When Every Brake Hath Found Its Note,

What Subsists To-day By Violence Continues To-morrow By Acquiescence And Is Perpetuated By Tradition; Till At Last The Hoary Abuse Shakes The Gray Hairs Of Antiquity At Us, And Gives It-self Out As The Wisdom Of Ages.

You Shall Not Pile, With Servile Toil, Your Monuments Upon My Breast, Nor Yet Within The Common Soil, Lay Down The Wreck Of Power To Rest...

The Heart Of The People, North And South, Is For The Union.

The Evil, Sir, Is Enormous; The Inevitable Suffering Incalculable. Do Not Stain The Fair Fame Of The Country. . . . Nations Of Dependent Indians, Against Their Will, Under Color Of Law, Are Driven From Their Homes Into The Wilderness. You Cannot Explain It; You Cannot Reason It Away. . . . Our Friends Will View This Measure With Sorrow, And Our Enemies Alone With Joy. And We Ourselves, Sir, When The Interests And Passions Of The Day Are Past, Shall Look Back Upon It, I Fear, With Self-reproach, And A Regret As Bitter As Unavailing.

We Are Blessed With A Faith, Which Calls Into Action The Whole Intellectual Man; Which Prescribes A Reasonable Service; Which Challenges The Investigation Of Its Evidences; And Which, In The Doctrine Of Immortality, Invests The Mind Of Man With A Portion Of The Dignity Of Divine Intelligence.