Chapter VI: Conclusion (5)

The growth of Kansas has had no parallel. The great States of New York and Pennsylvania were nearly a hundred and fifty years in attaining a population Kansas has reached in thirty years. Kentucky was eighty years, Tennessee seventy-five, Alabama ninety, Ohio forty-five, and Massachusetts, New Jersey, Georgia, and North and South Carolina each over a hundred years, in reaching the present population of Kansas. Even the marvelous growth of the great States of the West has been surpassed by that of Kansas. Illinois was organized as a Territory in 1810, and thirty years later had only 691,392 inhabitants, or not much more than one-half the present population of this State. Indiana was organized in 1800, and sixty years later had a population of only 1,350,428. Iowa was organized as a Territory in 1838, and had, at that date, a population of nearly 40,000. In 1870 it had only 1,194,020 inhabitants. Missouri was organized in 1812, with a population of over 40,000, and fifty years later had only 1,182,012. Michigan and Wisconsin, after fifty years of growth, did not have as many people as Kansas has to-day; and Texas, admitted into the Union in 1845, with a population of 150,000, had, thirty-five years later, only 815,579 inhabitants.

In 1861 Kansas ranked in population as the thirty-third State of the Union; in 1870 it was the twenty-ninth; in 1880 the twentieth; and it is now the fifteenth. During the past quarter of a century Kansas has outstripped Oregon, Rhode Island, Delaware, Florida, Arkansas, Vermont, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Maine, Minnesota, Maryland, Mississippi, California, North and South Carolina, Alabama, Wisconsin, and New Jersey—all States before the 29th of January, 1861. Of the Northern States only eight, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Massachusetts, Michigan, and Iowa, and of the Southern States only six, Georgia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, Virginia, and Texas, now outrank Kansas in population. At the close of the present decade Kansas will, I am confident, rank as the eleventh State of the American Union, and will round out the Nineteenth Century as the sixth or seventh.

In the following table the population of Kansas, as shown by the first census of the Territory, taken in January, 1855, and the official enumerations made every five years thereafter, is shown. The figures also exhibit the proportion of white and colored, and of native and foreign-born inhabitants; the increase of population every five years, and the density of population per square mile of territory at the close of each period. The State census taken in 1865, however, did not show the proportion of native and foreign-born citizens:

═══════╤═════════╤════════╤════════╤═════════╤══════╤═════════╤═════════ │ _Total │ _In- │_Density│ _White │_Col- │ _Native │_Foreign- _Year._│ popu- │crease._│of popu-│ popu- │ored._│ popu- │ born._ │lation._ │ │lation._│lation._ │ │lation._ │ ───────┼─────────┼────────┼────────┼─────────┼──────┼─────────┼───────── 1855 │ 8,601│ │ │ │ │ │ 1860 │ 107,206│ 98,605│ 1.3│ 106,390│ 816│ 94,512│ 12,694 1865 │ 140,179│ 32,973│ 1.6│ 127,270│12,909│ │ 1870 │ 364,399│ 224,220│ 4.4│ 346,377│18,022│ 316,007│ 48,392 1875 │ 528,349│ 163,950│ 6.5│ 493,00│35,344│ 464,682│ 63,667 1880 │ 996,096│ 467,747│ 12.2│ 952,105│43,941│ 886,010│ 110,086 1885[1]│1,268,562│ 272,466│ 15.4│1,220,355│48,207│1,135,887│ 132,675 ───────┴─────────┴────────┴────────┴─────────┴──────┴─────────┴─────────

Footnote 1:

Census of March, 1885.

TOWNS AND CITIES.

In 1860 there were only ten towns and cities in Kansas having a population in excess of 500 each; only three having over 1,000 each; and only one having over 5,000 inhabitants. In 1880, ninety-nine towns each had a population in excess of 500; fifty-five towns and cities had each over 1,000 inhabitants; six had each over 5,000; and three had over 15,000 each. In 1885, each of one hundred and fifty-four towns had over 500 population; ninety-one towns and cities had each over 1,000; twelve had each over 5,000; six had each over 10,000; four had each over 15,000; and two had each more than 20,000.

ORIGIN AND CHARACTER OF THE POPULATION.

The origin and character of the population in Kansas is, in this connection, worthy of special note. Every State in the Union and every Territory except Alaska, contributed to the population of this State. The United States census of 1880 shows that 233,066 persons born in Kansas were then living in the State. The singular fact that native-born Kansans were then living in every State and Territory, is shown by the same authority. Illinois contributed 106,992 to our population; Ohio, 93,396; Indiana, 77,096; Missouri, 60,228; Pennsylvania, 59,236; Iowa, 55,972; New York, 43,779, and Kentucky, 32,979. Three other States, Tennessee, Virginia, and Wisconsin, each contributed over 15,000; and all others less than that number.

The same authority shows that the so-called “exodus” from the South has been greatly exaggerated, Louisiana and Mississippi furnishing only 4,067 of our colored population, while nearly 19,000 came from the three States of Kentucky, Missouri, and Tennessee.

The colored people constitute, at the present time, less than four per cent. of our total population, and the inhabitants of foreign birth a little more than ten per cent. of the total.

THE MATERIAL RESOURCES OF KANSAS.

The growth of our State in population has not, however, equalled the development of its material resources. The United States census of 1880 shows that while Kansas, at that date, ranked as the twentieth State in population, it was the eighth State in the number and value of its live stock, the seventeenth in farm products, the fourteenth in value of farm products _per capita_, the twentieth in wealth, the thirteenth in education, the seventeenth in the amount of its indebtedness, State and municipal, and the twenty-fourth in manufactures. Only one State, Nebraska, shows a smaller proportion of persons unable to read and write. And in twenty-eight of the forty-seven States and Territories, taxation, _per capita_, was greater than it is in Kansas.

In 1880 Kansas was the sixth corn-producing State of the Union. Only Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Indiana and Ohio, then produced larger crops of this cereal. But the corn product of Kansas, that year, was only 101,421,718 bushels, while for the year 1885 it was 194,130,814 bushels, or nearly double the crop of 1880.

AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS.

In the following table the aggregate of the corn, wheat, oats, potato, and hay products of Kansas, for the years 1860 and 1865, and for each year thereafter, is given. The figures, prior to 1875, are compiled from the reports of the United States Department of Agriculture; those following, from the reports of the Secretary of our own State Board of Agriculture:

═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════ _Year._ │ _Corn, │ _Wheat, │ _Oats, │_Potatoes, │ _Hay, │ bushels._ │ bushels._ │ bushels._ │ bushels._ │ tons._ ───────────┼───────────┼───────────┼───────────┼───────────┼─────────── 1860 │ 6,150,727│ 194,173│ 88,325│ 296,325│ 56,232 1865 │ 6,729,236│ 191,519│ 155,290│ 276,720│ 123,082 1867 │ 8,159,000│ 1,250,000│ 236,000│ 314,000│ 162,000 1868 │ 6,487,000│ 1,537,000│ 247,000│ 850,000│ 118,000 1869 │ 16,685,000│ 2,343,000│ 1,500,000│ 1,500,000│ 250,000 1870 │ 17,025,525│ 2,391,197│ 4,097,925│ 2,342,988│ 490,289 1871 │ 24,693,000│ 2,694,000│ 4,056,000│ 3,452,000│ 687,000 1872 │ 46,667,451│ 3,062,941│ 6,084,000│ 3,797,000│ 728,000 1873 │ 29,683,843│ 5,994,044│ 9,360,000│ 3,000,000│ 977,000 1874 │ 15,699,078│ 9,881,383│ 7,847,000│ 1,116,000│ 530,000 1875 │ 80,798,769│ 13,209,403│ 9,794,051│ 4,668,939│ 1,156,412 1876 │ 82,308,176│ 14,620,225│ 12,386,216│ 5,611,895│ 809,149 1877 │103,497,831│ 14,316,705│ 12,768,488│ 3,320,507│ 1,228,020 1878 │ 89,323,971│ 32,315,358│ 17,411,473│ 4,525,419│ 1,507,988 1879 │108,704,927│ 20,550,936│ 13,326,637│ 3,521,526│ 1,551,321 1880 │101,421,718│ 25,279,884│ 11,483,796│ 5,310,423│ 1,534,221 1881 │ 80,760,542│ 20,479,679│ 9,900,768│ 2,055,202│ 2,122,263 1882 │157,005,722│ 35,734,846│ 21,946,284│ 5,081,865│ 2,293,186 1883 │182,084,526│ 30,024,936│ 30,987,864│ 6,812,420│ 6,002,041 1884 │190,870,686│ 48,050,431│ 20,087,294│ 7,861,404│ 7,105,132 1885 │194,130,814│ 10,859,401│ 30,148,060│ 7,398,465│ 7,685,340 ───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────

In presenting these figures it is worthy of note that while, as already stated, the U. S. census reports for 1880 show that Kansas ranked as the twentieth State in population and the sixth in its corn product, it was also the eleventh wheat-producing State of the Union, the eleventh in its oats product, sixteenth in barley, tenth in rye, eighth in hay, and seventeenth in potatoes. Thus the rank of Kansas, in agricultural products, was far ahead of her rank in population.

THE AREA OF KANSAS.

The total area of Kansas is 52,288,000 acres. In 1865 only 243,712 acres of this vast territory was under cultivation; in 1870 the area aggregated 1,360,000 acres; in 1875, 4,749,900 acres; in 1880, 8,868,884 acres; and in 1885, 14,252,815 acres. In the following table I have compiled figures showing the area under cultivation, and the value of the crops produced in Kansas each year, from 1865 to 1885, inclusive:

═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════
_Year._ │ _Acres in │ _Value of
│ crops._ │ crops._
───────────┼───────────┼───────────
1865 │ 243,712│ $5,347,875
1866 │ 273,903│ 6,023,849
1867 │ 397,622│ 8,129,590
1868 │ 562,120│ 10,467,163
1869 │ 855,801│ 15,807,550
1870 │ 1,360,000│ 18,870,260
1871 │ 1,322,734│ 17,335,120
1872 │ 1,735,595│ 15,498,770
1873 │ 2,530,769│ 28,311,200
1874 │ 3,179,616│ 30,842,630
1875 │ 4,749,900│ 43,970,494
1876 │ 5,035,697│ 45,581,926
1877 │ 5,595,304│ 45,597,051
1878 │ 6,538,727│ 49,914,434
1879 │ 7,769,926│ 60,129,780
1880 │ 8,868,884│ 63,111,634
1881 │ 9,802,719│ 91,910,439
1882 │ 11,043,379│108,177,520
1883 │ 11,364,040│106,707,529
1884 │ 13,011,333│104,297,010
1885 │ 14,252,815│ 92,392,818
───────────┴───────────┴───────────

VALUE OF FARM CROPS.

The value of the farm crops of Kansas, for the five years ending with 1870, aggregated $59,298,414; for the next succeeding five years their value was $135,958,214; for the next five years, $264,334,824; and for the five years ending with 1885, the farm crops of Kansas aggregated in value $503,485,316. Thus during the past twenty years the farmers of Kansas have produced crops whose aggregate value reached the enormous sum of $963,076,768.

FARMS AND FARM PRODUCTS.

The increase in the value of farms, of farm implements, and of farm products, (including farm crops, products of live stock, and market garden, apiarian and horticultural products,) is shown in the following table. It will be seen that these values have generally doubled every five years:

═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════
│ _Value of │ _Value of │ _Value of
_Year._ │ farms._ │ farm │ farm
│ │implements._│products._
───────────┼───────────┼───────────┬┴──────────
1860 │$12,258,239│ $727,694│ $4,878,350
1865 │ 24,796,535│ 1,200,720│ 10,653,235
1870 │ 90,327,040│ 4,053,312│ 27,630,651
1875 │123,852,466│ 7,935,645│ 43,970,414
1880 │235,178,936│ 15,652,848│ 84,521,486
1885 │408,073,454│ 9,604,117│143,577,018
───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────

The value of the farm products of Kansas, from 1876 to 1880, inclusive, aggregated $356,557,802, while their value from 1881 to 1885, inclusive, aggregated the enormous sum of $738,676,912.

TAXABLE ACRES.

The steady development of the State is further illustrated by the figures showing the increase of taxable acres. In 1860 only 1,778,400 acres were subject to taxation; in 1865 this area had been enlarged to 3,500,000 acres; in 1870 to 8,480,839 acres; in 1875 to 17,672,187 acres; in 1880 to 22,386,435 acres; and in 1885 to 27,710,981 acres.

LIVE STOCK.

In the number and value of its live stock, Kansas ranked, in 1880, as the eighth State of the Union. In 1860 the live stock of Kansas aggregated in value only a little over three million dollars; in 1865 it aggregated over seven millions; in 1870, over twenty-three millions; in 1875, nearly twenty-nine millions; in 1880, over sixty-one millions; and in 1885, nearly one hundred and eighteen million dollars. The following table gives the number of horses, mules, cows, cattle, sheep, and swine, and their aggregate value, for the years 1861 and 1865, and every year thereafter to and including 1885:

═══════╤═════════╤════════╤═══════╤═════════╤═════════╤═════════╤═══════════ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ _Value of _Year._│_Horses._│_Mules._│_Cows._│_Cattle._│_Sheep._ │_Swine._ │ live │ │ │ │ │ │ │ stock._ ───────┼─────────┼────────┼───────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────── 1861 │ 20,344│ 1,496│ 28,550│ 74,905│ 17,569│ 138,224│ $3,332,450 1865 │ 32,469│ 2,490│ 71,996│ 130,307│ 82,662│ 95,429│ 7,324,659 1866 │ 38,968│ 2,863│ 82,075│ 139,428│ 108,287│ 127,875│ 9,127,306 1867 │ 39,968│ 2,936│ 85,120│ 140,560│ 106,287│ 132,750│ 10,081,590 1868 │ 42,859│ 2,405│ 89,461│ 146,399│ 101,789│ 149,662│ 9,962,311 1869 │ 50,573│ 2,597│109,142│ 165,430│ 107,896│ 137,848│ 12,902,830 1870 │ 117,786│ 11,786│123,440│ 250,527│ 109,088│ 206,587│ 23,173,185 1871 │ 156,000│ 14,900│162,000│ 345,000│ 115,000│ 304,800│ 31,823,484 1872 │ 180,900│ 16,300│191,100│ 397,400│ 116,100│ 381,000│ 28,488,704 1873 │ 198,900│ 17,400│214,000│ 457,000│ 123,000│ 457,200│ 30,013,898 1874 │ 220,700│ 19,100│231,000│ 507,200│ 141,000│ 484,600│ 31,163,058 1875 │ 207,376│ 24,964│225,028│ 478,295│ 106,224│ 292,658│ 28,610,257 1876 │ 214,811│ 26,421│227,274│ 473,350│ 143,962│ 330,355│ 32,489,293 1877 │ 241,208│ 32,628│261,642│ 519,346│ 205,770│ 704,862│ 33,015,647 1878 │ 274,450│ 40,564│286,241│ 586,002│ 243,760│1,195,044│ 36,913,534 1879 │ 324,766│ 51,981│322,020│ 654,443│ 311,862│1,264,494│ 54,775,497 1880 │ 367,589│ 58,303│366,640│ 748,672│ 426,492│1,281,630│ 61,563,956 1881 │ 383,805│ 58,780│406,706│ 839,751│ 806,323│1,173,199│ 69,814,340 1882 │ 398,678│ 56,654│433,381│ 971,116│ 978,077│1,228,683│ 83,869,199 1883 │ 423,426│ 59,262│471,548│1,133,154│1,154,196│1,393,968│104,539,888 1884 │ 461,136│ 64,889│530,904│1,328,021│1,206,297│1,953,144│115,645,050 1885 │ 513,507│ 75,165│575,887│1,397,131│ 875,193│2,461,520│117,881,699 ───────┴─────────┴────────┴───────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴───────────

THE WEALTH OF AN AGRICULTURAL STATE.

Kansas is an agricultural State. It has no gold or silver, no iron, and just coal enough to furnish fuel. It is the farmers’ and stockmen’s State. Its development simply shows what good old Mother Earth, when in her happiest vein, can do. “Agriculture,” says Colton, “is the most certain source of strength, wealth, and independence; commerce, in all emergencies, looks to agriculture both for defense and for supply.” The growth and prosperity of Kansas afford a striking illustration of what intelligent farmers, with a productive soil and a genial climate for their workshop, can accomplish—what wealth they can create, what enterprise they can stimulate.

It is difficult, however, to comprehend what the figures I have given, showing the amounts and values of Kansas products, really represent. When we read that Kansas produced, last year, 194,130,000 bushels of corn, the nine figures set down do not convey any adequate idea of the bulk and weight of this crop. But when it is stated that the corn crop of Kansas for 1885 would fill 485,000 freight cars, and load a train 2,847 miles long—reaching from Ogden, Utah, to Boston—we begin to comprehend what the figures stand for.

The wheat crop of the State, last year, was called a failure. It was, for Kansas. And yet it would fill 31,939 grain cars, and load a train 189 miles in length. The oats crop of the State, for the same year, would fill 44,335 cars, and load a train 260 miles long; while the hay crop would load 768,534 cars, making a train 4,510 miles long.

These four crops of Kansas, for 1885, would fill 1,329,808 grain cars, and load a train 7,804 miles in length. In other words, the corn, wheat, oats, and hay produced in Kansas last year would load a train reaching from Boston to San Francisco by the Union Pacific route, and back again from San Francisco to Boston by the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fé route.

COMPARATIVE VALUES.

In speaking of the value of the farm crops and farm products of Kansas, I can present a clearer idea of the wealth our farmers have digged out of the earth by some comparisons. In 1881 the products of all the gold and silver mines of the United States aggregated only $77,700,000; for 1882 they aggregated $79,300,000; for 1883, $76,200,000; and for 1884, $79,600,000—making a total, for those four years, of $312,800,000. The value of the field crops of Kansas, for the same years, aggregated $411,092,498; and the farm products for the State for the same period, aggregated in value $595,099,894—or very nearly double the aggregate of all the gold and silver products of all the mines of the country.

The gold and silver products of the world average about $208,000,000 per annum. The farm products of Kansas for 1885 aggregated $143,577,018, or nearly three-fourths the value of the gold and silver product of the world.

For the past four years the farm products of Kansas have aggregated in value each year more than double the annual yield of all the gold and silver mines of the United States.

The gold and silver products of Colorado, for 1883, aggregated only $20,250,000; those of California, 16,600,000; of Nevada, $9,100,000; of Montana, $9,170,000; of Utah, $6,920,000; of Arizona, $5,430,000; and of New Mexico, $3,300,000. The corn crop of Kansas for the same year was alone worth more money than the combined gold and silver products of Colorado, California and Nevada; the oat crop of Kansas was worth $705,000 more than the gold and silver product of Arizona; and the Irish potato crop of Kansas was worth more than the gold and silver product of New Mexico.

PROPERTY VALUATIONS.

The property valuations of Kansas have increased in steady proportion with the growth of the State in population and productions. In 1860 the true valuation of all the property of the State was estimated at $31,327,891; in 1865 it was estimated at $72,252,180; in 1870 it had increased to $188,892,014; in 1875 to $242,555,862; in 1880 to $321,783,387; and for 1885 the true valuation, at a very moderate estimate, was $550,000,000.

The following table presents the assessed valuation of all the property of the State for the years mentioned, and also the assessed valuation of all the real, personal, and railroad property. It will be seen that the increase in the total assessed values from 1865 to 1875 was $85,434,344, while from 1875 to 1885 it was $127,300,928.

═════════════╤═════════════╤═════════════╤═════════════╤═════════════ _Year._ │ _Total._ │ _Real │ _Personal._ │ _Railroad._ │ │ estate._ │ │ ─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┼───────────── 1860 │ $22,518,232│ $16,088,602│ $6,429,630│ 1865 │ 36,126,090│ 28,133,276│ [A]7,992,814│ 1870 │ 92,100,820│ 65,499,365│[2]26,601,455│ 1875 │ 121,476,352│ 89,775,784│ 19,422,637│ $12,277,931 1880 │ 160,891,689│ 108,432,049│ 31,911,838│ 20,547,802 1885 │ 248,845,276│ 161,791,641│ 56,685,818│ 30,367,817 ─────────────┴─────────────┴─────────────┴─────────────┴─────────────

Footnote 2:

In 1865 and 1870, the railroad property was assessed as personal, and
is included under that head.

KANSAS MANUFACTURES.

Kansas is not a manufacturing State. Its prosperity is based upon the plow. It has, however, coal deposits equal to the needs of its population, valuable lead mines in the southeast, and salt and gypsum in abundance. But the manufacturing establishments of the State are steadily increasing in importance as well as in number. In its flouring and grist mills Kansas ranked, in 1880, as the thirteenth State of the Union; in meat packing, as the twelfth; and in cheese products, as the fourteenth.

In the following table the number of manufacturing establishments, including mines and railroad shops, their capital, products, etc., is given for the years named:

═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤═══════════ _Year._ │_Establish-│_Capital._ │_Employés._│ _Wages._ │ _Value of │ ments._ │ │ │ │products._ ───────────┼───────────┼───────────┼───────────┼───────────┼─────────── 1860 │ 344│ $1,084,935│ 1,735│ $880,346│ $4,357,408 1870 │ 1,470│ 4,319,060│ 6,844│ 2,377,511│ 11,775,833 1880 │ 2,803│ 11,191,315│ 10,062│ 3,995,010│ 30,843,777 1885[3] │ 3,900│ 19,000,000│ 16,000│ 6,300,000│ 48,000,000 ───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────

Footnote 3:

Partly estimated.

TRANSPORTATION FACILITIES.

The transportation facilities of Kansas are unsurpassed. Only seven States of the Union, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa and Missouri, have within their borders more miles of completed railway than has Kansas. For fully two hundred miles west of our eastern border, every county except one is traversed by from one to six lines of railway. There are eighty-six organized and eleven unorganized counties in the State, and of these all except fourteen organized and seven unorganized counties have railways within their limits. In 1864 Kansas had not a mile of completed railroad. In 1870 we had 1,283 miles; in 1875 over 1,887 miles; in 1880 an aggregate of 3,104 miles, and there are now 4,750 miles of completed railway in Kansas.

THE SCHOOLS OF KANSAS.

Education has gone hand in hand with the material growth of Kansas. It has been the boast of our people for twenty years past, that the best building in every city, town or hamlet in the State, was the school house. The census of 1880 revealed the fact that only 25,503 inhabitants of Kansas, over ten years of age, were unable to read. The growth of our school system is shown by the following figures:

═══════╤══════════╤════════╤═══════════╤═══════════╤══════════╤═════════ │_Scholars │_School │ _School │ │ _Amount │_Value of _Year._│enrolled._│houses._│districts_.│_Teachers._│ paid to │ school │ │ │ │ │teachers._│houses._ ───────┼──────────┼────────┼───────────┼───────────┼──────────┼───────── 1860 │ 5,915│ 154│ │ 189│ │ 1865 │ 26,341│ 640│ 721│ 899│ $86,898│ $122,822 1870 │ 63,218│ 1,501│ 1,950│ 2,210│ 318,596│1,520,041 1875 │ 141,606│ 3,715│ 4,560│ 5,383│ 689,906│3,742,507 1880 │ 231,434│ 5,315│ 6,134│ 7,780│ 1,088,504│4,049,212 1885 │ 335,538│ 6,673│ 7,142│ 8,129│ 1,989,169│6,704,176 ───────┴──────────┴────────┴───────────┴───────────┴──────────┴─────────

In 1861 the amount expended for the support of common schools was only $1,700, while the expenditures for the same purpose, during the year 1885, aggregated $2,977,763. For the five years ending with 1865, the expenditures for public schools aggregated $262,657.21; for the next succeeding five years they aggregated $2,259,497.89; for the next five, $7,552,191.43; for the next five, $7,509,375.23; and for the five years ending with 1885 the expenditures for public schools aggregated $12,630,480.64. Thus Kansas has expended for the support of her common schools, during the past quarter of a century, the enormous sum of $30,214,202.40.

The table following shows the expenditures each year, from 1861 to 1885, inclusive, and illustrates not only the growth of Kansas, but the general and generous interest of its citizens in public education:

═══════════════╤═══════════════
_Year._ │_Expenditures._
───────────────┼───────────────
1861 │ $1,700 00
1862 │ 11,894 45
1863 │ 26,867 03
1864 │ 84,221 30
1865 │ 137,974 43
1866 │ 225,426 27
1867 │ 364,402 50
1868 │ 431,316 54
1869 │ 565,311 17
1870 │ 673,041 41
1871 │ 1,074,946 09
1872 │ 1,701,950 44
1873 │ 1,657,318 27
1874 │ 1,638,977 99
1875 │ 1,478,998 64
1876 │ 1,165,638 80
1877 │ 1,394,188 11
1878 │ 1,541,417 12
1879 │ 1,589,794 30
1880 │ 1,818,336 90
1881 │ 1,996,335 64
1882 │ 2,194,174 65
1883 │ 2,579,243 62
1884 │ 2,882,963 53
1885 │ 2,977,763 23
│ ——————————————
Total │ $30,214,202 40
───────────────┴───────────────

CHURCHES AND NEWSPAPERS.

Churches have multiplied and newspapers increased as have the schools. In 1860 there were only 97 church buildings in Kansas, and they had cost only $143,950. In 1870 the number of churches had increased to 301, valued at $1,722,700; and in 1880 they numbered 2,514, costing an aggregate of $2,491,560.

There were only 27 newspapers published in Kansas in 1860, and of these only three were dailies. In 1870 the number had increased to 97, of which 12 were dailies. In 1880 there were 347 newspapers, including 20 dailies. During the year just closed 581 journals, of which 32 were dailies, were published in Kansas. The aggregate circulation of our newspapers, in 1860, was 21,920, while for 1885 their circulation aggregated 395,400. Every organized county has one or more newspapers, and, as a rule, our journals are creditable to their publishers and to the State.

WHAT OF THE FUTURE?

And now, having sketched the growth of Kansas during the past quarter of a century, it is proper to ask, what of the future? I answer with confidence, that Kansas is yet in the dawn of her development, and that the growth, prosperity and triumphs of the next decade will surpass any we have yet known. Less than one-fifth of the area of the State has been broken by the plow—ten million of fifty-two million acres. Multiply the present development by five, and you can perhaps form some idea of the Kansas of the year 1900. The light of the morning is still shining upon our prairie slopes. The year just closed witnessed the first actual, permanent settlements in the counties along our western frontier—not settlement by wandering stockmen or occasional frontiersmen, but by practical, home-building farmers and business men. The line of organized counties now extends four hundred miles, from the Missouri river to the Colorado line. The scientists, I know, are still discussing climatic changes, and questioning whether the western third of Kansas is fit for general farming. But the homesteader in Cheyenne or Hamilton counties entertains no doubt about this question. He has no weather-gauge or barometer, but he sees the buffalo grass vanishing and the blue-joint sending its long roots deep into the soil; he sees the trees growing on the high divides; he watches the corn he has planted springing up, and waving its green guidons of prosperity in the wind; he sees the clouds gathering and drifting, and he hears the rain pattering on his roof—and he knows all he cares to know about climatic changes. He is going to stay.

A PROPHECY FULFILLED.

On the 7th of May, 1856, a great American, learned, sagacious, and confident in his faith that right and justice would at last prevail, said, in a speech delivered in the City of New York:

“In the year of our Lord 1900, there will be two million people in
Kansas, with cities like Providence and Worcester—perhaps like
Chicago and Cincinnati. She will have more miles of railroad than
Maryland, Virginia and both the Carolinas can now boast. Her land
will be worth twenty dollars an acre, and her total wealth will be
five hundred millions of money. Six hundred thousand children will
learn in her schools. What schools, newspapers, libraries,
meeting-houses! Yes, what families of educated, happy and religious
men and women! There will be a song of Freedom all around the Slave
States, and in them Slavery itself will die.”

Read in the light of the present, these eloquent words of Theodore Parker seem touched with prophetic fire. The ideal Kansas he saw, looking through the mists of the future, is the real Kansas of to-day. The marvelous growth, the splendid prosperity, the potent intellectual and moral energies, and the happy and contented life he predicted, are all around us. At the threshold of the year A. D. 1886, fifteen years before the limit of his prophecy, Kansas has cities like Providence and Worcester; has more than double the railway mileage Maryland, Virginia, and both the Carolinas could then boast; has land worth, not twenty, but fifty and a hundred dollars an acre; has wealth far exceeding five hundred million dollars; has schools, newspapers, libraries and churches rivaling those of New England; and has 1,300,000 happy, prosperous and intelligent people.

The prophecy has been fulfilled, but the end is not yet. The foundations of the State, like those of its Capitol, have just been completed. The stately building, crowned with its splendid dome, is yet to be reared. Smiling and opulent fields, busy and prosperous cities and towns, are still attracting the intelligent, the enterprising and the ambitious of every State and country. The limits that bound the progress and development of Kansas cannot now be gauged or guessed. We have land, homes, work and plenty for millions more; and for another quarter of a century, at least, our State will continue to grow. For we are yet at the threshold and in the dawn of it all. We are just beginning to realize what a great people can accomplish, whom “love of country moveth, example teacheth, company comforteth, emulation quickeneth, and glory exalteth.”

OUR DUTY TO THE UNION SOLDIER.

Address at the opening of “Blue Post” Fair, North Topeka, February
15th, 1886.

COMRADES OF THE GRAND ARMY: In coming before you this evening, I do not come with any expectation that I can say anything to interest or instruct you. But when Comrade Arnold called on me, last Friday, he supplemented his invitation with a statement that my acceptance would promote the object for which this fair is held, and thus aid Blue Post of the Grand Army of the Republic in securing a fund for the relief of destitute and disabled soldiers. I could not resist such an appeal. I am willing at all times to do what lies in my power for such a cause, and so, busy as I am just now, I came to your festival to bid you Godspeed in your noble work, and to give such assistance as I can in promoting it.

It is sometimes asked why so many soldiers of the late war need help in the battle of life, and why appeals in behalf of the survivors of the Rebellion are growing more frequent as the years go by? Tens of thousands of soldiers, it is said, are on the pension rolls of the Government; the Nation has provided comfortable and pleasant homes for thousands who are disabled and destitute; and why should the generosity of the people be so frequently appealed to?

Those who ask these questions simply fail to comprehend either the magnitude of the civil war, the vast number of men enlisted in the ranks of the Union Army, the hardships or privations to which they were exposed, the frightful legacy of wounds and disease their service entailed, or the time that has elapsed since their final muster-out. When these things are considered, the wonder will be, not that so many, but that so few of the soldiers of the Union need the helpful sympathy and assistance of their more fortunate comrades, and of all generous and grateful people.

Nearly twenty-one years have come and gone since the war closed, and of the 2,700,000 persons enlisted in the Union Army, probably a million still survive. These men are all growing old. Few of them are under forty years of age; the vast majority, perhaps, are over fifty; and very many are nearing or past sixty years. Enfeebled by wounds or disease, they are year by year less able to bear their part in the great battle of life as bravely or as successfully as they did in the desperate struggle to preserve the Republic.

It should not be forgotten that 224,306 soldiers were discharged from the army because of wounds or disease, and that a far larger number, mustered out in seeming good health, had contracted the seeds of disease which will shorten their lives and enfeeble their powers. The Surgeon of my regiment, a learned and experienced physician, once said to me that there was not a man in the Army of the Cumberland who would not ultimately suffer from the effects of the hardships, exposure and privations to which that army was subject. Said he: “Two months of semi-starvation in Chattanooga were followed by the cold and desolate winter campaign in East Tennessee, and that by the alternating rain, heat and fatigue of the campaign against Atlanta; and the strongest and most healthy men in the regiment will some day suffer from the effects of such service.”

Within a year I have read accounts of the death of fully a dozen soldiers from the effects of wounds received nearly a quarter of a century ago. About two years since a gallant officer of my own regiment was confined to his bed for several weeks by the reopening of a wound received at Chicamauga, in 1863. These are only isolated instances among thousands, but they fairly illustrate the fact I wish to present, that the effects of the war upon the physical powers of a vast multitude of soldiers are just beginning to be felt.

I do not join, and never have joined, with those who assert that the Government and the American people have forgotten the obligations they are under to the men whose patriotism and valor preserved the Republic. As a soldier and an American citizen, I am proud of the fact that this assertion is not true. Occasionally, I know, there have been just grounds of complaint; occasionally it has seemed that the war, and all the noble sacrifices and splendid devotion of our soldiers were like an old, old story, growing stale and uninteresting; and now and then isolated cases can be cited to justify a charge of forgetfulness or ingratitude. But the time has not been, and I trust it never will be, when it can be truthfully said that any appeal in behalf of the disabled, destitute and deserving soldiers of the Union would be unheeded. As evidence of the truth of this statement, this fair, and those held by the Grand Army Posts on the south side during the past three weeks, and the generous patronage the people give to all of them, may be cited.

There are now on the pension rolls of the United States the names of over two hundred thousand soldiers, and over a hundred thousand soldiers’ widows, and during the past twenty-two years the Government has paid to pensioners over $750,000,000. It has provided National Homes for nearly ten thousand disabled survivors of the war, and these are being enlarged every year. Several States have built or are building other homes; and the people, acting in their individual capacity, have contributed millions of dollars to charities having for their object the relief of disabled soldiers. In brief, no other Government, no other people, in any age or country, has remembered and provided for its defenders, and for the dependent relatives of the fallen, with such abounding generosity.

But this liberality, this generous care for the survivors of the war, must be continued for many years to come. The heroic men who periled their own lives to save the life of the Republic, are, as I have said, growing old, and every revolving year adds to the number of those who are unable to support themselves or provide for their dependent families. It is not right or just that any of these men should be permitted to suffer the pangs of want. They offered all they had—health, ambition, life itself, for the country. No saint or martyr ever gave more than they. The Government, the people, can never repay them, but they can do something to relieve their necessities, to protect them from want, and to make their declining years happy with the thought that their services are not forgotten. This is the noble purpose you have in view in organizing this fair; this is the inspiration of those who patronize it; and this, I am glad to believe, is a duty which the American people will always willingly recognize and generously discharge.

IN MEMORIAM.

An address, delivered at Wichita, Kansas, on Memorial Day, 1886.

COMRADES OF THE GRAND ARMY, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: The growing popularity of Memorial Day, and the increasing interest in the beautiful ceremonies of its observance, are among the most happy and hopeful indications of American sentiment. All the good or evil of to-day is but the result of yesterday’s teaching. Our greatest historian, speaking of the men who mustered on the village green at Lexington, “and fired the shot heard round the world,” declares that “the light that led them on was combined of rays from the whole history of the world; from the traditions of the Hebrews in the gray of the world’s morning; from the heroes and sages of Republican Greece and Rome; from the example of Him who died on the cross for the life of humanity; from the religious creed which proclaimed the divine presence in man, and on this truth, as in a life-boat, floated the liberties of nations over the dark flood of the Middle Ages; from the customs of the Germans transmitted out of their forests to the councils of Saxon-England; and from the cloud of witnesses of all the ages to the reality and rightfulness of human freedom.”

This is the lesson of Memorial Day. It is yesterday teaching to-day. It brings the peaceful present, reverently uncovered, to the grass-grown grave of the war-worn past. It teaches the living to honor the memory of those who cheerfully died for a good cause. It tells the children that, in a war for human freedom, the level of a soldier is the pinnacle of glory. And so long as heroism is thus revered and patriotism honored; so long as men and women teach their children to honor and to emulate the example of the heroes and patriots who, a quarter of a century ago, rallied around the flag of their imperiled country with such unparalleled enthusiasm, fought for it, suffered for it, died for it, lifted it into the very heavens, stainless and triumphant, and made all men free before the Constitution and the laws—so long as this is the lesson and the inspiration of the rising generations of Americans, there need be no fear that the dead have died in vain, or that the Republic they loved will perish from the earth.

In speaking to you to-day, I shall talk of some heroes and martyrs who were my comrades and my friends. They were not “born to fame.” None of them were known beyond the narrow limits of the neighborhoods in which they lived, or of the regiment they glorified by the simple manhood of their lives. Country boys, some of them, they had grown up from infancy, surrounded by calm and gracious scenes and sounds; town boys, others, they had dreamed only of business or professional pursuits, and of those triumphs and successes which, in civil life, insure a quiet and prosperous old age.

Suddenly the flash of a gun in Charleston harbor startled the land like an electric shock, and in a moment all the currents of its life were changed. The air throbbed with the roll of drums and the blare of bugles; flags fluttered in the sky, like shipwrecked rainbows; and for the first time in their lives millions of people realized what the old flag stood for. Men walked about with an unwonted flame in their eyes, and women, quick to comprehend the agony and bitter sacrifices of the years to come, and hiding in their hearts the never-lifting shadow of their fears, wept and prayed, in the silence of their rooms, that this cup might pass away.

Then came the calls for men, swiftly following one after another, and sweeping away, in successive surges, the very blossom and flower of the youth and manhood of the land. Seventy-five thousand first; then three hundred thousand, and three hundred thousand more, until the total exceeded two million seven hundred and seventy-two thousand; and in almost every home throughout the length and breadth of the land there were vacant places by the hearthstone and aching voids in the heart, that, in hundreds of thousands of cases, would nevermore be filled.

Many of you, perhaps, have seen Rogers’s statuette, “One More Shot.” Some time ago, while looking at a copy of it in a shop window, a soldier friend said: “Two of the finest types of our volunteers are represented in that group.” The martial pose of the central figure is superb; the boyish grace of his kneeling comrade is no less striking. The one represents a young man of twenty-five or thirty; his companion is a mere boy. The elder, tall, alert, resolute, looks intently forward. His broken left arm is held deftly in the folds of his coat; his gun rests against his body, and his right hand is seeking his cartridge-box. Martial, masterful, manly—there were dozens of men in every regiment who might have stood for the model of this figure. The younger, sitting on a knapsack engaged in binding up a wounded leg, and placidly indifferent to everything else, fairly represents a still larger class of our volunteers—the laughing, joking, rollicking boys, who were heroes without heroic feeling, and equal to martyrdom without one spark of a martyr’s fire.

I have, at home, a picture representing General Thomas studying a map by the light of a camp-fire, on the evening after the first day’s fight at Chicamauga. There is no artistic merit in the picture. But I bought it and have kept it because it represents, though indifferently, several other types of American soldiers. The painter has caught something of the masterful figure of Thomas. Near the great General, seated on a stump and gazing fixedly at the camp-fire, is a middle-aged Lieutenant. With his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand, his grave, thoughtful, dreamy expression indicates that his mind has drifted far away from the sights and sounds about him, and is with his wife and children in the dear old home. Lazily watching the two officers is a young soldier on duty as a sentinel, with his gun resting carelessly in the hollow of his left arm. These three figures represent other types of soldiers, and are as characteristic as, though less skillfully drawn than, those of the Rogers group.

The dead soldiers I am going to speak of, like those of the Rogers group and the Thomas picture, were only types of hundreds of other volunteers. I have no doubt that, if I merely sketched them, giving no names, every soldier here present would say that I was describing men of his own regiment.

I first met one of them in the winter of 1861–2. There was a reorganization of Kansas regiments, and he was transferred to mine, with his company. Born in a small village in New York, he was country-bred, and had a fair education. Square-shouldered, strong-limbed, graceful in movement, and with every muscle and fibre of his body vigorous and healthy, his was a handsome figure. Whether some remote ancestor had transmitted to him the blood of a soldier, I do not know, but I doubt if he had ever thought of war, or of a soldier’s life, before the flash of the gun at Sumter startled the slumbering Nation. He was as modest as he was manly. If he was corrected or reproved for mistakes such as young officers frequently made in the early days of their service, he would blush like a school-girl. But he was a born soldier. His blue-gray eyes were alike steady, quick, and fearless. After three months drill he walked with the erect and martial bearing of a regular; his prompt military salute, never forgotten or omitted on any occasion, was given or responded to with a grace that was at once easy and natural; and his voice, clear as the tones of a silver bugle, had in it the ring of a true commander. He was a Captain, and his company was made up, as most volunteer companies were, of young men and boys who had been the school-mates and friends of their officers. His affection for his boys deepened and strengthened during every day of his service, and they idolized him. But not one of them ever for a moment forgot that he was their Captain, nor did he forget it. The willing respect, the cheerful and prompt obedience he gave to his superior officers, he expected from his men, and they gave it, not so much because it was enforced, as because it was deserved.

I don’t think I ever heard him utter a complaint concerning any feature of a soldier’s life, however hard or perilous it might be. The dusty marches along Southern pikes beneath the blazing heat of a summer sun; the cold and dreary tramps of midwinter; the lonely vigils of picket duty; the weary monotony of camp-life—none of these ever extorted from him a murmur. He was always and everywhere the same cheerful, patient, willing soldier; the same kindly, brave and manly gentleman.

On the morning of the 19th of September, 1863, our division moved from near Crawfish Springs to the battle-field of Chicamauga. The march was rapid, dusty and exhausting. The thunder of artillery smote the air, and the crackle of musketry at the distant fords told of a closer conflict. The troops that had passed along the road during the night had fired the fences on either side, and they were still smouldering, filling the atmosphere with stifling smoke. When we reached a point near General Rosecrans’s headquarters, we were ordered into the woods to the right, and I halted to give instructions to my regiment as it passed by. Near its center marched the young soldier of whom I have been speaking. As he came up, and halted for a moment to talk, I noted his striking appearance. His clothing was so dusty that it looked more like Confederate gray than Union blue; his face was stained with smoke; he had tied a white handkerchief about his neck, and its loose folds fell down his back; but in his walk and bearing there was no trace of either fatigue or lassitude. His step was even firmer, his bearing more erect, than usual, and his brave eyes sparkled with the excitement of the near-approaching fight.

In less than half an hour he was in the midst of it, and all day long, as the battle ebbed and flowed, and the air was turned to powder and smoke, and shells tore through the woods, and the roar of musketry grew so dense that it drowned the thunder of the cannon, his courage and enthusiasm were conspicuously illustrated. At dusk our division was relieved, and he marched his company to the field assigned for our bivouac. Over fifty per cent. of his men had been killed or wounded, but he was unhurt.

An hour later, after the command had cooked and eaten a scanty meal, the first since morning, he came to me and asked permission to take a small squad of his company and go out to the front. “I think,” he said, “that I may be able to find some of my boys who are wounded.” I gave the requested permission, but warned him not to venture too far, calling his attention to the constant firing of the picket lines. A bright smile lit up his face as he said: “Oh, I’ll be careful. But that rattle is feeble after the roar of to-day.” And giving his usual quick, graceful military salute, he wheeled and walked away out of the light of the camp-fire into the darkness.

I never saw him again. An hour later the men he had taken with him returned, and reported that they had run into a squad of the enemy; that the Captain had been shot through the heart and instantly killed; and that they were unable to bring in his body.

Thus ended the young life of Edgar P. Trego, “a soldier without fear and without reproach.” From the dull level of every-day walks and ways he stepped at once into the great events of a great era, and became a hero and a martyr for a great cause. One of the counties of this State bears his name, and is honored by it. His remains, recovered months after his death, repose in the beautiful National Cemetery at Chattanooga, with those of nearly twenty thousand other soldiers who gave up their lives that the country might live.

“Brave, good, and true,
I see him stand before me now,
And read again on that young brow,
Where every hope was new,
How sweet were life! Yet, by the mouth firm-set
And look made up for Duty’s utmost debt,
I could divine he knew
That death within the sulphurous hostile lines,
In the mere wreck of nobly-pitched designs,
Plucks heartsease, and not rue.”

—The stories told by the rosters of military companies are always very meager. They are like the family histories recorded in an old Bible. A child is born; it dies. This is the beginning and the end. Now and then a marriage is noted. The army records are quite as brief. A soldier is mustered in; he is killed in battle, or dies, or is mustered out. Now and then he receives promotion, or is wounded. These are the only facts that are noted on the Company rolls. But meager as they are, they may, to one familiar with army life, tell a wonderful story of duty faithfully discharged and of dangers bravely faced. One of these military biographies—the story of another comrade and friend—I propose to quote as it is recorded in the books of the Adjutant General’s office. The subject of it was born across the ocean. The flag he followed, the Nation he gave his life to preserve, were his only by adoption. He was a German. Small in stature; his features delicate and sensitive; his complexion clear and rosy as a girl’s; well educated and of studious tastes; keeping “the noiseless tenor of his way” with a modesty only equalled by his merit, he won confidence and esteem by genuine deserving, and his history, even as it is set down in the brief notations of a regimental roster, is a wonderful story. I quote it in full:

“Zacharias Burkhardt. Born in Saxony. Merchant, 38 years of age,
single. Enlisted in Co. B, Eighth Kansas Infantry, Sept. 2d, 1861,
at Leavenworth, Kansas, and was mustered in as a private. Promoted
Corporal, Sept. 2d, 1861. Promoted Sergeant, Nov. 17th, 1861.
Promoted First Sergeant, August 1st, 1862. Promoted Sergeant Major
of the Regiment, Dec. 17th, 1862. Promoted Second Lieutenant Co. B,
May 13th, 1863. Promoted First Lieutenant, May 27th, 1863. Severely
wounded at the battle of Chicamauga, Ga., Sept. 19th, 1863. Died at
Atlanta, Ga., October 28th, 1863, of wounds received in action.”

Of his long and trying marches, in heat or cold, rain or sunshine; of the patient, zealous devotion to duty which won for him six promotions, never jumping a grade, in less than two years; of his unfailing good temper; of the exact discipline, enforced with equal kindliness, justice and firmness, he always maintained; of the modest pride with which he wore either chevrons or shoulder-straps, never exalting himself, yet never forgetting the added burdens they imposed, not only of authority but of responsibility—on all these qualities, so conspicuously illustrated during his service, I might dwell long and lovingly. But “they need no praise whose deeds are eulogy,” and nothing that I could say would add to the glory of a life so manly and unpretending, and of a death so heroic.

—A man who might have stood for the original of the principal figure of Rogers’s “Last Shot,” was Charles O. Rovohl. Tall, erect, compactly built, masterful in strength, with a fine head set on a finely proportioned body, his appearance would have attracted attention in any crowd of men. His soldierly qualities were no less conspicuous, and he was soon chosen for that post of honor and of danger, the Regimental Color-Bearer. He had enlisted in Company I, Eighth Kansas, at White Cloud, April 3d, 1862; on the 1st of January, 1863, he was promoted to be a Corporal; and in August, 1863, he was appointed Color-Bearer of the Regiment.

Around him, at Chicamauga, was a remarkable group of boyish-looking soldiers, the eight Corporals constituting the Color Guard: William E. Wendell, Co. E, Thomas Adamson, Co. D, John Binger, Co. B, George Mathews, Co. F, Charles Morgan, Co. H, Benjamin Sprouse, Co. G, Hugh Turner, Co. K, and Allen B. Bozarth, Co. H. Rovohl was about twenty-six years of age—most of his comrades were under twenty-one. Selected, as the Color Guard always is, from different companies, and with a carefulness inspired by regimental pride, the Color-Bearer and his guard of honor formed a striking group—he tall, powerful, manly, grave and silent; they boyish, beardless, laughing, chattering, careless—but one and all of them daring and gallant beyond what was common even in those heroic years.

Within an hour after the battle began, Rovohl, the Color-Bearer, was mortally wounded. When he fell his comrades indulged in a fierce dispute as to which of them was entitled to carry the flag. Several claimed it, but Wendell, affirming his seniority of rank as a Corporal, secured it. Two of them proposed to carry Rovohl to the surgeons in the rear, but he refused all help, saying: “My life is nothing-keep the flag to the front.” Corporal Wendell was soon mortally wounded, and Adamson then took the flag. Morgan and Sprouse were instantly killed, and Mathews was severely wounded. Adamson and Bozarth were also wounded. When night came and the roar of battle died away, four of these nine young men were dead, three others were wounded, and only two, Binger and Turner, were unhurt. Binger was, some weeks later, promoted to be a Sergeant, appointed Regimental Color-Bearer, and served in that position until his final muster-out, in January, 1866. He refused promotion offered him, to a Lieutenancy, because he would not part with the colors.

I have heard men, during recent years, deride eulogistic references to our country’s flag as sentimental nonsense. If any of you should hear such talk, think of these young heroes, who thought the flag was worth far more than their own lives; who so loved it and reverenced it that they cheerfully died for it; and let their devotion, their sentiment, their sacrifice, be a mute but unanswerable protest against those who deny the existence of such a thing as disinterested patriotism. And when you think of the flag, the brave old flag, the flag that means everything worth having in this country; the flag that is at once the beauty and the glory of our land; the “Old Flag” that is always new, and bright, and gracious, and inspiring; the flag that, floating against the sky, is not only the most beautiful thing a true American will ever see, but the most thrilling and sacred sentiment that warms his heart—when you think of this glorious old flag,

“Think of the strong, heroic souls,
Who hailed it as their pride.
And with their faint and anguished eyes,
Lifted in dreadful agonies,
Saw it between them and the skies,
Blessed it, and, blessing, died.”