CHAPTER XXVI.THE MAN.

“—— borne his faculties so meek, had beenSo clear in his great office, that his virtuesWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, againstThe deep damnation of his taking-off.”

“The South avenged!” And by the cold-blooded murder of the best friend that repentant rebels ever had—of one who had long withstood the pressing appeals of his warmest personal and political friends for less lenity and more rigor in dealing with traitors.

It was written in the decrees of the Immutable that he should fall by the bullet—not, indeed, on the battle-field, whose sad suggestings he had so often, and so tenderly, lovingly heeded—but in the midst of his family, while seeking relief from the cares of state—and by a murderer’s hand!—the first President to meet such a fate—thenceforth our martyr-chief!

But sorrow was tempered with mercy. He did not falluntil a benignant Providence had permitted him to enjoy a foretaste, at least, of the blessings which he had been instrumental in conferring upon the land he loved so well.

The pledges of his first Inaugural Address had been amply redeemed—those pledges which so many declared impossible of fulfilment, which not a few mocked as beyond human power to accomplish. The power confided to him had been successfully used “to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the Government.” No United States fort at the time of his fall flaunted treason in the eyes of the land. The day of his murder the old flag had been flung to the breeze from Sumter with ceremonies befitting the joyous occasion, by the very hands that four years before had been compelled to lower it to arrogant traitors; and friends of freedom for man, irrespective of color or race, walked the streets of Charleston—a city of desolation, a skeleton of its former self—jubilant that, since God so willed it, in His own good time, Freedom was National and Slavery but a thing of the past.

When he fell, the Nation, brought by the stern necessities of direful war to the discharge of duties befitting a better manhood, passing by all projects for an emancipation of slaves, which should be merely gradual, not content even that such emancipation had been proclaimed as a measure of military necessity, had spoken in favor of such an amendment of the Constitution as should forever prohibit any claim of property in man. Though the final consummation of that great measure had not been reached when our President was removed, it was given him to feel assured that the end was not distant, was even then close at hand.

When he fell, that body of traitors which had assumed to be a Government had fled, one scarcely knew whither, with whatever of ill-gotten gains their greedy hands could grasp—their main army captive, the residue of their military force on the point of surrendering. From what had been theircapital, in the mansion appropriated to the special use of the chiefest among the conspirators, he had been permitted to send words of greeting to the nation.

When he fell, treason throughout the land lay gasping, dying.

It needed not that dismal, dreary, mid-April day to intensify the sorrow. As on the wings of lightning the news sped through the land—“the President is Shot”—“is dying”—“is dead”—men knew scarcely how to credit the tale. When the fearful certainty came home to each, strong men bowed themselves and wept—maid and matron joined in the plaint. With no extraneous prompting, with no impulse save that of the heart alone, the common grief took on a common garb. Houses were draped—the flag of our country hung pensive at half-mast—portraitures of the loved dead were found on all.

And dreary as was the day when first the tidings swept through the country, patriot hearts were drearier still. It was past analysis. It was as if chaos and dread night had come again.

Meanwhile the honored dead lay in state in the country’s capitol.

On that dreamy, hazy nineteenth of April—suggesting, were it not for the early green leaves, the fresh springing grass, the glad spring caroling of birds, “that sweet autumnal summer which the Indian loved so well”—on that day when sleep wooed one even in the early morn, his obsequies were celebrated in the country’s metropolis.

And throughout the land, minute guns were fired, bells tolled, business suspended, and the thoughtful betook themselves to prayer, if so be that what verily seemed a curse might pass from us.

Thence the funeralcortegemoved to the final resting-place—the remains of a darling son, earlier called, accompanying those of the father—by the route the President had takenwhen first he had been summoned to the chair of State. Before half of the mournful task was done, came tidings that the assassin had been sent to his final account by the avenger’s hand, gurgling out, as his worthless life ebbed away, “useless! useless!”

As the sad procession wended its way, where hundreds had gathered in ’61, impelled by mere curiosity or by partisan sympathy, thousands gathered, four years later, through affection, through reverence, through deep, abiding sorrow.

Flowers beautified the lifeless remains—dirges were sung—the people’s great heart broke out into sobs and sighing.

And so, home to the prairie they bore him whom, when first he was called, the Nation knew not—whom, mid the storms and ragings of those years of civil war, they had learned, had loved, to call father and friend.

In the Oak Ridge Cemetery, in his own Springfield, on the fourth of May, 1865, they laid him to rest, at the foot of a knoll, in the most beautiful part of the ground, over which forest trees—rare denizens of the prairie—look lovingly.

There all that is mortal ofAbraham Lincolnreposes.

“The immortal?” Hail, and farewell!

Reasons for His Re-election—What was Accomplished—Leaning on the People—State Papers—His Tenacity of Purpose—Washington and Lincoln—As a Man—Favorite Poem—Autobiography—His Modesty—A Christian—Conclusion.

What shall be said, in summing up, of Abraham Lincoln as a statesman and a man? That from such humble beginnings, in circumstances so adverse, he rose to be the Chief Magistrate of one of the leading countries of the world, wouldwere it in any other country, be evidence of ability of the very highest order.

Here, however, so many from similar surroundings have achieved similar results that this fact of itself does not necessarily unfold the man clearly and fully to us. He might have been put forward for that high station as a skillful and accomplished politician, from whose elevation hosts of partisans counted upon their own personal advancement and profit. Or he might have been a successful general; or one possessing merely negative qualities, with no salient points, all objectionable angularities rounded off till that desirable availability, which has at times been laid hold of for the Presidency had been reached; or, yet again, one who had for a long time been in the front ranks of an old and triumphant party, and, therefore, as such matters have been managed with us, admitted to have strong claims upon such party; or, lastly, one who, having for many years schemed and plotted and labored, in season and out of season, for the nomination, at last achieved it.

For such Presidents have been furnished us. But he was neither. And yet the highest point to which an American may aspire he reached. Clearly, then, there must have been something of strength and of worth in the man.

He was reëlected, the first President since Jackson to whom that honor had been accorded. And thirty-two years had passed—eight Presidential terms—since Jackson’s reëlection. He was, moreover, reëlected by a largely increased vote.

The years covered by his administration were the stormiest in American history, “piled high,” as he himself said, “with difficulties.” No President was ever more severely attacked, more unsparingly denounced than he. None more belittled than he. And yet he was triumphantly reëlected. Why? For the same reason that first brought him before the country.

Primarily and mainly because the mass of the people hadunbounded confidence in his honesty and devotion to principle. Though these qualities, it is pleasant to say, have been by no means rare in our Presidents, yet Abraham Lincoln seemed so to speak, so steeped and saturated in them that a hold was thereby obtained upon the common mind, the like of which no other President since Washington had secured. The bitterest opponent of his policy was constrained, if candid, to admit, if not the existence of these qualities, at least the prevailing popular belief in their existence.

What shall be said of him as a statesman?

That he found the fabric of our National Government rocking from turret to foundation stone—that he left it, after four years of strife such as, happily, the world rarely witnesses, firmly fixed, and sure; this should serve in some sort, as an answer.

But might not this be owing, or principally so, to the ability of the counsellors whom he gathered about him? Beyond a doubt the meed of praise is to be shared. Yet we should remember that few Presidents have so uniformly acted of and for themselves in matters of state policy, as did Mr. Lincoln. Upon many questions the opinions of his Cabinet were sought—a Cabinet representing the various shades of thought, the various stages of progress, through which the people, of whom they were the exponents, were passing from year to year—after obtaining which, he would act. But, in most instances, perhaps, he struck out for himself, after careful, conscientious reflection, launching his policy upon unknown seas, quietly assured that truth was with him and that he could not be mistaken. Nor was he often.

Having to feel his way along, for the most part—groping in the dark—he could not push on so fast and far as to leave the people out of breath or staring far in his rear. Still, it must not be understood that he never acted against what was plainly the popular will. The man was not of that mould. Unquestionably in his dealings with the two leading Europeanpowers he often acted in direct opposition to the popular wish. Nothing would have been easier than for him to have brought a foreign war upon the country; and in such action, for a time at least, he would have been sustained by the mass of the people. So, too, as to vindictive measures towards the rebels. By adopting these he would, oftentimes, have been in harmony with the general wish for vengeance and retaliation. In both these instances—to name no others—he chose to act counter to the current sentiment. More politic, with a more piercing outlook than the mass, he saw the end from the beginning, and in the one case chose to overlook what was, to his mind, grossly wrong, and in the other, to stand up for the general interests of humanity through all time rather than to cater to the desire of the hour, natural and, perhaps, pardonable though it was.

What is meant is this—that, in the complications in which the country was involved, he invariably acted, where expediency simply and not principle was concerned, so as to feel sure that the body of the people were with him. If failure were to result, he would have them feel that the responsibility for it rested as much upon them as upon him. He earnestly endeavored to point out what he judged the better way and to bring the people to his conviction; but, if they relucted, he waited till they should have advanced where, or nearly where, he was. This was generally felt, and it added largely to the confidence reposed in him. By means of it, a general acquiescence was procured in many measures earlier than could have been gained by any other course. We Americans are a peculiar people in some respects. We dislike to be led by any man. Nay, we stoutly deny that we are. We are not—when we see the leading strings.

Mr. Lincoln’s state papers in their structure and composition were not always what a critical scholar would have desired. Some would say they were presented quite too often in undress. The people are not profound critics. Theycould comprehend every word. They felt that they were addressed as fellow-citizens. The ordinarily formal and stilted official documents came from his plain pen a talk to them by the fireside. He said, moreover, exactly what he meant and as he meant, in his own clear cogent way, void of verbiage, homely often but always the outgrowth of a profound intelligent conviction. And, generally, he struck home. His were the words to which “the common pulse of man keeps time.” How studded are his papers with lucid illustration; how transparently honest and candid, like the man, their author!

His tenacity of purpose was marked. Signing that immortal proclamation, which made him the Liberator of America, on the afternoon of January 1st, 1863, after hours of New Year’s hand-shaking, he said to friends that night—“The signature looks a little tremulous, for my hand was tired, but my resolution was firm. I told them in September, if they did not return to their allegiance and cease murdering our soldiers, I would strike at this pillar of their strength. And now the promise shall be kept; and not one word of it will I ever recall.” In all the varying scenes through which as our leader he passed, avoiding the extremes of sudden exultation or deep depression, calm and quiet, and resolute and determined, he kept on his course, with duty as his guiding star, an unwarped conscience his prompter. Feeling always that he bore his life in his hands, in the perilous position in which he was placed, as well as he who went forth to do duty in the battle-field, he faltered not, swerved not, compromised not, retracted not, apologized not, but pursued his way with an inflexibility as rare as it is grand and inspiring. Others might doubt—not he. He saw the end toward which the nation and himself must strive. That was ever present to him, and toward that he ever worked. His mission as President was, as he so often and so pointedly stated, to save the Union. And he saved it. There may be those who will contend that such a result might have been reached byother means than those he was impelled to employ. That is theory. He reduced his to practice. For himself, he could work only in his own harness; and patiently, persistently, painfully he worked on till the goal was reached.

Well has Washington been styled the Father of his Country. Yet this arose from veneration rather than from love; for the most felt such an impassable gulf between themselves and the patriot-hero, that to them he appeared of quite another order of beings than themselves.

Abraham Lincoln was both Saviour and Father; for he preserved whatever was most valuable in the old and created a new order of things possessing an inherent dignity and importance which the old never had. And such titles the people bestow upon him through love.

The characteristics of the man stood prominently out in the statesman. He had not one garb as an official and another as a citizen. No change marked his transit from the chat of the drawing-room to the consultation of cabinet. What he was in the one situation he was in the other. His peculiar humor was not, as those who least knew him judged, his habitual disposition. More of melancholy and sadness centred in him than most were aware. His favorite poem—given below for the sufficient reason that it was his favorite—attests the vein of pensiveness which was in him. “There is one poem,” he remarked in conversation, “that is almost continually present with me: it comes in my mind whenever I have relief from thought and care.”

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?Like a swift, fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,Be scattered around and together be laid;And the young and the old, and the low and the high,Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.The infant a mother attended and loved;The mother that infant’s affection who proved;The husband that mother and infant who blessed,Each, all, are away to their dwellings of Rest.The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eyeShone beauty and pleasure—her triumphs are by;And the memory of those who loved her and praised,Are alike from the minds of the living erased.The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne;The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn;The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave,Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap;The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep;The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,Have faded away like the grass that we tread.The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weedThat withers away to let others succeed;So the multitude comes, even those we behold,To repeat every tale that has often been told.For we are the same our fathers have been;We see the same sights our fathers have seen—We drink the same stream and view the same sun—And run the same course our fathers have run.The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink,To the life we are clinging they also would cling;But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;They grieved, but no wail from their slumber will come;They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.They died, aye! they died; and we things that are now,Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,We mingle together in sunshine and rain;And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.’Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath;From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud—Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?Like a swift, fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,Be scattered around and together be laid;And the young and the old, and the low and the high,Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.

The infant a mother attended and loved;The mother that infant’s affection who proved;The husband that mother and infant who blessed,Each, all, are away to their dwellings of Rest.

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eyeShone beauty and pleasure—her triumphs are by;And the memory of those who loved her and praised,Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne;The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn;The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave,Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap;The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep;The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weedThat withers away to let others succeed;So the multitude comes, even those we behold,To repeat every tale that has often been told.

For we are the same our fathers have been;We see the same sights our fathers have seen—We drink the same stream and view the same sun—And run the same course our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink,To the life we are clinging they also would cling;But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;They grieved, but no wail from their slumber will come;They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

They died, aye! they died; and we things that are now,Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,We mingle together in sunshine and rain;And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

’Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath;From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud—Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

No one was more modest than he. Look at the record of his life as furnished by himself, in 1858, for Lanman’s Dictionary of Congress:

“Born February 12, 1809, in Hardin county, Kentucky.“Education Defective.“Profession a lawyer.“Have been a captain of volunteers in the Black Hawk war.“Postmaster at a very small office.“Four times a member of the Illinois Legislature.“And was a member of the lower House of Congress.“Yours, etc.,A. Lincoln.”

“Born February 12, 1809, in Hardin county, Kentucky.

“Education Defective.

“Profession a lawyer.

“Have been a captain of volunteers in the Black Hawk war.

“Postmaster at a very small office.

“Four times a member of the Illinois Legislature.

“And was a member of the lower House of Congress.

“Yours, etc.,A. Lincoln.”

With no self-conceit, a pupil in the school of events, he was never ashamed to confess himself a learner, and as such he grew and ripened. Equable in his temperament, never wrathful or passionate, none need have been his enemy, unless such an one were intended for an enemy of the human race. Mild and forgiving, he never allowed the unmerited abuse which was heaped upon him to affect in the least his intercourse or dealings with its authors. His very failings leaned to mercy’s side. There is scarcely a hamlet in the loyal States that does not contain some witness of his clemency and lenity. One of the most touching incidents connectedwith his obsequies at Washington was the placing on his coffin of a wreath of flowers, sent from Boston by the sister of a young man whom he had pardoned when sentenced to death for some military offence.

Honored as a private citizen, happy in his domestic relations, successful as a statesman, he was, moreover, an avowed Christian. He often said that his reliance in the gloomiest hours was on his God, to whom he appealed in prayer, although he had never become a professor of religion. To a clergyman who asked him if he loved his Saviour, he replied:

“When I was first inaugurated I did not love him; when God took my son I was greatly impressed, but still I did not love him; but when I stood upon the battle-field of Gettysburg I gave my heart to Christ, and I can now say I do love the Saviour.”

Attention has already been called to the reverential spirit which pervades his official papers; and this was the index of the man. Leaving home, he invoked the prayers of his townsmen and friends; during the excitements of his Washington life, he leaned upon a more than human arm; against his pure moral character not even his bitterest enemy could truthfully utter a word.

Such—imperfectly sketched, and at best but in rude outline—was Abraham Lincoln. The manner of his death invests his name with a tragic interest. This will be but temporary. But the more the man as he was is known, the more completely an insight is obtained into his true character, the more his private and public life is studied, the more carefully his acts are weighed, the higher will he rise in the estimation of all whose esteem is desirable. Coming years will detract nought from him. He has passed into history. There no lover of honesty and integrity, no admirer of firmness and resolution, no sympathizer with conscientious conviction, no friend of man need fear toleave—

Abraham Lincoln.

MR. LINCOLN’S SPEECHES IN CONGRESS AND ELSEWHERE, PROCLAMATIONS, LETTERS, ETC., NOT INCLUDED IN THE BODY OF THE WORK.

(In Committee of the Whole House, January 12, 1848.)

Mr. Lincoln addressed the Committee as follows:

“Mr. Chairman:—Some, if not all, of the gentlemen on the other side of the House, who have addressed the Committee within the last two days, have spoken rather complainingly, if I have rightly understood them, of the vote given a week or ten days ago, declaring that the war with Mexico was unnecessarily and unconstitutionally commenced by the President. I admit that such a vote should not be given in mere party wantonness, and that the one given is justly censurable, if it have no other or better foundation. I am one of those who joined in that vote; and did so under my best impression of thetruthof the case. How I got this impression, and how it may possibly be removed, I will now try to show. When the war began, it was my opinion that all those who, because of knowing toolittle, or because of knowing toomuch, could not conscientiously approve the conduct of the President (in the beginning of it), should, nevertheless, as good citizens and patriots, remain silent on that point, at least till the war should be ended. Some leading Democrats, including ex-President Van Buren, have taken this same view, as I understand them; and I adhered to it,and acted upon it, until since I took my seat here; and I think I should still adhere to it, were it not that the President and his friends will not allow it to be so. Besides, the continual effort of the President to argue every silent vote given for supplies into an indorsement of the justice and wisdom of his conduct; besides that singularly candid paragraph in his late message, in which he tells us that Congress, with great unanimity (only two in the Senate and fourteen in the House dissenting) had declared that ‘by the act of the Republic of Mexico a state of war exists between that Government and the United States;’ when the same journals that informed him of this, also informed him that, when that declaration stood disconnected from the question of supplies, sixty-seven in the House, and not fourteen, merely, voted against it; besides this open attempt to prove by telling thetruth, what he could not prove by telling thewhole truth, demanding of all who will not submit to be misrepresented, in justice to themselves, to speak out; besides all this, one of my colleagues [Mr. Richardson], at a very early day in the session, brought in a set of resolutions, expressly indorsing the original justice of the war on the part of the President. Upon these resolutions, when they shall be put on their passage, I shall becompelledto vote; so that I can not be silent if I would. Seeing this, I went about preparing myself to give the vote understandingly, when it should come. I carefully examined the President’s messages, to ascertain what he himself had said and proved upon the point. The result of this examination was to make the impression, that, taking for true all the President states as facts, he falls far short of proving his justification; and that the President would have gone further with his proof, if it had not been for the small matter that thetruthwould not permit him. Under the impression thus made I gave the vote before mentioned. I propose now to give, concisely, the process of the examination I made, and how I reached the conclusion I did.“The President, in his first message of May, 1846, declares that the soil wasourson which hostilities were commenced by Mexico; and he repeats that declaration, almost in the same language, in each successive annual message—thus showing that he esteems that point a highly essential one. In the importance of that point I entirely agree with the President. To my judgment, it is thevery pointupon which he should be justified or condemned. In his message of December, 1846, it seems to have occurred to him, as is certainly true, that title, ownership to soil, or any thing else, is not a simple fact, but is a conclusion following one or more simple facts; and that it was incumbent upon him to present the facts from which he concluded the soil was ours on which the first blood of the war was shed.“Accordingly, a little below the middle of page twelve, in the message last referred to, he enters upon that task; forming an issue and introducing testimony, extending the whole to a little below the middle of page fourteen. Now, I propose to try to show that the whole of this—issue and evidence—is, from beginning to end, the sheerest deception. The issue, as he presents it, is in these words: ‘But there are those who, conceding all this to be true, assume the ground that the true western boundary of Texas is the Nueces, instead of the Rio Grande; and that, therefore, in marching our army to the east bank of the latter river, we passed the Texan line, and invaded the territory of Mexico.’ Now, this issue is made up of two affirmatives and no negative. The main deception of it is, that it assumes as true thatoneriver or theotheris necessarily the boundary, and cheats the superficial thinker entirely out of the idea thatpossiblythe boundary is somewherebetweenthe two, and not actually at either. A further deception is, that it will let inevidencewhich a true issue would exclude. A true issue made by the President would be about as follows: ‘I say the soilwas ourson which the first blood was shed; there are those who say it was not.’“I now proceed to examine the President’s evidence, as applicable to such an issue. When that evidence is analyzed it is all included in the following propositions:“1. That the Rio Grande was the western boundary of Louisiana, as we purchased it of France in 1803.“2. That the Republic of Texas alwaysclaimedthe Rio Grande as her western boundary.“3. That, by various acts, she had claimed iton paper.“4. That Santa Anna, in his treaty with Texas, recognized the Rio Grande as her boundary.“5. That Texasbefore, and the United Statesafterannexation, hadexercisedjurisdictionbeyondthe Nueces,betweenthe two rivers.“6. That our Congressunderstoodthe boundary of Texas to extend beyond the Nueces.“Now for each of these in its turn:“His first item is, that the Rio Grande was the western boundary of Louisiana, as we purchased it of France in 1803; and, seeming to expect this to be disputed, he argues over the amount of nearly a page to prove it true; at the end of which he lets us know that, by the treaty of 1819, we sold to Spain the whole country, from the Rio Grande eastward to the Sabine. Now, admitting for the present, that the Rio Grande was the boundary of Louisiana, what, under heaven, had that to do with thepresentboundary between us and Mexico? How, Mr. Chairman, the line that once divided your land from mine canstillbe the boundary between usafterI have sold my land to you, is, to me, beyond all comprehension. And how any man, with an honest purpose only of proving the truth, could ever havethoughtof introducing such a fact to prove such an issue, is equally incomprehensible. The outrage upon commonright, of seizing as our own what we have once sold, merely because itwasoursbeforewe sold it,is only equaled by the outrage on commonsenseof any attempt to justify it.“The President’s next piece of evidence is, that ‘The Republic of Texas alwaysclaimedthis river (Rio Grande) as her western boundary.’ That is not true, in fact. Texashasclaimed it, but she has notalwaysclaimed it. There is, at least, one distinguished exception. Her State Constitution—the public’s most solemn and well-considered act; that which may, without impropriety, be called her last will and testament, revoking all others—makes no such claim. But suppose she had always claimed it. Has not Mexico always claimed the contrary? So that there is butclaimagainstclaim, leaving nothing proved until we get back of the claims, and find which has the betterfoundation.“Though not in the order in which the President presents his evidence, I now consider that class of his statements, which are, in substance, nothing more than that Texas has by various acts of her Convention and Congress, claimed the Rio Grande as her boundary—on paper. I mean here what he says about the fixing of the Rio Grande as her boundary, in her old Constitution (not her State Constitution), about forming congressional districts, counties, etc. Now, all this is but nakedclaim; and what I have already said about claims is strictly applicable to this. If I should claim your land by word of mouth, that certainly would not make it mine; and if I were to claim it by a deed which I had made myself, and with which you had nothing to do, the claim would be quite the same in substance, or rather in utter nothingness.“I next consider the President’s statement that Santa Anna, in histreatywith Texas, recognized the Rio Grande as the western boundary of Texas. Besides the position so often taken that Santa Anna, while a prisoner of war—a captive—couldnot bind Mexico by a treaty, which I deem conclusive; besides this, I wish to say something in relation to this treatyso called by the President, with Santa Anna. If any man would like to be amused by a sight at thatlittlething, which the President calls by thatbigname, he can have it by turning to Niles’ Register, volume 50, page 386. And if any one should suppose that Niles’ Register is a curious repository of so mighty a document as a solemn treaty between nations, I can only say that I learned, to a tolerable degree of certainty, by inquiry at the State Department, that the President himself never saw it anywhere else. By the way, I believe I should not err if I were to declare, that during the first ten years of the existence of that document, it was never by anybodycalleda treaty; that it was never so called till the President, in his extremity, attempted, by so calling it, to wring something from it in justification of himself in connection with the Mexican war. It has none of the distinguishing features of a treaty. It does not call itself a treaty. Santa Anna does not therein assume to bind Mexico; he assumes only to act as President, Commander-in-chief of the Mexican army and navy; stipulates that the then present hostilities should cease, and that he would nothimselftake up arms, norinfluencethe Mexican people to take up arms, against Texas, during the existence of the war of independence. He did not recognize the independence of Texas; he did not assume to put an end to the war, but clearly indicated his expectation of its continuance; he did not say one word about boundary, and most probably never thought of it. Itisstipulated therein that the Mexican forces should evacuate the territory of Texas,passing to the other side of the Rio Grande; and in another article it is stipulated, that to prevent collisions between the armies, the Texan army should not approach nearer than five leagues—ofwhatis not said—but clearly, from the object stated, it is of the Rio Grande. Now, if this is a treaty recognizing the Rio Grande as a boundary of Texas, it contains the singular feature of stipulating that Texas shall not go within five leagues ofher ownboundary.“Next comes the evidence that Texas before annexation, and the United States afterward, exercising jurisdiction beyond the Nueces, andbetweenthe two rivers. This actualexerciseof jurisdiction is the very class or quality of evidence we want. It is excellent so far as it goes; but does it go far enough? He tells us it wentbeyondthe Nueces, but he does not tell us it wenttothe Rio Grande. He tells us jurisdiction was exercisedbetweenthe two rivers, but he does not tell us it was exercised overallthe territory between them. Some simple-minded people think it possible to cross one river and go beyond it, without going all the way to the next; that jurisdiction may be exercisedbetweentwo rivers without coveringallthe country between them. I know a man, not very unlike myself, who exercises jurisdiction over a piece of land between the Wabash and the Mississippi; and yet so far is this from beingallthere is between those rivers, that it is just one hundred and fifty-two feet long by fifty wide, and no part of it much within a hundred miles of either. He has a neighbor between him and the Mississippi—that is, just across the street, in that direction—whom, I am sure, he could neitherpersuadenorforceto give up his habitation; but which, nevertheless he could certainly annex, if it were to be done, by merely standing on his own side of the street and claiming it, or even sitting down and writing a deed for it.“But next, the President tells us, the Congress of the United Statesunderstoodthe State of Texas they admitted into the Union to extendbeyondthe Nueces. Well, I suppose they did—I certainly so understand it—but howfarbeyond? That Congress didnotunderstand it to extend clear to the Rio Grande, is quite certain by the fact of their joint resolutions for admission expressly leaving all questions of boundary to future adjustment. And, it may be added, that Texas herself is proved to have had the same understanding of it that our Congress had, by the fact of the exact conformity of her new Constitution to those resolutions.“I am now through the whole of the President’s evidence; and it is a singular fact, that if any one should declare the President sent the army into the midst of a settlement of Mexican people, who had never submitted, by consent or by force to the authority of Texas or of the United States, and thatthere, andthereby, the first blood of the war was shed, there is not one word in all the President has said which would either admit or deny the declaration. In this strange omission chiefly consists the deception of the President’s evidence—an omission which, it does seem to me, could scarcely have occurred but by design. My way of living leads me to be about the courts of justice; and there I have sometimes seen a good lawyer, struggling for his client’s neck, in a desperate case, employing every artifice to work round, befog, and cover up with many words some position pressed upon him by the prosecution, which hedarednot admit, and yetcouldnot deny. Party bias may help to make it appear so; but, with all the allowance I can make for such bias, it still does appear to me that just such and from just such necessity, are the President’s struggles in this case.“Some time after my colleague (Mr. Richardson) introduced the resolutions I have mentioned, I introduced a preamble, resolution, and interrogatories, intended to draw the President out, if possible, on this hitherto untrodden ground. To show their relevancy, I propose to state my understanding of the true rule for ascertaining the boundary between Texas and Mexico. It is, thatwhereverTexas wasexercisingjurisdiction was hers; and wherever Mexico was exercising jurisdiction was hers: and that whatever separated the actual exercise of jurisdiction of the one from that of the other, was the true boundary between them. If, as is probably true, Texas was exercising jurisdiction along the western bank of the Nueces, and Mexico was exercising it along the eastern bank of the Rio Grande, thenneitherriver was the boundary, but the uninhabited country between the two was. Theextent of our territory in that region depended not on anytreaty-fixedboundary (for no treaty had attempted it), but on revolution. Any people anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have therightto rise up and shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them better. This is a most valuable, a most sacred right—a right which, we hope and believe, is to liberate the world. Nor is this right confined to cases in which the whole people of an existing government may choose to exercise it. Any portion of such people thatcanmay revolutionize, and make theirownof so much of their territory as they inhabit. More than this, amajorityof any portion of such people may revolutionize, putting down aminority, intermingled with, or near about them, who may oppose their movements. Such minority was precisely the case of the Tories of our own Revolution. It is a quality of revolutions not to go by old lines, or old laws; but to break up both and make new ones. As to the country now in question, we bought it of France in 1803, and sold it to Spain in 1819, according to the President’s statement. After this, all Mexico, including Texas, revolutionized against Spain; and still later, Texas revolutionized against Mexico. In my view, just so far as she carried her revolution, by obtaining theactual, willing or unwilling submission of the people, sofarthe country was hers, and no further.“Now, sir, for the purpose of obtaining the very best evidence as to whether Texas had actually carried her revolution to the place where the hostilities of the present war commenced, let the President answer the interrogatories I proposed, as before mentioned, or some other similar ones. Let him answer fully, fairly and candidly. Let him answer withfacts, and not with arguments. Let him remember he sits where Washington sat; and, so remembering, let him answer as Washington would answer. As a nationshouldnot, and the Almightywillnot, be evaded, so let him attempt noevasion, no equivocation. And if, so answering, he can show that the soil was ours where the first blood of the war was shed—that it was not within an inhabited country, or, if within such, that the inhabitants had submitted themselves to the civil authority of Texas, or of the United States, and that the same is true of the site of Fort Brown—then I am with him for his justification. In that case, I shall be most happy to reverse the vote I gave the other day. I have a selfish motive for desiring that the President may do this; I expect to give some votes, in connection with the war, which, without his so doing, will be of doubtful propriety, in my own judgment, but which will be free from the doubt if he does so. But if hecan not or will notdo this,—if, on any pretence, or no pretence, he shall refuse or omit it,—then I shall be fully convinced, of what I more than suspect already, that he is deeply conscious of being in the wrong; that he feels the blood of this war, like the blood of Abel, is crying to heaven against him; that he ordered General Taylor into the midst of a peaceful Mexican settlement, purposely to bring on a war; that originally having some strong motive—what I will not stop now to give my opinion concerning—to involve the two countries in a war, and trusting to escape scrutiny by fixing the public gaze upon the exceeding brightness of military glory—that attractive rainbow that rises in showers of blood—that serpent’s eye that charms to destroy—he plunged into it, and has sweptonandon, till, disappointed in his calculation of the ease with which Mexico might be subdued, he now finds himself he knows not where. How like the half insane mumbling of a fever dream is the whole war part of the late message! At one time telling us that Mexico has nothing whatever that we can get but territory; at another, showing us how we can support the war by levying contributions on Mexico. At one time urging the national honor, the security of the future, the prevention of foreign interference, and even the good of Mexico herself, as amongthe objects of the war; at another, telling us that, ‘to reject indemnity by refusing to accept a cession of territory, would be to abandon all our just demands, and to wage the war, bearing all its expenses,without a purpose or definite object.’ So, then, the national honor, security of the future, and everything but territorial indemnity, may be considered theno purposesandindefiniteobjects of the war! But having it now settled that territorial indemnity is the only object, we are urged to seize, by legislation here, all that he was content to take a few months ago, and the whole province of Lower California to boot, and to still carry on the war—to takeallwe are fighting for, andstillfight on. Again, the President is resolved, under all circumstances, to have full territorial indemnity for the expenses of the war; but he forgets to tell us how we are to get theexcessafter those expenses shall have surpassed the value of thewholeof the Mexican territory. So, again, he insists that the separate national existence of Mexico shall be maintained; but he does not tell ushowthis can be done after we shall have takenallher territory. Lest the question I here suggest be considered speculative merely, let me be indulged a moment in trying to show they are not.“The war has gone on some twenty months; for the expenses of which, together with an inconsiderable old score, the President now claims about one-half of the Mexican territory, and that by far the better half, so far as concerns our ability to make any thing out of it. It is comparatively uninhabited; so that we could establish land offices in it, and raise some money in that way. But the other half is already inhabited, as I understand it, tolerably densely for the nature of the country; and all its lands, or all that are valuable, already appropriated as private property. How, then, are we to make any thing out of these lands with this incumbrance on them, or how remove the incumbrance? I suppose no one will say that we shall kill the people, or drive them out,or make slaves of them, or even confiscate their property? How, then, can we make much out of this part of the territory? If the prosecution of the war has, in expenses, already equalled thebetterhalf of the country, how long its future prosecution will be in equalling the less valuable half is not aspeculativebut apracticalquestion, pressing closely upon us; and yet it is a question which the President seems never to have thought of.“As to the mode of terminating the war and securing peace, the President is equally wandering and indefinite. First, it is to be done by a more vigorous prosecution of the war in the vital parts of the enemy’s country; and, after apparently talking himself tired on this point, the President drops down into a half despairing tone, and tells us, that ‘with a people distracted and divided by contending factions, and a government subject to constant changes, by successive revolutions,the continued success of our arms may fail to obtain a satisfactory peace.’ Then he suggests the propriety of wheedling the Mexican people to desert the counsels of their own leaders, and, trusting in our protection, to set up a government from which we can secure a satisfactory peace, telling us that ‘this may become the only mode of obtaining such a peace.’ But soon he falls into doubt of this too, and then drops back on to the already half abandoned ground of ‘more vigorous prosecution.’ All this shows that the President is in no wise satisfied with his own positions. First, he takes up one, and, in attempting to argue us into it, he argues himselfoutof it; then seizes another, and goes through the same process; and then, confused at being able to think of nothing new, he snatches up the old one again, which he has some time before cast off. His mind, tasked beyond its power, is running hither and thither, like some tortured creature on a burning surface, finding no such position on which it can settle down and be at ease.“Again, it is a singular omission in this message, that itnowhere intimateswhenthe President expects the war to terminate. At its beginning, General Scott was, by this same President driven into disfavor, if not disgrace, for intimating that peace could not be conquered in less than three or four months. But now at the end of about twenty months, during which time our arms have given us the most splendid successes—every department, and every part, land and water, officers and privates, regulars and volunteers, doing all that men could do, and hundreds of things which it had ever before been thought that men couldnotdo; after all this, this same President gives us a long message without showing us thatas to the end, he has himself even an imaginary conception. As I have before said, he knows not where he is. He is a bewildered, confounded, and miserably-perplexed man. God grant he may be able to show that there is not something about his conscience more painful than all his mental perplexity.”

“The President, in his first message of May, 1846, declares that the soil wasourson which hostilities were commenced by Mexico; and he repeats that declaration, almost in the same language, in each successive annual message—thus showing that he esteems that point a highly essential one. In the importance of that point I entirely agree with the President. To my judgment, it is thevery pointupon which he should be justified or condemned. In his message of December, 1846, it seems to have occurred to him, as is certainly true, that title, ownership to soil, or any thing else, is not a simple fact, but is a conclusion following one or more simple facts; and that it was incumbent upon him to present the facts from which he concluded the soil was ours on which the first blood of the war was shed.

“Accordingly, a little below the middle of page twelve, in the message last referred to, he enters upon that task; forming an issue and introducing testimony, extending the whole to a little below the middle of page fourteen. Now, I propose to try to show that the whole of this—issue and evidence—is, from beginning to end, the sheerest deception. The issue, as he presents it, is in these words: ‘But there are those who, conceding all this to be true, assume the ground that the true western boundary of Texas is the Nueces, instead of the Rio Grande; and that, therefore, in marching our army to the east bank of the latter river, we passed the Texan line, and invaded the territory of Mexico.’ Now, this issue is made up of two affirmatives and no negative. The main deception of it is, that it assumes as true thatoneriver or theotheris necessarily the boundary, and cheats the superficial thinker entirely out of the idea thatpossiblythe boundary is somewherebetweenthe two, and not actually at either. A further deception is, that it will let inevidencewhich a true issue would exclude. A true issue made by the President would be about as follows: ‘I say the soilwas ourson which the first blood was shed; there are those who say it was not.’

“I now proceed to examine the President’s evidence, as applicable to such an issue. When that evidence is analyzed it is all included in the following propositions:

“1. That the Rio Grande was the western boundary of Louisiana, as we purchased it of France in 1803.

“2. That the Republic of Texas alwaysclaimedthe Rio Grande as her western boundary.

“3. That, by various acts, she had claimed iton paper.

“4. That Santa Anna, in his treaty with Texas, recognized the Rio Grande as her boundary.

“5. That Texasbefore, and the United Statesafterannexation, hadexercisedjurisdictionbeyondthe Nueces,betweenthe two rivers.

“6. That our Congressunderstoodthe boundary of Texas to extend beyond the Nueces.

“Now for each of these in its turn:

“His first item is, that the Rio Grande was the western boundary of Louisiana, as we purchased it of France in 1803; and, seeming to expect this to be disputed, he argues over the amount of nearly a page to prove it true; at the end of which he lets us know that, by the treaty of 1819, we sold to Spain the whole country, from the Rio Grande eastward to the Sabine. Now, admitting for the present, that the Rio Grande was the boundary of Louisiana, what, under heaven, had that to do with thepresentboundary between us and Mexico? How, Mr. Chairman, the line that once divided your land from mine canstillbe the boundary between usafterI have sold my land to you, is, to me, beyond all comprehension. And how any man, with an honest purpose only of proving the truth, could ever havethoughtof introducing such a fact to prove such an issue, is equally incomprehensible. The outrage upon commonright, of seizing as our own what we have once sold, merely because itwasoursbeforewe sold it,is only equaled by the outrage on commonsenseof any attempt to justify it.

“The President’s next piece of evidence is, that ‘The Republic of Texas alwaysclaimedthis river (Rio Grande) as her western boundary.’ That is not true, in fact. Texashasclaimed it, but she has notalwaysclaimed it. There is, at least, one distinguished exception. Her State Constitution—the public’s most solemn and well-considered act; that which may, without impropriety, be called her last will and testament, revoking all others—makes no such claim. But suppose she had always claimed it. Has not Mexico always claimed the contrary? So that there is butclaimagainstclaim, leaving nothing proved until we get back of the claims, and find which has the betterfoundation.

“Though not in the order in which the President presents his evidence, I now consider that class of his statements, which are, in substance, nothing more than that Texas has by various acts of her Convention and Congress, claimed the Rio Grande as her boundary—on paper. I mean here what he says about the fixing of the Rio Grande as her boundary, in her old Constitution (not her State Constitution), about forming congressional districts, counties, etc. Now, all this is but nakedclaim; and what I have already said about claims is strictly applicable to this. If I should claim your land by word of mouth, that certainly would not make it mine; and if I were to claim it by a deed which I had made myself, and with which you had nothing to do, the claim would be quite the same in substance, or rather in utter nothingness.

“I next consider the President’s statement that Santa Anna, in histreatywith Texas, recognized the Rio Grande as the western boundary of Texas. Besides the position so often taken that Santa Anna, while a prisoner of war—a captive—couldnot bind Mexico by a treaty, which I deem conclusive; besides this, I wish to say something in relation to this treatyso called by the President, with Santa Anna. If any man would like to be amused by a sight at thatlittlething, which the President calls by thatbigname, he can have it by turning to Niles’ Register, volume 50, page 386. And if any one should suppose that Niles’ Register is a curious repository of so mighty a document as a solemn treaty between nations, I can only say that I learned, to a tolerable degree of certainty, by inquiry at the State Department, that the President himself never saw it anywhere else. By the way, I believe I should not err if I were to declare, that during the first ten years of the existence of that document, it was never by anybodycalleda treaty; that it was never so called till the President, in his extremity, attempted, by so calling it, to wring something from it in justification of himself in connection with the Mexican war. It has none of the distinguishing features of a treaty. It does not call itself a treaty. Santa Anna does not therein assume to bind Mexico; he assumes only to act as President, Commander-in-chief of the Mexican army and navy; stipulates that the then present hostilities should cease, and that he would nothimselftake up arms, norinfluencethe Mexican people to take up arms, against Texas, during the existence of the war of independence. He did not recognize the independence of Texas; he did not assume to put an end to the war, but clearly indicated his expectation of its continuance; he did not say one word about boundary, and most probably never thought of it. Itisstipulated therein that the Mexican forces should evacuate the territory of Texas,passing to the other side of the Rio Grande; and in another article it is stipulated, that to prevent collisions between the armies, the Texan army should not approach nearer than five leagues—ofwhatis not said—but clearly, from the object stated, it is of the Rio Grande. Now, if this is a treaty recognizing the Rio Grande as a boundary of Texas, it contains the singular feature of stipulating that Texas shall not go within five leagues ofher ownboundary.

“Next comes the evidence that Texas before annexation, and the United States afterward, exercising jurisdiction beyond the Nueces, andbetweenthe two rivers. This actualexerciseof jurisdiction is the very class or quality of evidence we want. It is excellent so far as it goes; but does it go far enough? He tells us it wentbeyondthe Nueces, but he does not tell us it wenttothe Rio Grande. He tells us jurisdiction was exercisedbetweenthe two rivers, but he does not tell us it was exercised overallthe territory between them. Some simple-minded people think it possible to cross one river and go beyond it, without going all the way to the next; that jurisdiction may be exercisedbetweentwo rivers without coveringallthe country between them. I know a man, not very unlike myself, who exercises jurisdiction over a piece of land between the Wabash and the Mississippi; and yet so far is this from beingallthere is between those rivers, that it is just one hundred and fifty-two feet long by fifty wide, and no part of it much within a hundred miles of either. He has a neighbor between him and the Mississippi—that is, just across the street, in that direction—whom, I am sure, he could neitherpersuadenorforceto give up his habitation; but which, nevertheless he could certainly annex, if it were to be done, by merely standing on his own side of the street and claiming it, or even sitting down and writing a deed for it.

“But next, the President tells us, the Congress of the United Statesunderstoodthe State of Texas they admitted into the Union to extendbeyondthe Nueces. Well, I suppose they did—I certainly so understand it—but howfarbeyond? That Congress didnotunderstand it to extend clear to the Rio Grande, is quite certain by the fact of their joint resolutions for admission expressly leaving all questions of boundary to future adjustment. And, it may be added, that Texas herself is proved to have had the same understanding of it that our Congress had, by the fact of the exact conformity of her new Constitution to those resolutions.

“I am now through the whole of the President’s evidence; and it is a singular fact, that if any one should declare the President sent the army into the midst of a settlement of Mexican people, who had never submitted, by consent or by force to the authority of Texas or of the United States, and thatthere, andthereby, the first blood of the war was shed, there is not one word in all the President has said which would either admit or deny the declaration. In this strange omission chiefly consists the deception of the President’s evidence—an omission which, it does seem to me, could scarcely have occurred but by design. My way of living leads me to be about the courts of justice; and there I have sometimes seen a good lawyer, struggling for his client’s neck, in a desperate case, employing every artifice to work round, befog, and cover up with many words some position pressed upon him by the prosecution, which hedarednot admit, and yetcouldnot deny. Party bias may help to make it appear so; but, with all the allowance I can make for such bias, it still does appear to me that just such and from just such necessity, are the President’s struggles in this case.

“Some time after my colleague (Mr. Richardson) introduced the resolutions I have mentioned, I introduced a preamble, resolution, and interrogatories, intended to draw the President out, if possible, on this hitherto untrodden ground. To show their relevancy, I propose to state my understanding of the true rule for ascertaining the boundary between Texas and Mexico. It is, thatwhereverTexas wasexercisingjurisdiction was hers; and wherever Mexico was exercising jurisdiction was hers: and that whatever separated the actual exercise of jurisdiction of the one from that of the other, was the true boundary between them. If, as is probably true, Texas was exercising jurisdiction along the western bank of the Nueces, and Mexico was exercising it along the eastern bank of the Rio Grande, thenneitherriver was the boundary, but the uninhabited country between the two was. Theextent of our territory in that region depended not on anytreaty-fixedboundary (for no treaty had attempted it), but on revolution. Any people anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have therightto rise up and shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them better. This is a most valuable, a most sacred right—a right which, we hope and believe, is to liberate the world. Nor is this right confined to cases in which the whole people of an existing government may choose to exercise it. Any portion of such people thatcanmay revolutionize, and make theirownof so much of their territory as they inhabit. More than this, amajorityof any portion of such people may revolutionize, putting down aminority, intermingled with, or near about them, who may oppose their movements. Such minority was precisely the case of the Tories of our own Revolution. It is a quality of revolutions not to go by old lines, or old laws; but to break up both and make new ones. As to the country now in question, we bought it of France in 1803, and sold it to Spain in 1819, according to the President’s statement. After this, all Mexico, including Texas, revolutionized against Spain; and still later, Texas revolutionized against Mexico. In my view, just so far as she carried her revolution, by obtaining theactual, willing or unwilling submission of the people, sofarthe country was hers, and no further.

“Now, sir, for the purpose of obtaining the very best evidence as to whether Texas had actually carried her revolution to the place where the hostilities of the present war commenced, let the President answer the interrogatories I proposed, as before mentioned, or some other similar ones. Let him answer fully, fairly and candidly. Let him answer withfacts, and not with arguments. Let him remember he sits where Washington sat; and, so remembering, let him answer as Washington would answer. As a nationshouldnot, and the Almightywillnot, be evaded, so let him attempt noevasion, no equivocation. And if, so answering, he can show that the soil was ours where the first blood of the war was shed—that it was not within an inhabited country, or, if within such, that the inhabitants had submitted themselves to the civil authority of Texas, or of the United States, and that the same is true of the site of Fort Brown—then I am with him for his justification. In that case, I shall be most happy to reverse the vote I gave the other day. I have a selfish motive for desiring that the President may do this; I expect to give some votes, in connection with the war, which, without his so doing, will be of doubtful propriety, in my own judgment, but which will be free from the doubt if he does so. But if hecan not or will notdo this,—if, on any pretence, or no pretence, he shall refuse or omit it,—then I shall be fully convinced, of what I more than suspect already, that he is deeply conscious of being in the wrong; that he feels the blood of this war, like the blood of Abel, is crying to heaven against him; that he ordered General Taylor into the midst of a peaceful Mexican settlement, purposely to bring on a war; that originally having some strong motive—what I will not stop now to give my opinion concerning—to involve the two countries in a war, and trusting to escape scrutiny by fixing the public gaze upon the exceeding brightness of military glory—that attractive rainbow that rises in showers of blood—that serpent’s eye that charms to destroy—he plunged into it, and has sweptonandon, till, disappointed in his calculation of the ease with which Mexico might be subdued, he now finds himself he knows not where. How like the half insane mumbling of a fever dream is the whole war part of the late message! At one time telling us that Mexico has nothing whatever that we can get but territory; at another, showing us how we can support the war by levying contributions on Mexico. At one time urging the national honor, the security of the future, the prevention of foreign interference, and even the good of Mexico herself, as amongthe objects of the war; at another, telling us that, ‘to reject indemnity by refusing to accept a cession of territory, would be to abandon all our just demands, and to wage the war, bearing all its expenses,without a purpose or definite object.’ So, then, the national honor, security of the future, and everything but territorial indemnity, may be considered theno purposesandindefiniteobjects of the war! But having it now settled that territorial indemnity is the only object, we are urged to seize, by legislation here, all that he was content to take a few months ago, and the whole province of Lower California to boot, and to still carry on the war—to takeallwe are fighting for, andstillfight on. Again, the President is resolved, under all circumstances, to have full territorial indemnity for the expenses of the war; but he forgets to tell us how we are to get theexcessafter those expenses shall have surpassed the value of thewholeof the Mexican territory. So, again, he insists that the separate national existence of Mexico shall be maintained; but he does not tell ushowthis can be done after we shall have takenallher territory. Lest the question I here suggest be considered speculative merely, let me be indulged a moment in trying to show they are not.

“The war has gone on some twenty months; for the expenses of which, together with an inconsiderable old score, the President now claims about one-half of the Mexican territory, and that by far the better half, so far as concerns our ability to make any thing out of it. It is comparatively uninhabited; so that we could establish land offices in it, and raise some money in that way. But the other half is already inhabited, as I understand it, tolerably densely for the nature of the country; and all its lands, or all that are valuable, already appropriated as private property. How, then, are we to make any thing out of these lands with this incumbrance on them, or how remove the incumbrance? I suppose no one will say that we shall kill the people, or drive them out,or make slaves of them, or even confiscate their property? How, then, can we make much out of this part of the territory? If the prosecution of the war has, in expenses, already equalled thebetterhalf of the country, how long its future prosecution will be in equalling the less valuable half is not aspeculativebut apracticalquestion, pressing closely upon us; and yet it is a question which the President seems never to have thought of.

“As to the mode of terminating the war and securing peace, the President is equally wandering and indefinite. First, it is to be done by a more vigorous prosecution of the war in the vital parts of the enemy’s country; and, after apparently talking himself tired on this point, the President drops down into a half despairing tone, and tells us, that ‘with a people distracted and divided by contending factions, and a government subject to constant changes, by successive revolutions,the continued success of our arms may fail to obtain a satisfactory peace.’ Then he suggests the propriety of wheedling the Mexican people to desert the counsels of their own leaders, and, trusting in our protection, to set up a government from which we can secure a satisfactory peace, telling us that ‘this may become the only mode of obtaining such a peace.’ But soon he falls into doubt of this too, and then drops back on to the already half abandoned ground of ‘more vigorous prosecution.’ All this shows that the President is in no wise satisfied with his own positions. First, he takes up one, and, in attempting to argue us into it, he argues himselfoutof it; then seizes another, and goes through the same process; and then, confused at being able to think of nothing new, he snatches up the old one again, which he has some time before cast off. His mind, tasked beyond its power, is running hither and thither, like some tortured creature on a burning surface, finding no such position on which it can settle down and be at ease.

“Again, it is a singular omission in this message, that itnowhere intimateswhenthe President expects the war to terminate. At its beginning, General Scott was, by this same President driven into disfavor, if not disgrace, for intimating that peace could not be conquered in less than three or four months. But now at the end of about twenty months, during which time our arms have given us the most splendid successes—every department, and every part, land and water, officers and privates, regulars and volunteers, doing all that men could do, and hundreds of things which it had ever before been thought that men couldnotdo; after all this, this same President gives us a long message without showing us thatas to the end, he has himself even an imaginary conception. As I have before said, he knows not where he is. He is a bewildered, confounded, and miserably-perplexed man. God grant he may be able to show that there is not something about his conscience more painful than all his mental perplexity.”

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