“It is really of the smallest intrinsic consequence whether the actual Barbara Frietchie, nonagenarian dame of Frederick City, during the troubled war times, now with God, did really set the patriot flag-staff on her attic window, and from that high perch, with shrill voice and gaunt gesture, address the oncoming bands of confederates, with Stonewall Jackson at their head, in the energetic terms recited by the poet; for, whatsoever the actual nonagenarian dame of invaded Frederick did or did not do on that memorable day, the lady of the poem, who is the imperishable personage of this spirited battle-piece, certainly did stand (and stands yet) at her attic window; certainly did wave above the advancing foe (and waves yet) the old heart-kindling ensign; and in this attitude—somewhat more real and enduring than her frail and passing prototype, or the dusty files that, under her slow-waving banner, have marched by into the still kingdoms—she will continue to stand, till all the memories of our war and Mr. Whittier's poetry have died out in the clamor of wilder wars and louder songs. There is no Barbara Frietchie for whom the world cares a fig, except the Barbara Frietchie of Mr. Whittier.”