forever blasted, the prosperity of the country ruined for so many years—how great must be the compensation for all this! Shall all this be squandered for nothing? for a mere temporary cessation of hostilities, a prospect of new troubles, a mere fiction of peace?
People of America! I implore you, for once, be true to yourselves, [great applause,] and do justice to the unmistakable instinct of your minds and the noble impulses of your hearts. Let it not be said that the great American Republic is afraid of the Nineteenth Century. [Loud cheers.] And you, legislators of the country, and those who stand at the helm of Government, you, I intreat, do not trifle with the blood of the people. This is no time for politely consulting our enemies' tastes, or for sparing our enemies' feelings. Be sure, whatever progressive measures you may resolve upon, however progressive they may be, the people are ready to sustain you with heart and hand. [Loud and long-continued cheering and waving of hats.] The people do not ask for any thing that might seem extravagant. They do not care for empty glory; they do not want revenge, but they do want a fruitful victory and a lasting peace. [Great applause.]
When pondering over the tendency of this great crisis, two pictures of our future rise up before my eyes. Here is one: The Republic, distracted by a series of revulsions and reactions, all tending toward the usurpation of power, and the gradual destruction of that beautiful system of self-government to which this country owes its progress and prosperity; the nation sitting on the ruins of her glory, looking back to our days with a sorrowful eye, and saying: “Then we ought to have acted like men, and all would be well now.” Too late, too late! And here is the other: A Government, freed from the shackles of a despotic and usurping interest, resting safely upon the loyalty of a united people; a nation engaged in the peaceable discus-
