all her territory.  Lest the questions I have suggested 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 anything 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 anything out of these lands with this encumbrance on them? or how remove the encumbrance?  I suppose no one would say we should kill the people, or drive them out, or make slaves of them, or 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 the better half of the country, how long its future prosecution will be in equalling the less valuable half is not a speculative, but a practical, question, 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 secure 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 protestations, 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 nowise satisfied with his own positions.  First he takes up one, and in attempting to argue us into it he argues himself out of 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, taxed beyond its power, is running hither and thither, like some tortured creature on a burning surface, finding no position on which it can settle down and be at ease.