[106] or the wood-pile, when our souls' fuel is on fire for flag and country? Did not Washington fight seven years, break ice on the Delaware, break bones and pull triggers on Monmouth field, send ten thousand bleeding feet to where no blood ever comes, and pass from clouds of smoke to archways of flowers — for what? That States should defy their best guardian, which is the nation, insult history and make republicanism impossible? Here, in this city of our love and pride, this cradle of the civil life of Washington, where despotism sheathed its last sword and constitutional liberty swore its first oath; where steam first boiled its way to a throne, and art and commerce and finance, and all the social amenities marshalled their forces to the sweet strain of the first inaugural — here, where government began and capital centres, is the sheet anchor of American loyalty. Nothing so disappoints secession as the provoking fidelity of New York to the Constitution. From the vaults of Wall-street, Jefferson Davis expected to pay his army, and riot in all the streets and in all towns and cities of the North to make their march a triumphant one. Fifty thousand men to-day tread on his fallacy. Gold is healthy, gold is loyal, gold is determined; it flows easy, because the war is not to subjugate or injure any one, but to bring back within the protecting folds of the Constitution an erring and rebellious brother,--a brother whom we have trusted and toasted, fought with side by side on the battle field, voted for at the ballot-box, showered with honor after honor upon his recreant head, while that brother was poisoning the milk in his mother's breast, striking a parricidal blow at the parental government which has protected and prospered us all as no people were ever so prospered and protected. Heretofore, in our differences, we have shouldered ballots instead of bayonets. With a quiet bit of paper in our hands we have marched safely through a hundred battles about tariff, bank, anti-liquor, anti-rent, and all those social and political questions about which a free people may amicably differ. If slavery cannot be appeased with the old life of the ballot, depend upon it the bayonet will only pierce new wounds in its history. We have heretofore kept all our lead moulded into type, that peaceably and intellectually we might enter the Southern brain, until passion and precipitation have forced us to melt down that type into a less friendly visitor. Kossuth says that bayonets think; and ours have resolved in solemn convention to think deeply, act promptly, and end victoriously. Do you wonder to-day to see that flag flying over all our reawaked national life, no longer monopolized by mast-head, steeple, or liberty-pole, but streaming forth a camp signal from every private hearthstone, breaking out in love pimples all down our garments, running like wild vine flowers over whole acres of compact anxious citizens? Why has that tender maiden turned her alabaster hands into heroic little flagstaffs, which, with no loss of modesty, unveils to the world her deep love of country? Do you see that infant show off its playthings, tottering under rosettes and swathed in the national emblem by foreboding parents, who would protect its growth with this holy talisman of safety? Do you see, too, those grave old citizens, sharpened by gain-seeking, and sobered with law-expounding, invade their plain exterior with peacock hues, which proclaim such tenacity to a flag that has fanned, like an angel's wing, every form of our prosperity and pride? It seems hard for philosophy to divine how any section of the country, so comprehensively prosperous, could allow a mean jealousy of another portion, a little more wealthy and populous, to so hurry it on into rebellion, not against us, but a common Government and a common glory, to which both are subject and both should love. Does not each State belong to all the States, and should not all the States be a help and a guide to each State? Louisiana's sugar drops into Ohio's tea-cup; and should not every palace built on Fifth-avenue nod its head amicably to whatever cotton receipts its bills? Over-pride of locality has been the scourge of our nationality. When our thirty-one stars broke on the north star, did not Texas, as well as Pennsylvania, light up the bleak Arctic sky? When the old flag first rose over the untouched gold of California, did not Georgia and New York join hands in unveiling the tempting ore? Virginia has seceded and carried my political fathers with it — Washington and Jefferson. The State has allowed their tombs to crumble, as well as their principles. Outlaw their sod! Who will dare to ask me for my passport at the grave of Washington?
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[106] or the wood-pile, when our souls' fuel is on fire for flag and country? Did not Washington fight seven years, break ice on the Delaware, break bones and pull triggers on Monmouth field, send ten thousand bleeding feet to where no blood ever comes, and pass from clouds of smoke to archways of flowers — for what? That States should defy their best guardian, which is the nation, insult history and make republicanism impossible? Here, in this city of our love and pride, this cradle of the civil life of Washington, where despotism sheathed its last sword and constitutional liberty swore its first oath; where steam first boiled its way to a throne, and art and commerce and finance, and all the social amenities marshalled their forces to the sweet strain of the first inaugural — here, where government began and capital centres, is the sheet anchor of American loyalty. Nothing so disappoints secession as the provoking fidelity of New York to the Constitution. From the vaults of Wall-street, Jefferson Davis expected to pay his army, and riot in all the streets and in all towns and cities of the North to make their march a triumphant one. Fifty thousand men to-day tread on his fallacy. Gold is healthy, gold is loyal, gold is determined; it flows easy, because the war is not to subjugate or injure any one, but to bring back within the protecting folds of the Constitution an erring and rebellious brother,--a brother whom we have trusted and toasted, fought with side by side on the battle field, voted for at the ballot-box, showered with honor after honor upon his recreant head, while that brother was poisoning the milk in his mother's breast, striking a parricidal blow at the parental government which has protected and prospered us all as no people were ever so prospered and protected. Heretofore, in our differences, we have shouldered ballots instead of bayonets. With a quiet bit of paper in our hands we have marched safely through a hundred battles about tariff, bank, anti-liquor, anti-rent, and all those social and political questions about which a free people may amicably differ. If slavery cannot be appeased with the old life of the ballot, depend upon it the bayonet will only pierce new wounds in its history. We have heretofore kept all our lead moulded into type, that peaceably and intellectually we might enter the Southern brain, until passion and precipitation have forced us to melt down that type into a less friendly visitor. Kossuth says that bayonets think; and ours have resolved in solemn convention to think deeply, act promptly, and end victoriously. Do you wonder to-day to see that flag flying over all our reawaked national life, no longer monopolized by mast-head, steeple, or liberty-pole, but streaming forth a camp signal from every private hearthstone, breaking out in love pimples all down our garments, running like wild vine flowers over whole acres of compact anxious citizens? Why has that tender maiden turned her alabaster hands into heroic little flagstaffs, which, with no loss of modesty, unveils to the world her deep love of country? Do you see that infant show off its playthings, tottering under rosettes and swathed in the national emblem by foreboding parents, who would protect its growth with this holy talisman of safety? Do you see, too, those grave old citizens, sharpened by gain-seeking, and sobered with law-expounding, invade their plain exterior with peacock hues, which proclaim such tenacity to a flag that has fanned, like an angel's wing, every form of our prosperity and pride? It seems hard for philosophy to divine how any section of the country, so comprehensively prosperous, could allow a mean jealousy of another portion, a little more wealthy and populous, to so hurry it on into rebellion, not against us, but a common Government and a common glory, to which both are subject and both should love. Does not each State belong to all the States, and should not all the States be a help and a guide to each State? Louisiana's sugar drops into Ohio's tea-cup; and should not every palace built on Fifth-avenue nod its head amicably to whatever cotton receipts its bills? Over-pride of locality has been the scourge of our nationality. When our thirty-one stars broke on the north star, did not Texas, as well as Pennsylvania, light up the bleak Arctic sky? When the old flag first rose over the untouched gold of California, did not Georgia and New York join hands in unveiling the tempting ore? Virginia has seceded and carried my political fathers with it — Washington and Jefferson. The State has allowed their tombs to crumble, as well as their principles. Outlaw their sod! Who will dare to ask me for my passport at the grave of Washington?
Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.
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