"Of the past? Yes, of the past, as well as the present, and of the future! But tell me what you see here, that you should love this country so much. It is not from associations?"
"No, only its beauty!"
"Its beauty? I cannot see it! Where is it?"
"Shall I describe what I see?"
"Yes, sir; I am interested to know what you can call beautiful."
"I will. I am standing here, upon a lofty mountain turret. Below is the Osage. Gaze upon it. Is it not majestical? Yonder it rolls, along the mountain's base, now leaping, rushing onward, like a giant army charging a deadly foe, lashing its banks as if it longed to break from its restraint, and charge the world. And there it strikes the mountain's side, and for a moment falters. It will turn aside defeated! Will it? No! It is no coward, and the mountain yields—the mountain falls—the Osage breaks the barrier, and rushes on. And now, all conscious of its victory, it pauses for awhile, or gliding gently onward murmurs its own song of glory. And listen to the strain. How it rises on the air, and is borne from crag to crag, along the lofty summits to tell that grand array of its own defeat. Look at that mountain column formed in battle line. It appears impregnable. But its ranks are broken, and its power defied. That gap is where the charge was made—that gap tells the story—its line was broken, and defeat followed. The river was victorious!"
"Good!" echoed Johnson. "What more do you see?"
"Mountains and hills where we can defy the world. And yonder is my own camp."
"Yes, your camp, containing seventy thousand true and tried soldiers. Those who have shared your victories with you. Seventy thousand soldiers! ha! ha! ha!"
"Johnson, I do not like your sarcasm. Better the enemy should over-estimate our numbers. It will intimidate them."