“Mebby he is that liberal and generous turn with his own folks, that after he has read it, he will give it to some of his wife’s relations. Mebby there is a few widowehs among them,” and then in a still more dreamy tone she murmured, “Betsey B. Dent, Washington, D. C.” But anon or a little after, she roused out of this revery and takin’ the poetry in her hand, she started down the car, and I bein’ tired, leaned my head back against the side of the seat, and composed myself together.
“LET US HAVE PEACE.”
I guess I had most got into a nap, when I heard a loud wrathful, eloquent voice, seemin’ly makin’ a speech to some enimy. It started me up so that I rose right up onto my feet, and looked round, and there was that noble General, standin’ up with his hands extended, layin’ it down strong and decided. I knew what it was in ½ a minute, Betsey Bobbet had done what a five years uncivel war couldn’t do, nor a admirin’ nation of 20 million souls. She had got him to makin’ a speech, while Skyler who had smiled stidely for upwards of 40 years, stood lookin’ on with a dark and awfully gloomy frown onto him.
I stood silent for some time lost in the sorrowful feelin’s the scene called forth, and then almost overcome with my pity for them, I wended my way towards them. As I drew nearer to them, I heard his words which he was pourin’ out so eloquently and fluently, “Let us have peace, Can’t we have peace?” he was yellin’ in such harrowin’ tones, that there wasn’t hardly a dry eye in my head as I listened.
“Have I escaped from the horrible danger of war, have I survived the open bullets of my enimies, and the well meanin’ but almost fatal arrows of my friends, to expier in this way? To perish by poetry? Is there no sucker for me? Can’t we have peace?” he screamed in a loud preachin’ tone as he ketched sight of me, “Can’t we have it, say?”
He was almost delerious. But I laid my hand on his agitated elbow, and says I in soothin’ tones.