favor of electing Burr, because of two Republican evils Burr seemed the lesser, or rather he expected that Burr would support Federalist measures in case he were chosen President by the aid of Bayard's party. Burr, however, was not as responsive as Bayard wished; and Bayard called a meeting of all the Federalists of the House. It was finally agreed by them that Burr had no chance of election, and they decided to elect Jefferson, after ascertaining that his Presidential policy in the main was satisfactory to them; that he would preserve the navy, maintain public credit and would not remove subordinate office-holders because of political opinions. Accordingly, on Tuesday, the seventeenth of February, 1801, after the thirty-fifth ballot had been taken without any change, on the thirty-sixth ballot Morris of Vermont was absent from the House and the two Maryland Federalists, Craik and Baer, deposited blank ballots in the box. Since Vermont and Maryland were "divided" states, this action of Morris, Craik and Baer made the vote of Vermont and Maryland respectively 1-0 and 4-2 in favor of Jefferson. It gave him two more states, which with the eight he had already, was a majority of the sixteen states, and elected him President. Thus, Jefferson was finally elected President. But it had been a long and difficult task. It had been quite a battle to defeat Adams and the Federalists; but Jefferson had won seventy-three electoral votes to sixty-five. It had been even a greater battle to defeat Burr and his friends; but Jefferson won, in the House of Representatives, ten states to six. The results of the election of 1800 were several. First, Jefferson and Burr became respectively President and Vice-President; secondly, the tie-vote of seventy-three to seventy-three and its resulting complexity caused the later annulment of Article II, Section 3, of the Constitution; and, thirdly, the election of 1800 marked the beginning of the end of the Federalist party. In 1804 Jefferson was again elected President of the United States; but this second time he was chosen by the electors overwhelmingly over the Federalist candidate. NORTHAMPTON, MASS. CHARLES NEVERS HOLMES WALLS OF CORN There are many people living who remember Kansas as an untilled State. When the old Union Pacific drove its first shining line of steel into the West it cut through a territory whose heavy sods had felt the plough in few places. Someone-a humble poet, or perhaps no poet at all— wrote a verse on "the walls of corn" which were easily Kansas' beauty and wealth. Corn is today a source of rich income to the Western State, but it is to wheat that the people owe their increase. Kansas this year harvested 181,000,000 bushels of wheat. About one-half of this quantity is held on the farms for higher prices. But 90,000,000 bushels of first-class wheat sold at fall prices meant millions for the people of Kansas. Indianapolis News. The humble poet who wrote "Walls of Corn" was Ellen (Palmer) Allerton, who was born at Centreville, N. Y., in 1835. In 1862 she was married to Alpheus Allerton, with whom she took up her home in Wisconsin, where they resided until 1879, when they removed to Hamlin, Kan. Mrs. Allerton early manifested a fondness for literature, but wrote little for publication until after her marriage, when she began to contribute largely, especially in verse, to the newspapers in the Far West. A volume of these poems was collected in 1885, under the title of "Annabel, and Other Poems." Following is the poem referred to in the clipped editorial: F. B. M. Smiling and beautiful, heaven's dome But the wide, wide lands that stretched away The rolling prairie's billowy swell All the wide world is narrowed down What do they hold, those walls of corn He who questions may soon be told, No sentinels guard these walls of corn, Yet the pillars are hung with gleaming gold, Meat for the healthy, and balm for him Shoes for the barefooted, pearls to twine Things of use for the lowly cot, Luxuries rare for the mansion grand, All these things, and so many more Are his and held in walls of corn, Where do they stand, these walls of corn, Open the atlas, conned by rule In the olden days of the district school; Point to the rich and bounteous land "Treeless desert," they called it then, Little they knew what wealth untold Who would have dared, with brush or pen, And how would the wise ones have laughed in scorn Whose banners toss on the breeze of morn? A WAR-TIME RECOLLECTIONS (Fifth Paper) HOW BELLE ISLE LOOKED TO A LIBBY MAN FTER the 1st of January, 1864, life in Libby became a daily torture and a nightly horror. In order to force the Government at Washington to exchange prisoners, the Confederate authorities refused to receive any more supplies under flag of truce, a decision that compelled us to live-it forced many to die-on the insufficient and innutritious prison rations. The last supplies that came through were forwarded via Fortress Monroe by the United States Sanitary Commission. The distribution · of these supplies, consisting of food and underclothing, was left to a board of Union officers, who, with the concurrence of the other prisoners, agreed to distribute them to our poor fellows, who, in the course of that terrible Winter, died like diseased sheep on Belle Isle. Gen. Neal Dow, Col. Cesnola, Col. Sanderson, and other officers whose names I cannot recall, constituted this board. To assist them in their work they frequently called upon some of their Libby associates to go with them. Early in January I was one of the fortunates selected for this work, the object of the board being, in addition to securing assistance, to give as many as possible a chance to breathe a little fresh air and to stand where God's sun might shine on them, if only for an hour. The supplies to be distributed were sent ahead of us, and, although each member of this detail had given his parole to Major Turner not to escape, a guard was provided to bar the possibility of our forgetting the obligation. It was a crisp, cold day, with the wind from the northwest and the sun shining down from an unclouded sky. The canal, immediately under the southern wall of Libby, and the graves, separated from the canal by a narrow strip of bare earth, were frozen over. But after long weeks in the filth and the shadows of that wretched building it was not the landscape nor the grateful sun, set in a sky of liquid amethyst, that most impressed me. The feeling of comparative liberty was subjective. I became suddenly taller and stronger, and I walked with a lighter step than when trying to take exercise by jostling through the dense throngs of pale-faced men in Libby. The bitter feeling left my heart for the time, and for those two hours I enjoyed, at least in imagination, the realization of the dream of liberty that had been with me night and day since my capture. We passed Castle Thunder, and through the glassless windows we could see the ragged, gaunt figures and lean, ashy faces of political prisoners and men charged with being spies. To these poor fellows no supplies had ever come through, nor were they permitted to communicate with their friends. For them there was no prospect of exchange, and the only way in which the most hopeful could see release was in the sudden capture of the city by our forces, while the many under sentence of death might well look to the grave as a welcome exit from an earthly hell. If the story of Castle Thunder is ever written, it will add to the history of the war its most dramatic and thrilling chapter. Here, “unknown, unheeded, and unsung," some of the most patriotic Union men suffered in silence or went out to death for a principle. Here men rotted into the grave rather than swear allegiance to a Government that was not theirs. Here women suffered as well as men; and from its dingy portals prisoners went to the gallows, who, tempted either by love of country or hope of gain, had been caught within the enemy's lines under circumstances that warranted their being treated as spies. Belle Isle had the advantage over Libby in that there was an abundance of fresh air and sunlight, but, these apart, it was infinitely worse. The roof and thick brick walls of Libby kept off the snow and rain and broke the force of the bitter wind; there was no such grateful protection on Belle Isle. Lines of tattered tents, holes dug in the wet sand and covered with roofs of ragged canvas, shelters of earth and barrel staves, in which the prisoners crouched together from the cold, and where death kept his headquarters, and yet so crowded was the island that only the fortunate ones had this protection, and many had to sleep out of doors. The men in Libby were bleached for the want of sunlight, but one soon grew accustomed to the white faces and did not notice them. Here on Belle Isle the faces were an ashy brown, and so lean and gaunt, so bigeyed and hollow cheeked, as to touch with tearful pity men, like ourselves, who were not unfamiliar with suffering. |