them were Kate Putnam Osgood’s Driving Home the Cows, Mrs. Ethel Lynn Beers’s All Quiet Along the Potomac; Forceythe Willson’s Old Sergeant, and John James Piatt’s Riding to Vote.  Of the poets whom the war brought out, or developed, the most noteworthy were Henry Timrod, of South Carolina, and Henry Howard Brownell, of Connecticut.  During the war Timrod was with the Confederate Army of the West, as correspondent for the Charleston Mercury, and in 1864 he became assistant editor of the South Carolinian, at Columbia.  Sherman’s “march to the sea” broke up his business, and he returned to Charleston.  A complete edition of his poems was published in 1873, six years after his death.  The prettiest of all Timrod’s poems is Katie, but more to our present purpose are Charleston—­written in the time of blockade—­and the Unknown Dead, which tells

  “Of nameless graves on battle plains,
  Wash’d by a single winter’s rains,
  Where, some beneath Virginian hills,
  And some by green Atlantic rills,
  Some by the waters of the West,
  A myriad unknown heroes rest.”

When the war was over a poet of New York State, F. M. Finch, sang of these and of other graves in his beautiful Decoration Day lyric, The Blue and the Gray, which spoke the word of reconciliation and consecration for North and South alike.

Brownell, whose Lyrics of a Day and War Lyrics were published respectively in 1864 and 1866, was private secretary to Farragut, on whose flag-ship, the Hartford, he was present at several great naval engagements, such as the “Passage of the Forts” below New Orleans, and the action off Mobile, described in his poem, the Bay Fight.  With some roughness and unevenness of execution Brownell’s poetry had a fire which places him next to Whittier as the Koerner of the civil war.  In him, especially, as in Whittier, is that Puritan sense of the righteousness of his cause which made the battle for the Union a holy war to the crusaders against slavery: 

  “Full red the furnace fires must glow
    That melt the ore of mortal kind;
  The mills of God are grinding slow,
    But ah, how close they grind!

  “To-day the Dahlgren and the drum
    Are dread apostles of his name;
  His kingdom here can only come
    By chrism of blood and flame.”

One of the earliest martyrs of the war was Theodore Winthrop, hardly known as a writer until the publication in the Atlantic Monthly of his vivid sketches of Washington as a Camp, describing the march of his regiment, the famous New York Seventh, and its first quarters in the Capitol at Washington.  A tragic interest was given to these papers by Winthrop’s gallant death in the action of Big Bethel, June 10, 1861.  While this was still fresh in public recollection his manuscript novels were published, together with