeds that it took a whole day to get a pound free from them. Wise men saw in this plant a great fund of wealth for the States. So they set to work to find a quick way to take the seed out.

There was a man in the East who heard of this, and set his brain to work. He was a young man by the name of E-li Whit-ney; and he had not seen the plant when he took it in his head that he could find a way to "gin" it; for that is the name of the work. He had to walk all the way to one of the towns at the South, to get the seed, and as he had no tools or wire, he had to make them. You may think that was slow work, but he had a strong will, and when he had made a rude "gin," he bade his friends come and see how it would do. All saw that it would work well; but some thieves broke in his house at night and stole it. So there was a long time that the man who made the "gin" got nought for it. For those who stole it made gins like it and sold them. These gins did the work well and fast, and so there grew up a great trade for us in this soft white fluff.

It is made in cloth for you to wear, and is spread on your beds, and will take all sorts of bright dyes. We sell it to all the world, and wealth flows in on all sides. This would not have been the case had not the young man, E-li Whit-ney, made the "gin."

The death of one of the great men of the land came to pass at this time. We have told you of Ben-ja-min Frank-lin. He was born in Bos-ton, and he was the son of a poor man. But he knew how to print, and he set up a press in a room where he could print each morn the news of the day. He did not scorn to sell all sorts of wares as well, such as rags, ink, soap, and such things. He had read a great deal, and found out more than those round him knew. You have seen the sharp light play in the dark clouds in a storm. You know that it strikes at times; it may be a house or a barn or a man, and that the one who is struck is apt to die.

Well, Frank-lin thought that this light could be drawn down from the skies, and when he heard a laugh at this, he set to work to prove it. He sent his son out one day in a storm, with a kite in his hand. As a low black cloud went by, they saw the fierce light tear through it; it would seem that the light ran down the string of the kite. Frank-lin had put a key on this string, and when he made his friends touch that key, they drew sparks from it. So they saw that he had found out a great thing; and from that has come the plan of the rods that are now put on a house to keep it safe in a storm. This gave him fame here and in the rest of the world. He was sent to France and made strong friends for us there. He is said to have done more good works for his land than all the rest of the men of his time. So it is not strange that all felt sad when death took him from us.

The French, too, met in their great hall to mourn his loss; and one of their chiefs said, "The sage whom two worlds claim as their own is dead;" and they wore crape on their arms for three days, for his sake.

While Wash-ing-ton had the rule of the land, more new States came in. The first of these was Ver-mont. This State was full of green hills and strong brave men, who had cut down the trees and made homes there. Once New York laid claim to this land, but they could not drive these brave men out. They thought they had a right to the soil, and they sent a man, by name E-than Al-len, to talk with the men of New York. He was met with gibes and sneers, but he would not yield. He said to them in words from the good Book, "Our gods are gods of the hills, so they are more strong than yours."

So when the men from New York came to drive out those who had made homes in the midst of these hills, they found a stout foe. The Vermont boys would take those who came and tie them to trees and whip them with rods from the beech trees. To this they gave the name of "the beech seal;" and those from New York did not care to have the "beech seal" put on them more than once. They grew mad, of course, and they sent out bills in which they set forth that they would give a good price for the head of E-than Al-len. But in time peace was made in these two States, when they had fought side by side in the great war. And so Ver-mont was brought in and took that name, which means "Green Hills."

The next State that came in was Ken-tuck-y. This land was next to Vir-gin-ia, and for a time held to be a part of that State. The first man who made his way through its wild woods and hills was Dan-iel Boone, who had won a name for the way he could go in to the nooks and glens and trap wild beasts for their fur. He took a small band of men with him, and they had no fear, but went far in where man had not yet trod, to hunt or fish, or make salt at the "Salt Licks" or springs. He built forts and held them with his few friends for quite a time, spite of the red men. But once they took him and bound him, and thought they could make him one of them; so much did they like his strength and pluck, but he got free. When men heard of his brave deeds, more came to help him. The most of them were from Vir-gin-ia, and brought their slaves with them.

The In-di-ans were in a rage at all this new force, and made the best fight they could to drive them from the soil; so that whole land came to be known as the "Dark Land of Blood." In time, peace was made, and the land grew to a State by the name of Ken-tuck-y.

Wash-ing-ton held his post for two terms, or eight years, and he did not wish to serve more. So John Ad-ams was the choice of all, for the next chief of our land.

CHAPTER IX.
NEW MEN AND NEW LAWS.

John Ad-ams was one of the men who gave his help to write out the "Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence," of which you have been told. That was, as you know, the first step to make us free. In it we had made known that we would make our own laws, and no one should rule us but those in our own land. John Ad-ams had gone to France at the end of the great war, and had been one to help make the French our friends. In his time. Wash-ing-ton was made the home of the Pres-i-dents.

This town took its name from our great chief, and he was the one to pick out a place for the new site. This home we call the White House. At this time France did not seem to hold to the old ties that had made us friends. When our men were sent to her courts, she would not hear them, and there were some sea fights with our ships. It would seem that a new war must come out of this, and Wash-ing-ton had a call from his home to take the head of the troops. But there was no war, for Na-po-le-on, a young man, who had shown great tact and strength, got things in his own hands in France, and we made peace through him with the French.

There were some who did not like John Ad-ams, for the laws that he made. One of these laws gave him the right to seize and send out of our States those who came here from strange lands, though none could prove they had done wrong. So, though he was a great man, he did not get votes for a new term.

And now the hour had come when Wash-ing-ton must die. All felt how much they were in debt to him, for the way he had led them in the war, and his wise rule in time of peace. He had made all men his friends in the end, and in the great hall at Wash-ing-ton, it was then said—the words live to this day, that he was "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of all." He was sick a long time; and his last words were: "I die hard, but I do not fear to go!"

No new States came in while Ad-ams had the rule; but the land grew in worth, and more homes were made here. But there was a great stretch of wild land still, where the bears and the wolves could prowl in the woods at will, and no smoke from the fire on a home hearth was seen in the air.

Jef-fer-son was the third man whom the land chose to be their chief. He was well known as one of the first to frame the Dec-la-ra-tion. At this time there was a war of France with Eng-land, and we had hard work to keep clear of both. For France had made a law that we should not help her foe; and Eng-land had done the same. And both sides would take our ships at sea, if they thought they made trade with the foe. So our ships had hard times, and did not know what way to steer, lest one should seize them and take all they had on board. More than this, Eng-land said she had a right to search our ships and see if we had her men on board of them, and to take such if found. And once or twice it came to pass, that they took the whole crew of a ship, so that there was not a man left in it to sail it.

One day a man-of-war went to search one of our ships for men, they said, who had run from them. They were in sight of one of our forts; but when our men would not let the search be made, a fire was made on our ship, and they took four of the men, and hung one of them. This was bad for our trade, and made a great stir in our midst, and woke up the old wrath at Eng-land.

So Con-gress, with a wish to give Eng-land tit for tat, as you would say, made a law that we should not trade with her, and our ships should not go out of our own ports. But this, you know, hurt us more than it hurt Eng-land; and, for a time, Jef-fer-son came in for a share of the hard thoughts, as though it were all his fault. Those whose trade had been hurt by the law felt as if he had been to blame, and the cause of loss to them. There were, too, on the sea a band of sea thieves, as we might call them. They were men who came from a wild race, far off, who would seize ships when they could, and take all the crew and hold them for slaves, till their friends would pay a good price for them. It was no strange thing in those days to hear read out in church the names of those who were slaves to such men. Great sums of gold were sent to set our men free. At last we made some terms with these thieves of the sea, but they would not keep the peace.

Then John Ad-ams sent out four ships to fight these men. We did not own but six war ships in those days. One of these had the bad luck to run on the shore in that strange land, so the foe took it, and the crew were made slaves. There was a brave young man in one of our ships, who made a plan to get back the lost boat, which had the same name as the town of "Phil-a-del-phia." He thought if we could not get her from the foe it would be best to burn her, so that they could not use her for their own ends. So he took a small boat which had been won from the foe in a fight, and put some of our own men in her, and stole up to the side of the "Phil-a-del-phia" by night. If he was seen—it was thought to be a boat load of friends—but they soon went to work, and when they got on board, the fight was short and fierce. The "Phil-a-del-phia" was theirs in no time; but they found they could not move her, so they set her on fire, and set sail once more, and did not lose a man. All this won a name and fame for the young man, whose name was De-ca-tur, and in time there grew up such a fear of him in those wild States that they were glad to make peace and take no more slaves.