the grey, each confident of battling for the right, were slaying each other in the valleys of the South. He ignores the peace which has settled over the old fields of war, and does not assent to the hand clasp of Federal with Confederate. He tries to open the strife anew, mocks the spirit of forgiveness, and rakes the old ashes over in the hunt for a burning coal. He scoffs at those who fought against the Union, and, because they have come back to it, calls them insincere. He rebukes the veteran who forgave them when together they laid down their arms. This is called waving the bloody shirt, and today, when many of those now in active life cannot remember the time when the Rebellion had closed, and the boys were marching home, there are legislators and journalists who devote their efforts to stirring up a sectional hatred which without these efforts would be but a tradition. Many Southerners keenly resent the spirit which thus traduces the now loyal South, and declares it hypocritical. The bloody shirters, as they are called, rail at the decency which forgives and forgets, and with venomous tongues revile alike those who fell in the lost cause, those who lived to repent, and those who would grant pardon. So long as men lost to honour will do this the action must have a name—it will be called waving the bloody shirt. From this special meaning it is now passing into general use to indicate similar tactics in regard to any cause. It has recently been introduced into English journalism in connection with the Irish struggle, and the 'Unionist Party' has been accused of waving the bloody shirt—with how much truth or the reverse there is here no concern. The origin of the expression is to be sought in a Corsican custom now nearly, if not quite, obsolete. In the days of the fierce vendette—the feuds which divided the Corsicans, family from family, bloodshed was a common occurrence. Before the burial of a murdered man, the gridata was celebrated. This word, which literally means a crying aloud, may be translated 'a wake.' The body of the victim was laid upon a plank; his useless firearms were placed near his hand, and his blood-stained shirt was hung above his head. Around the rude bier sat a circle of women, wrapped in their black mantles, who rocked themselves to and fro with strange wailings. The men, relatives and friends of the murdered man, fully armed stood around the room, mad with thirst for revenge. Then one of the women—the wife or mother or sister of the dead man—with a sharp scream would snatch the bloody shirt, and waving it aloft begin the vocero—the lamentation. This rhythmic discourse was made up of alternate expressions of love for the dead, and hatred of his enemies; and its startling images and tremendous curses were echoed in the faces and amidst the mutterings of the armed mourners. Its application to American politics
