of the nation; and now, even the once
glorious name of Daniel Webster stirs no enthusiasm in the bosoms which
once beat joyfully to his praise, as it came to them from New England.
Those who from party purposes proclaim peace and good will, only
deceive the world, not themselves, or the people of the South. Peace
there is; but good will, none. When asked to be given, memory turns to
the battle-fields upon Southern soil, the bloody graves where the
chosen spirits of the South are sleeping, and the heart burns with
indignant hatred. Generations may come and pass away, but this hatred,
this cursed memory of oppressive wrong will live on. The mothers of
to-day make for their infants a tradition of these memories, and it
will be transmitted as the highlander's cross of fire, from clan to
clan, in burning brightness, for a thousand years. The graveyards will
no more perish than the legends of the war that made them. They are in
our midst, our children, the kindred of all are there--and those who
are to come will go there--and their mothers, as Hamilcar did, will
make them upon these green graves swear eternal hatred to those who
with their vengeance filled these sacred vaults.

We are expected to love those whose hands are red with the blood of our
children; to take to our bosoms the murderers and robbers who have
slain upon the soil of their nativity our people, and who have robbed
our homes and devastated our country; who have fattened Southern soil
with Southern blood, and enriched their homes with the stolen wealth of
ours. Are we not men, and manly? Do we feel as men? and is not this
insult to manliness, and a vile mockery to the feelings of men? We can
never forget--we will never forgive, and we will wait; for when the
opportunity shall come, as come it will, we will avenge the damning
wrong.

This may be unchristian, but it is natural--nature is of God and will
assert herself. No mawkish pretension, no hypocritical cant, can
repress the natural feelings of the heart: its loves and resentments
are its strongest passions, and the love that we bore for our children
and kindred kindles to greater vigor in the hatred we bear for their
murderers.

CHAPTER XVII.

CONGRESS IN ITS BRIGHTEST DAYS.

MISSOURI COMPROMISE--JOHN RANDOLPH'S JUBA--MR. MACON--HOLMES AND
CRAWFORD--MR. CLAY'S INFLUENCE--JAMES BARBOUR--PHILIP P. BARBOUR--MR.
PINKNEY--MR. BEECHER, OF OHIO--"CUCKOO, CUCKOO!"--NATIONAL ROADS--
WILLIAM LOWNDES--WI