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Chapter 36: Outlook.

Is there no writing on the wall?

The wounds inflicted on America by the civil war were fresh and bleeding, even before they were reopened by the grave events in New Orleans. The two sides seem as bitter as they were a month before the fall of Richmond. Cincinnati, where I write these words, is a great city, chief market of a Free State, looking across the Ohio river into the streets and squares of Covington, her sister of Kentucky. These cities lie as close together as Brooklyn and New York, as Lambeth and Westminster. They are connected by a bridge and by a dozen ferries. Trains and street cars cross the river night and day; the citizens buy and sell, dine and house, marry and live with each other, like neighbours and Christians; yet a plague like the Black Death has broken out between Covington and Cincinnati, and the fanatics

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