Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: 
  He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
  He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword
  His truth is marching on.

The full sunlight gives man poise and shows him the practical side of things, but in the early morning and late at night man is seldom quite rational.  He weakly allows himself to dwell upon what was not, is not, and will not be.  And so Aladdin, during the first period of that march, pretended that Margaret was to be his and that all was well.

A short distance out of Manchester the column met with orders from General Meade and was turned westward toward Gettysburg.  With the orders came details of the first day’s fight, and Aladdin learned of the officer bringing them, for he was a Maine man, that Hamilton St. John was among the dead.  Aladdin and the officer talked long of the poor boy, for both had known him well.  They said that he had not been as brilliant as John, nor as winning as Hannibal, but so honest and reliable, so friendly and unselfish.  They went over his good qualities again and again, and spoke of his great strength and purity, and of other things which men hold best in men.

And now they were riding with the sun in their eyes, and white dust rolled up from the swift feet of horses and men.  Wild roses and new-mown grass filled the air with delightful fragrance, and such fields as were uncut blazed with daisies and buttercups.  Over the trimmed lawns about homesteads yellow dandelions shone like stars in a green sky.  Men, women, and children left their occupations, and stood with open mouths and wide eyes to see the soldiers pass.  The sun rose higher and the day became most hot, but steadily, unflinchingly as the ticking of a clock, the swift, bleeding, valiant feet of the Sixth Army Corps stepped off the miles.  And the men stretched their ears to hear the mumbled distant thunder of artillery—­that voice of battle which says so much and tells so little to those far off.  The Sixth Corps felt that it was expected to decide a battle upon Northern soil for the North, and marching in that buoyant hope, left scarcely a man, broken with fatigue and disappointment, among the wild flowers by the side of the way.

If you have ever ridden from Cairo to the Pyramids you will remember that at five miles’ distance they look as huge as at a hundred yards, and that it is not until you actually touch them with your hand that you even begin to realize how wonderfully huge they really are.  It was so with the thunders of Gettysburg.  They sounded no louder, and they connoted no more to the column now in the immediate vicinage of the battle, than they had to its far-distant ears.  But presently the column halted behind a circle of hills, and beheld white smoke pouring heavenward as if a fissure had opened in the earth and was giving forth steam.  And they beheld in the heavens themselves tiny, fleecy white clouds and motionless rings, and they knew that shells were bursting and men falling upon the slopes beyond the hills.