WILLIAM WARREN. 329 



sioned oratory, to which his profanity added the charm 

 of emphasis. We had met old John Brown down at 

 Osawatomie, and would have none of him. Brown was 

 sitting by the roadside singing "Blow ye the trumpet, 

 blow," through his nose, and Warren said: 



"B etcher he's an ole feller that turns his camp into a 

 Sunday-school half a dozen times a day; I don't want 

 any of him; if you want to go with him, all right; Jim 

 Lane is good enough for me." 



Said I: "Billy, I've got no more use for old Osawa- 

 tomie than you have. There wouldn't be a bit of fun 

 with him. He's a religious fanatic, and says that the 

 Lord has sent him here to do things. I don't object to 

 his doing things, but he won't get me to serve under 

 him. I don't like him, and that's all there is of it. He's 

 in dead earnest; but so is Jim Lane, and Jim is the man 

 to make things hump." 



We went back home. To-day the fame of John 

 Brown, who freely gave his life for a cause, is sung all 

 over the North, while my hero, General Jim Lane, is re- 

 membered by a few as a political trickster, who killed a 

 man that contested his claim to land, was tried and 

 acquitted (for that was a frontier custom), and then for six 

 years represented Kansas in the United States Senate. 

 Then, following the lead of President Andrew Johnson, 

 he received the indignant reproval of his constituents, 

 and died by his own hand. How differently we look at 

 men and things when they are as widely separated as then 

 and now, when the cool judgment of sixty-three sits upon 

 the rash impulses of the boy forty years ago. 



It was in the southeastern portion where things were 

 hottest, and where there was more or less desultory fight- 

 ing, but party feeling ran high up the Cottonwood, and 

 several Free State men had notices pinned on their doors 



