“Language,” according to a great diplomatist, “was given to man, in order that he might conceal his ideas.” But this maxim has never been accepted by honorable men. In examining, thus briefly, the “Des Moines speech,” we have followed that other canon of criticism, which requires that words shall be interpreted in their literal sense, as far as possible. Submitted to this just criticism, the language appears to us immortal, and worthy of the high place which is even now being prepared for it. Some may marvel, and may wonder how the President came to be filled with so high a degree of the prophetic spirit. Like Balaam, the son of Beor, he was expected to curse us; unlike Balaam, he was not stayed, but rather urged on by the faithful servant with whom he previously conversed. But there is no mystery about it. He has grown up with the instincts of a true American, and he has spoken accordingly. Not only are the words on which we have commented true, but they are in accordance with sound Catholic principles. We are ready to take him at his word, and his words in their true meaning. To those who will join us we say, without disguise or reserve: “Gentlemen, you will never regret having trusted us, and dealt fairly with us, according to the laws and Constitution of this country.” We believe with the President, that, if the only honest meaning of his language be as honestly carried out, “the battles which created the Army of the Tennessee” (which, by the way, a Catholic general once commanded and in whose ranks hundreds of Catholic hearts bled)—we believe, we say, that these battles “will not have been fought in vain.” The children of the soldiers of the Union will at least be the peers of those whom their fathers overcame. The nations’ heroes will not look down, to see their heirs defrauded of equal rights in “the Union and the free institutions for which they died.” The President will yield to his comrades in arms, at least as much as he is so ready to accord to his late opponents. And as for our countrymen throughout the Union, we are prepared to wait, trusting that when fully enlightened, they will agree to our obtaining, independently of all political agitations or party organizations, our just and equal rights as American citizens.
SONNETS IN MEMORY OF THE LATE SIR AUBREY DE VERE, BART.
BY AUBREY DE VERE.
I.
To-night upon thy roof the snows are lying;
The Christmas snows lie heavy on thy trees;
A dying dirge that soothes the year in dying
Swells from thy woodlands on the midnight breeze.