“But Admiral, in saying that this was the first stone thrown, and that this precipitated the war, you have overlooked a circumstance which you are perfectly familiar with, but which has escaped your memory.  Now I grant you that what you have stated is correct in every detail—­to wit:  that on the 16th of October, 1860, two Massachusetts clergymen, named Waite and Granger, went in disguise to the house of John Moody, in Rockport, at dead of night, and dragged forth two southern women and their two little children, and after tarring and feathering them conveyed them to Boston and burned them alive in the State House square; and I also grant your proposition that this deed is what led to the secession of South Carolina on the 20th of December following.  Very well.” [Here the company were pleasantly surprised to hear Williams proceed to come back at the Admiral with his own invincible weapon—­clean, pure, manufactured history, without a word of truth in it.] “Very well, I say.  But Admiral, why overlook the Willis and Morgan case in South Carolina?  You are too well informed a man not to know all about that circumstance.  Your arguments and your conversations have shown you to be intimately conversant with every detail of this national quarrel.  You develop matters of history every day that show plainly that you are no smatterer in it, content to nibble about the surface, but a man who has searched the depths and possessed yourself of everything that has a bearing upon the great question.  Therefore, let me just recall to your mind that Willis and Morgan case—­though I see by your face that the whole thing is already passing through your memory at this moment.  On the 12th of August, 1860, two months before the Waite and Granger affair, two South Carolina clergymen, named John H. Morgan and Winthrop L. Willis, one a Methodist and the other an Old School Baptist, disguised themselves, and went at midnight to the house of a planter named Thompson—­Archibald F. Thompson, Vice President under Thomas Jefferson,—­and took thence, at midnight, his widowed aunt, (a Northern woman,) and her adopted child, an orphan—­named Mortimer Highie, afflicted with epilepsy and suffering at the time from white swelling on one of his legs, and compelled to walk on crutches in consequence; and the two ministers, in spite of the pleadings of the victims, dragged them to the bush, tarred and feathered them, and afterward burned them at the stake in the city of Charleston.  You remember perfectly well what a stir it made; you remember perfectly well that even the Charleston Courier stigmatized the act as being unpleasant, of questionable propriety, and scarcely justifiable, and likewise that it would not be matter of surprise if retaliation ensued.  And you remember also, that this thing was the cause of the Massachusetts outrage.  Who, indeed, were the two Massachusetts ministers? and who were the two Southern women they burned?  I do not need to remind you, Admiral,