And dyes, amid her worshipers."
I am convinced, fellow-citizens, that the present outrageous war is no ordinary row, and that it cannot be brought to a successful termination without some action on the part of the Government. If to believe that a war cannot rage without being prosecuted, is abolitionism, then I am an abolitionist; if to believe that a good article of black ink can be made out of black men, is republicanism, then I am a republican; but we are all brothers now, except that fat Dutchman, who has gone to sleep on his drum, and I pronounce him an accursed secessionist:
"How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gathers beeswax all the day,
From every opening flower."
Men of America, shall these things longer be?—I address myself particularly to that artist with the accordeon, who don't understand a word of English—shall these things longer be? That's what I want to know. The majestic shade of Washington listens for an answer, and I intend to send it by mail as soon as I receive it. Fellow citizens, it can no longer be denied that there is treason at our very hearthstones. Treason—merciful Heavens!
"Come rest in this bosom, my own little dear,
The Honourable R. M. T. Hunter is here;
I know not, I care not, if jilt's in that heart,