The Authors Of All Our Misfortune.

The Past Is Dead; Let It Bury Its Dead, Its Hopes And Its Aspirations; Before You Lies The Future-a Future Full Of Golden Promise.

For An Enemy So Relentless In The War For Our Subjugation, We Could Not Be Expected To Mourn; Yet, In View Of Its Political Consequences, It Could Not Be Regarded Otherwise Than As A Great Misfortune For The South.

Without Doing Injustice To The Living, It May Safely Be Asserted That Our Loss Is Irreparable; And That Among The Shining Hosts Of The Great And Good Who Now Cluster Around The Banner Of The Country, There Exists No Purer Spirit, No More Heroic Soul, Than That Of The Illustrious Man Whose Death I Join You In Lamenting.

I Tried All In My Power To Avert This War. I Saw It Coming, For Twelve Years I Worked Night And Day To Prevent It, But I Could Not. The North Was Mad And Blind; It Would Not Let Us Govern Ourselves, And So The War Came, And Now It Must Go On Unless You Acknowledge Our Right To Self Government. We Are Not Fighting For Slavery. We Are Fighting For Independence.

God Forbid That The Day Should Ever Come When To Be True To My Constituents Is To Be Hostile To The Union.