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The South on the defensive.

Has the South ever robbed the North of one dollar's worth of property? Has the life of a single Northern man, in pursuit of his constitutional rights on Southern soil, ever been sacrificed? Has the South, either in the press, the pulpit, or in Congress, ever proclaimed hostility against Northern property, or organized a party in opposition to it? Has it ever retaliated for the wrongs committed against itself, by sudden raids into Northern States? or has it ever organized a fleet or army to make war on Northern soil?

Never! But each and all, and every one of those crimes have been perpetrated against the South. Millions upon millions of her property have been stolen; her agents, in endeavoring to reclaim that property, have been murdered on Northern soil; the Press, the Pulpit, and the Politics of the North have all been combined for the overthrow of slave institutions; a John Brown raid, backed by the most influential Northern politicians, has been pushed into the very heart of Virginia; a sectional party, which disdains the name of National, has elected on the watch word of an irrepressible conflict, a sectional and fanatical President, who has sent an immense fleet and army, which are now hovering off our Southern coast, and preparing to drench it with the blood of our people.

And yet, whilst the South stands all this time on the defensive, and is pushed at last to the wall, and the clutch of the assassin is upon her throat, and his dagger at her heart, there are men in our own borders who heap reproaches upon her head, who would hold back Virginia from rushing to the rescue, and who have neither friendly words nor sympathizing emotions for any but the Black Republican horde, who, with torch in hand and the vilest passions in their hearts, have gone forth, determined to consummate the robbery, plunder, and wrong, which they have heaped upon the South for twenty-five years, by desolating and defiling its hearth-stones, and plunging its once happy people — bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh — into a bottomless abyss of blood and shame.

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