symbol and sign of an adored trinity — cotton, niggers, and chivalry. He still sees it in the little camp on the Chowan, tied to the peak of its palmetto pole, and floating out over our boundless confederacy, the revived relic of ages gone, banner of our king of few days and full of trouble. And that pole in its tapering uprightness typifying some of the grandest beauties of our nationality; its peak pointing hopefully toward the tropical stars, and its biggest end — run into the ground. Relic and pole, good-by. 'Tis best the conscript goes; his claim to chivalry has gone before him. Behind he leaves the legitimate chivalry of this unbounded nation centred in the illegitimate son of a Kentucky horse-thief. But a few more words, illustrious President, and he is done — done gone. Elevated by their sufferings and suffrages to the highest office in the gift of a great and exceeding free people, you have held your position without a change of base, or purpose of any sort, through weary months of war, and want, and woe; and though every conscript would unite with the thousands of loyal and true men in the South in a grand old grief at your downfall, so too will they sink under the calamity of an exquisite joy when you shall have reached that eminent meridian whence all progress is perpendicular. And now, bastard President of a political abortion, farewell. “Scalp-hunters,” relic, pole, and chivalrous confederates in. crime, good-by. Except it be in the army of the Union, you will not again see the conscript.
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Border war, as seen and experienced by the inhabitants of Chambersburgh, Pa.
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