good deeds, of his unswerving sense of duty, of his faultless marksmanship that before that flag could be lowered not only the rough old patriot must lie cold in death but many of the attacking party would bite the dust.
Reflection cooled the disunion ardor; perhaps "a tinge of sadness, a blush of shame o'er the face of the leader came," howbeit on the Fourth of July, 1861, that beautiful silken banner floated on the wings of the whispering wind and in the eagle's beak a dead serpent hung, sounding a note of derision as well as of triumph from the old man's heart.
And while in a few days a more generous impulse came over him, and he himself took down the flag and had the serpent removed from the eagle's beak, yet with that single exception, until the final pæan of victory was sung at Appomattox, that silken emblem of his beloved country caressed by summer zephyrs and kissed by the soft mists of winter, floated undisturbed above his patriotic home.
Col. George Hunter, in his quaintly interesting narrative "Reminiscences of an Old Timer," tells of a somewhat similar incident down in the Rogue River country. He says: "One day there had assembled at a store, where the double-distilled extract of corn was chiefly dispensed, a considerable crowd of men, most of whom were violent secessionists, and they were soon filled up, as good democrats were supposed to be, with the exhilarating beverage. From some cause or other the grand old Stars and Stripes had on this day been raised on a pole or staff near by, and pretty soon these half-tipsy fellows took offense at the defiant colors, and swore they would tear it down. Two or more of them started to execute the threat. Some of the crowd remonstrated, but to no avail. I being a stranger and a democrat, supposed the republicans present would protect the flag, but seeing no move-
