felt a pang of pity and unreasoning remorse, which warned her that he who
looks upon politics when it is red must steel his eyes to see many a man
with the heart-burn. After the men of Amo, came the Harkless Club of
Gainesville, Mr. Bence in the van with the step of a grenadier. There
followed next, Mr. Ephraim Watts, bearing a light wand in his hand and
leading a detachment of workers from the oil-fields in their stained blue
overalls and blouses; and, after them, came Mr. Martin and Mr. Landis at
the head of an organization recognized in the "Order of Procession,"
printed in the "Herald," as the Business Men of Plattville. They played in
such magnificent time that every high-stepping foot in all the line came
down with the same jubilant plunk, and lifted again with a unanimity as
complete as that of the last vote the convention had taken that day. The
leaders of the procession set a brisk pace, and who could have set any
other kind of a pace when on parade to the strains of such a band, playing
such a tune as "A New Coon in Town," with all its might and main?

But as the line swung into the Square, there came a moment when the tune
was ended, the musicians paused for breath, and there fell comparative
quiet. Amongst the ranks of Business Men ambled Mr. Wilkerson, singing at
the top of his voice, and now he could be heard distinctly enough for
those near to him to distinguish the melody with which it was his
intention to favor the public:

"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
As we go marching on."

The words, the air, that husky voice, recalled to the men of Carlow
another day and another procession, not like this one. And the song
Wilkerson was singing is the one song every Northern-born American knows
and can sing. The leader of the band caught the sound, signalled to his