and repose, grind all these expectations and hopes between the upper and nether millstone?  Will you fail the world in this fateful hour by your faint-heartedness?  Will you fail yourself, and put the knife to your own throat?  For the peace which you so dearly buy shall bring to you neither ease nor rest.  You will but have spread a bed of thorns.  Failure will write disgrace upon the brow of this generation, and shame will outlast the age.  It is not with us as with the South.  She can surrender without dishonor.  She is the weaker power, and her success will be against the nature of things.  Her dishonor lay in her attempt, not in its relinquishment.  But we shall fail, not because of mechanics and mathematics, but because our manhood and womanhood weighed in the balance are found wanting.  There are few who will not share in the sin.  There are none who will not share in the shame.  Wives, would you hold back your husbands?  Mothers, would you keep your sons?  From what? for what?  From the doing of the grandest duty that ever ennobled man, to the grief of the greatest infamy that ever crushed him down.  You would hold him back from prizes before which Olympian laurels fade, for a fate before which a Helot slave might cower.  His country in the agony of her death-struggle calls to him for succor.  All the blood in all the ages, poured out for liberty, poured out for him, cries unto him from the ground.  All that life has of noble, of heroic, beckons him forward.  Death itself wears for him a golden crown.  Ever since the world swung free from God’s hand, men have died,—­obeying the blind fiat of Nature; but only once in a generation comes the sacrificial year, the year of jubilee, when men march lovingly to meet their fate and die for a nation’s life.  Holding back, we transmit to those that shall come after us a blackened waste.  The little one that lies in his cradle will be accursed for our sakes.  Every child will be base-born, springing from ignoble blood.  We inherited a fair fame, and bays from a glorious battle; but for him is no background, no stand-point.  His country will be a burden on his shoulders, a blush upon his cheek, a chain about his feet.  There is no career for the future, but a weary effort, a long, a painful, a heavy-hearted struggle to lift the land out of its slough of degradation and set it once more upon a dry place.

Therefore let us have done at once and forever with paltry considerations, with talk of despondency and darkness.  Let compromise, submission, and every form of dishonorable peace be not so much as named among us.  Tolerate no coward’s voice or pen or eye.  Wherever the serpent’s head is raised, strike it down.  Measure every man by the standard of manhood.  Measure country’s price by country’s worth, and country’s worth by country’s integrity.  Let a cold, clear breeze sweep down from the mountains of life, and drive out these miasmas that befog and beguile the unwary.  Around every hearthstone let sunshine gleam.  In every home let fatherland have its altar and its fortress.  From every household let words of cheer and resolve and high-heartiness ring out, till the whole land is shining and resonant in the bloom of its awakening spring.