%images;]> rbaapc-23800 Soliloquies of the bondholder, the poor farmer, the soldier's widow, the political preacher, the poor mechanic, the freed negro, the &;lsquo;radical’ congressman, the returned soldier, the southerner. And other political articles. By “Brick” Pomeroy [pseud.].: a machine-readable transcription. African American Pamphlet Collection. Selected and converted. American Memory, Library of Congress.

Washington, DC, 1999.

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11034443 African American Pamphlet Collection, Rare Book and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. Copyright status not determined; refer to accompanying matter.

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1999/09/11 0001

Anti-Abolition Tracts.—No. 6.

SOLILOQUIES OF THE BONDHOLDER, THE POOR FARMER, THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW, THE POLITICAL PREACHER, THE POOR MECHANIC, THE FREED NEGRO, THE ‘RADICAL’ CONGRESSMAN THE RETURNED SOLDIER, THE SOUTHERNER.

And other Political Articles.

By “BRICK” POMEROY, Editor of La Crosse (Wis.) Democrat.”

NEW YORK: VAN EVRIE, HORTON & COMPANY, PRINTING-HOUSE SQUARE, NO. 162 NASSAU STREET.

1866.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, Van Evrie, Horton & Co., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

0002

ANTI-ABOLITION TRACTS.

For twenty-five or thirty years, the Abolitionists have deluged the country with innumerable books, pamphlets, and tracts inculcating their false and pernicious doctrines. Little or nothing has ever been done in the same way towards counteracting their influence. Thousands now feel that such publications are indispensably necessary. In order to supply what it is believed is a wide-felt want, the undersigned have determined to issue a series of “Anti-Abolition Tracts,” embracing a concise discussion of current political issues, in such a cheap and popular form, and at such a merely nominal price for large quantities, as ought to secure for them a very extensive circulation. Two numbers of these Tracts have already been issued. No. 1 gives a critical analysis of the real causes of our present deplorable difficulties, and shows how, and how only, the Union can be restored. No. 2 is a brief history of the Results of Emancipation, showing its wretched and miserable failure, and that Negro Freedom is simply a tax upon White Labor. The facts in relation to the real condition of the Freed Negroes in Hayti, Jamaica, etc., have been carefully suppressed by the Abolition papers, but they ought to be laid before the public at once, so that the evils which now afflict Mexico, Hayti, and all countries where the Negro-equalizing doctrines have been tried, may be averted from our country forever.

No. 1—ABOLITION AND SECESSION: or Cause and Effect, together with the Remedy for our Sectional Troubles. By a Unionist.

No. 2.— FREE NEGROISM: or Results of Emancipation in the North and the West India Islands; with Statistics of the Decay of Commerce, Idleness of the Negro, his Return to Savagism, and the Effect of Emancipation upon the Farming, Mechanical. and Laboring Classes.

No. 3.— THE ABOLITION CONSPIRACY; or, A Ten Years' Record of the “Republican” Party. This Tract embraces a collection of extracts from the speeches and writings of William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Abraham Lincoln, William H. Seward, S. P. Chase, Horace Greeley, John P. Hale, and many others, giving the origin of the Republican Party and the Helper Programme, with the sixty-eight congressional endorsers, &c.—pp. 32.

TERMS.

Single copies $0 10

Fifteen copies 1 00

One hundred copies 5 00

All orders under 100, at the rates named, will be sent by mail, post paid. All orders for 100 or over will be sent by express, or as may be directed by the party ordering, at his own expense. Very liberal discount made where a thousand copies or over are ordered at one time. Address VAN EVRIE, HORTON & CO., Publishers, No. 162 Nassau St., N. Y.

The Publishers earnestly request all in whose hands these Tracts may fall, if they think they will do good, to aid in circulating them.

0003
“BRICK” POMEROY'S SOLILOQUIES.
THE BONDHOLDER'S SOLILOQUY.

But this is nice!

Here I am, a rich, prosperous, loyal man, with nothing to do but to enjoy myself. Egad, what a blessing the war was to me! It killed off my poor relations, and left me in luck. I am worth—let me see how much I am worth in bonds:

There are of seven-twenties $25,000

There are of six-forties 25,000

And the seven-thirties 25,000

And the ten twenties 25,000

$100,000

Now, one hundred thousand dollars is nothing, yet it is quite a little plum. When the war began I wasn't worth a copper, unless it was in debts; now I am well off. But I am a cunning cuss! Didn't I make war speeches, and denounce Democrats, and mob “Copperheads,” and go it strong for the Union? You bet! Ha-ha-ha-ha! But the fools are not dead. Some of them are—that is, they were killed. And didn't I get the poor people to en list, and fight to preserve the Union! D—n the Union, if I only get office, and hold bonds. That's what makes the cream elevate itself!

And then didn't I go in for bounties, and go it strong on patriotism; and play it big on loyalty? Guess not! Oh, no! Guess patriotism don't pay! Look at these little fellows, with figures on the face, and the coupons on the end of them. How are you, my suffering country?

It takes a smart man to keep out of the war himself, and entice others to go. The bounties are what fetched 'em! Poor fools! You see they went to fight:

“From all the towns, cities and counties

To where they went to get the bounties!

Some were killed, And some were wounded! Some were shot, And some where drowned!

And some, when “this cruel war was over,” came back. I had a farm. I sold it, and put my money in bonds. Bonds beat farms ten to nothing! And I speculated in “things.” And I sold stuff to the soldiers; and I got their bounty money on shares; and I filled town quotas, and I made a nice little haul by that; and I put my cash in bonds.

0004 4

Bonds are just old rosewood, with gilt edge. Let me see. I have now one hundred thousand dollars in government bonds. How I love my government! It is the best the sun ever shone on! These bonds average me eight per cent. interest in gold. Eight per cent. on one hundred thousand dollars is just eight thousand; and I get it in gold, worth from thirty-five to fortyfive per cent. premium. This makes, i greenbacks, the snug little sum of eleven thousand dollars, round numbers.

And the beauty of it is, I don't have one cent of taxes to pay.

Isn't it nice?

This is the best government the world ever saw. Rich men hold bonds—poor men pay them. The tax-gatherer don't bother me. It don't cost me one cent to—let me see—

To pay State expenses!

To pay government expenses!

To pay county taxes!

To pay city taxes!

To pay village taxes!

To pay town taxes!

To pay school taxes!

To pay road taxes!

To pay poor taxes!

To pay for building churches, schoolhouses, bridges, railroads, improvements, or even interest!

I am one of the supporters of this government! Good things! If it had not been for such loud-mouthed, stay-at-home guards, the war never would have ended. And the soldiers' bounties! E'cod, that is the best joke of the season.

You see we raised them by taxation, of course; and we taxed the property—the real estate of the town; and we issued town bonds, city bonds, county bonds, State bonds, and every other kind of bonds; and we sold 'em dog cheap to get the money to raise bounties; and us fellows bought the bonds at a discount; and we gave the “volunteers” money to go to war; and, while they were gone, we had a good time; and we sold our farms cheap to the wives of the soldiers; and we got our bounty money all back.

And, better still, the soldiers came back from the war, and now are working to pay the taxes to pay interest on my bonds!

Isn't it nice?

The d—d fools went to war, and came back, and work like dogs to pay the interest on the bonds we sold to give them money. They are paying themselves for getting shot at. Bully for us, bondholders!

And now they work to pay the interest. When they get used to it, we'll make 'em pay the principal, too! What a good government this is!

This war didn't cost me one cent. I didn't spill a drop of my blood, but, key—!, how I did bawl out against the Democrats!

And now I sit in my parlor—I smoke my cigars—I drink my wine—I enjoy myself, and have no taxes to pay. Look at that poor cuss across the creek! He ain't worth a thousand; yet he, poor dog, is in debt, and pays half his earnings in taxes. He pays all the taxes; then his wife sells butter, eggs, woolen yarn, milk, vegetables—and such little things she wants—to get money to put in the bank to pay me the interest on my one hundred thousand dollars, as it falls due every three months.

You see this financial science! Poor 0005 5 men upport the government, pay all the taxes, make us richer, do all the fighting Us bondholders, officeseekers, and such patriots, do the figuring, get the offices, the money, and have a good time of it.

Now I eat fine food, while the poor cuss over the way eats coarse; and I wear broadcloth; he wears patches; and my wife flaunts her silks, and swings her Balmoral skirt under the nose of that poor man's wife; for I am a rich, taxless bondholder, and he is the poor cuss who supports the government and me, to

Work away, you poor fools. Toil your fingers to the bone, and die poor men for my sake. The war was a God-send to thieves, swindlers, cowards, stay-at-home patriots, Abolition agitators, Republican officeholders, robbers, and, in fact, all of our crowd of Union voters. D—n the Union,, if we can only hold bonds and offices, and keep the people in poverty.

Guess this wasn't the rich man's war—guess not. And I guess you folks dasn't go for equal taxation and repudiation, for it is wrong to injure us chaps who support the government.

SOLILOQUY OF A POOR FARMER.

“ Beautiful! ”

“Whoa!”

Let us stop here and rest under the shade of this tree, for the old horse is tired. Isn't this a beautiful house, just in the edge of the city? The grounds are clean, and the grass is cropped like the face of a new-shaven man. And look you, Maggy, how thrifty the trees are; and how many flowers there are all about the yard. Let us stand up in the wagon; the horse won't start, for he is too poor and tired to run. Look at the roses, and the verbenas, and the evergreens, and the dahlias, and the fruit trees, and the statuary, and the nicely graveled walks, and the broad steps, and the double blinds, and the matting before the door, and the fancy stained glass by the side, and the silver bell-pull, and the rosewood door; and oh, look what a fine team. And what a bright, pretty carriage! and how sleek the horses look! And how gay the driv?r is, with his uniform on! I tell you, Maggy, that man is rich.

Ah, here he comes; stand up on the seat of the wagon, Maggy. It's an old seat covered with an old blanket, but it will hold you. I can see down here. He comes out of the house. Here comes his wife. Ain't she dressed nice? And here comes their son and daughter on horseback. They are going out for a morning ride. Ah, they have started. See how the horses dance down the drive to the road; and see how quick that little boy runs to open the gate.

“ What are we waiting for? ”

Please, sir, we were looking, and didn't know but you would like to buy some butter, eggs, vegetables, chickens, berries, flowers or something of that sort.

“ Move on! ”

All right. Sit down, Maggy. We will go on to market. We can't sell anything except at market, for we have no license, and it would take all we have to buy a license. We could get more for each load of our produce to peddle it out, but it's against the law, so we'll sell for what folks will give us who have license to sell.

0006 6

“ Why is this? ”

Ah, Maggy, I don't know. I wish I did. Phew! how the dust flies in my eyes as Mr. Bond, for that is his name, dashes by with his happy family. I 'spose its 'cause we're poor. You know, Maggy, I went to war five years ago. Then I owned fifty acres of land on the creek, and there wasn't a dollar to pay on it. I went to save the Union. Mr. Bond paid me two hundred dollars to take his place, and go to war. I went.

You know, Maggy, how you cried when I went; but like a brave woman that you are, you dried your tears, filled my pockets with pins, needles and thread, my eyes with tears, my mouth with kisses, so I could not speak, and told me to go and to earn the two hundred dollars, and to keep out of temptation, and to come back. And then, Maggy, you ran into our little bed-room, where Johnny and little Maggy were born, and hid yourself and cried, so I could not see you when we all wen marching by.

“ Don't talk so! ”

But, Maggy, I was thinking; and you know I had two good arms; and I used to hold you in them, Maggy; to hold you to my heart, and say God bless you, darling; and you used to sleep in them, happy and contented.

I went to war; I was in a battle. It was a terrible fight. My General blundered as usual. How any of us came out alive, none but God knows. I left an arm there, Maggy; I brought the sore stump home to you. And what did I find? Little Johnny was dead; little Maggy was dead. My poor brother, whose leg was shot off while under orders confiscating cotton for his General, was home sick and helpless, and you were supporting him because he was my brother.

It was a sad day, Maggy, when I came home; I came back poor. I found Mr. Bond had grown rich; he had contracts. His brother was in Congress; his uncle was a friend of Lincoln's. He made war speeches—filled quotas, gave bounties, and with his stay-at-home neighbors voted big bounties, and escaped all the calls and drafts. They gave town bonds. These bonds ran me in debt, for they were mortgages on our little farm. They amounted to five hundred dollars—three hundred more than I had bounty. I couldn't help it, for while I was in the army it was easy for those who did not go to mortgage my farm in that way.

I lost an arm. I earned less than I would at home. I returned; I am now working, Maggy, to pay myself for going to war, for losing my arm, to keep Mr. Bond at home, so that he could play with his wife and babies, speculate and get a political influence while I was fighting, not to restore the Union, but to enrich him.

It's pretty hard, Maggy. I don't care so much for myself, for I'm growing old, and it's little account a poor man is, dead or alive; but you, Maggy—you are as dear to me as Mrs. Bond is to him. Your lips are as sweet to me, your bosom is as sacred, your eyes are as deep, your voice is as good to me, your touch is as thrilling as it rests on my tired body, your kiss is as welcome to me as Mrs. Bond's kiss is to him. I know we can't wear broadcloth, nor silks, nor have a clean pair of undarned stockings every day; nor can we have such soft carpets, nor such costly dishes, nor such fine horses, nor such a fine 0007 7 house as Mr. Bond has. We listen to the robin —they to the canary bird. They ride out with their children, we walk out to the grave where ours sleep. We drink water, they drink wine.

And, Maggy, your hands are hard with toil, but your heart is warmer, and dearer, and truer than I think Mrs. Bond's heart is, for you never flirt your skirts in the faces of those who are still poorer than we are, and stick up your nose in disdain of poverty, as Mrs. Bond does.

I didn't enlist to get an office when the war was over. 'Twould have done me no good if I had, for of course when I was away I lost the run of public affairs, and was not fit when I came back; and I had no money to win my election if I had been fit. And so I must work; you and I must work. We must sell our early garden produce, our fresh butter, early chickens, fresh eggs, &c., &c., for these taxes must be paid. The tax gatherer does not stop at Mr. Bond's. He owns nothing but United States bonds. They are green bills with red figures on them, like the green fields with the blood I lost from my arm spattered and spilled thereon. He has a hundred thousand dollars worth of these bonds. He bought them with the money he made out of the war; and there are no taxes to be paid on them. You and I, Maggy, with our little earnings and raisings, with our old horse and wagon, by working early and late, by selling the best and using the poorest, pay all the taxes. We pay the interest on the town bonds, and we must pay the principal when the time comes.

We must build the roads.

We must build the jails.

We must build the bridges.

We must erect school-houses.

We must pay the to??n officers.

Mr. Bond, the bondholder, pays nothing. The government protects him; but it can't protect the poor, one-armed farmer who fought to save the Union.

It can't protect the poor men of the land, as it did in Democratic days.

The bondholder takes his ease; he pays no taxes, for Congress says he need not. So he goes to the bank and swaps off his coupons for greenbacks, and the government pays the bank back for what it paid out, and pays it for the trouble. It's better be a bondholder than a soldier. It's better to be a dog than a poor man—that is a poor white man. The poor black folks are fed, and it is you and I, Maggy, who feed them, not the bondholder. As if the poor white men of America were not of more consequence than the niggers who were freed that the white men might be slaves. How I wish the good old Democratic times would come again, when the rich bondholder would not be fastened upon poor people for support. So much for Republican blessings to the people!

There is one man, one editor in the country who thinks as you and I do, Maggy. I wish every editor in the country thought so. I wish all the papers in the country would say with you and I, Maggy, that it is wrong to favor the rich and oppress the poor. There is one man in the country who dares talk boldly, as he does when he says that it is cowardly, wicked unjust and damnable to build up a bondocracy at the expense of labor. It is cowardly to send—to hire, to drive, to entice poor men to war, to buy, barter and traffic on their poverty and their 0008 8 wants—to send them to the harvest of death, and while they are gone, steal from them what they had, to bring them back slaves, bound in debt. Call you this equality? Is this the realization of the promise Liberty gave. Is this what we gain by forsaking Democracy and building up an accursed Republicanism which grinds the life out of poor men? Oh! it is a shame, a disgrace, an insult to white men, a dishonor to the soldiers of the Union, a burning, bitter wrong, to the poor white women of America, that the only patriots should be, by a Republican Congress, made the toiling slaves of a cowardly bondholding aristocracy, who dance, and ride, and sing, and dress in fashion, on the blood and sweat of toiling millions. Oh! would that some man would dare to lead the way to a remedy for this damnable disease, for the hardy sons of toil will not long be slaves. God never gave to a white coward the right to grow rich from, and be supported by the earnings of those whose only crime is poverty. Give us equal taxation or repudiation

A WIDOW'S SOLILOQUY.

How dreary! Shiver in heart, and tremble in body. How cold the world is! There is no sun, no hope, for my life lies buried beneath the sod of a warmer country than this. Once I had a happy home. Once I was a loved wife. The morn and the noon and the night came, and with each came a kiss of love—a strong arm, a strong heart, a fresh blossom from the buds of hope. The birds sang in the trees; the rivulet went laughing on its way; the grass nodded to the grain, and the grain nodded back to the grass; the flowers climbed up the lattice, as my children clambered up into my lap, or romped with their father, as he rolled on the floor, in play with his pets, after the work of the day was done for him.

And I sang as I worked; and I was happy in my loves and my hopes. We labored, and prospered. The fields grew in size; our home became more beautiful; my boys grew to be young men, and my heart swelled with pride as I looked upon the home and loved ones.

We earned more than was required to support us; the cattle lowed in the pastures; the horses stamped in the stables; the chickens chased each other in the yard; our cellar and pantry were full; there was grain in the barn, and strong hands to gather more.

The fife and the drum!

To save the Union! Our flag was insulted! Our country was in danger! Our liberties were in peril! Oh, merciful God, how my heart rebelled against the unnatural strife! I listened to glib tongues; I was told by specious pleaders that the Union was in danger; it was pounded into my brain from the pulpit; it was prayed into me by a so-called man of God; I was educated to hate those who had never harmed me or mine; I grew wild, and helped buckle the sword upon my husband's side, and filled the knapsack for my son.

The horrid fife and drum!

Men with glib tongues said the men must go; but the men with glib tongues went not!

The fife and drum drowned the song of the birds. The long lines of blue 0009 9 tramped by; huzzas rent the air; my husband, whose head so oft had been pillowed on my breast—whose arms had in love encircled me; my son, whose life was my life, went forth to preserve the Union!

I wept!

In the stillness of my room, I wept and prayed. My pillow was wet with tears; my heart grew sad; the dust seemed like powder; the days were so long! —the nights were so full of horrid dreams.

The horrid fife and drum!

They drowned the song of my birds; they made my heart wild

The lighting seemed like flashes of bayonets! The thunder was but the echo of bursting shells! The hollow wind was the groaning of those who were dear to me—who were stolen from my arms to preserve the Union!

I prayed!

But my minister was off in the army, or at the hustings.

I wept!

But tears would not still my aching heart.

I asked those who enticed my loved ones away, but they were too busy, counting money, to answer me!

Gone!

Dead!

Alone!

I knew it! I dreamed it! The news came, but never a husband— never a son! One died in hospital, with no one to care for him! My husband, whose lips so oft were pressed to mine—whose heart had been so close to mine— my husband, who knew me, and whom I knew so well; he died where my arms could not enfold him; where my kiss could not give him new life; where my hand could not smooth back the hair from his forehead!

Oh, the horrid fife and drum!

And my son! He died; he was killed on the battle field. A bursting shell tore his head open—that head I so often petted and looked upon with pride. It tore away the lips I had often kissed. And he fell on the sod; he lay so still in death, side by side with the ones I was taught to hate; the ones who were not our natural enemies! And the iron-shod foot of a cavalry horse went crashing through the heart of my dead boy, as he lay dead on that bloody field! That heart which held my image; that heart which was lost to me forever.

O, God !

How I wept and prayed! I gave them to my country. They were sent forth by me; I helped prepare them for the sacrifice; I saw them go; I heard the horrid fife and drum. They said my country called—I believed, and sent them forth. And they said 'twas well; that they died to preserve the Union!

Now they tell me the Union is not preserved! Then why was I robbed of my treasures? The ones who wanted my loved ones to go are still here, but they say the War to preserve the Union was a failure. I am but a woman; I know not much of politics; but I know I am a widow; that my loved ones are gone; that my heart is dark with sorrow; that the tax-gatherer is taking all that we earned before the war; that I am called upon to pay taxes, expenses, and even interest money to support the bondholders 0010 10 who were enriched by the blood of my loved ones, and to hear, night and morning, the echo of the horrid fife and drum, and to ask myself and others what we, what you or I have gained by giving our loved ones to the sacrifice which we are told divided, instead of restored the Union.

I am a poor widow; I do not understand politics, but I want some one to tell me what I have gained, and why I must bear all the taxation as I have borne all the sorrow?

THE SOLILOQUY OF A POLITICAL PREACHER.

What a liar I am! God knows it; I know it; I know it; the world knows it. A few years since I experienced religion. I attended divine service; took part in religious meetings. I stood up in a church; I arose from the anxious seat and told the brethren and sisters that the blessed love of Christ, the wondrous love of peace and good-will to all men, the desire to do good and to live at peace with all the world, filled my soul to overflowing!

Amen!

How those echoes came up from all parts of the room! And I knelt in prayer, and this was the burden of my supplication:

O, Merciful God in Heaven, be pitiful to me, a sinner. For years I have sinned. For years I have offended Thee. For years I have been wandering to and fro, my heart filled with wickedness, my soul steeped in hate, my mind thinking only evil and wickedness. And now, O, God, Thy Grace has reached me. The blessed influence, the peaceful spirit of Christ, who is, and who was, and who ever will be all love, has filled my heart, and I am ready to die, if my death seemeth good in Thy sight. I have no hates, no envy, no spite, no malice, no wickedness, no desire to wound, to offend, or to injure any one of my fellow-beings, but had rather all should live in peace. And O, God in Heaven, for this most wondrous peace, to Thee I give thanks, and here before the world, before Thee, before the angels and the spirits of life and death, give I myself unto Thee. Take me as one redeemed from all evil passions. Take me, O God, to Thy love, for the love of Thy Son, Jesus Christ, fills my heart with peace, with joy, with love to all men and to Thee; and faithful to those vows will I be, that I may meet with the pure, the good, and the holy in Thy kingdom, there to be forever blest. And now, guide, watch over, and guard me, for Christ's sake. Amen!

Amen!

The meeting will join in singing:

“Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love! The fellowship of Christian minds Is like to that above.

“From sorrow, toil and pain, And sin we shall be free; And perfect love and friendship reign Through all eternity!”

O, the blessed influences of Christianity! It fills us all with love for others, with love for those who have wronged us, as Christ loved those who sinned against Him How I talked, and prayed, and sung! And I set myself apart for the ministry. And I began to teach Christ and Him crucified. And I professed to labor for the good of souls alone. I was an agent for Heaven. I was a professed follower of that dear Jesus, who is all love and kindness. And I was looked upon as a sanctified son of a sinner, and walked 0011 11 as one who was better than his neighbors.

O, what a liar I am!

“While dead in tresspasses I lie, Thy quick'ning spirit give; Call me, Thou Son of God, that I May hear Thy voice and live.”

And I was called to take charge of a congregation, to work in the vineyard, to save souls, to teach perfect love to Christ and to all our fellowmen. And I prayed, and I talked, and I exhorted, and I wore a long face, and I made folks think I was good, and I knelt by the dying, and I gave away in marriage, and I baptized infants, and I won an influence.

And then I forsook Christ and took up politics. And I taught people to hate each other. And I taught my church to hate the men of the South; to hate other denominations; to hate, and villify, and slander, and abuse; and to insult and quarrel with those who did not agree with them in politics. And I instilled sectional hate, discord, envy, anger, and wickedness into the hearts of the simple ones who were confided to my charge.

I taught people to hate each other. I preached the negro and Abolitionism instead of Christ and salvation. And I neglected the souls of sinners. And I endorsed wars. I preached that it was worth a crown to save even one poor soul from hell. And I urged men to go to war, to become mad, to kill each other, and to go into the presence of God with an oath on their lips; death in their hearts; their eyes set in rage; their hands striking the steel to the hearts of their brothers.

Politics paid better than religion. Politics were popular. I wanted notoriety. I did not care for the cause of Christ. Private ends and a little money were the things I was after. Christ never preached hate, envy, discord, malice, &c, as I have for years; but this is American religion; it is popular; it is the kind that pays. Christ is out of mind now. It is all niggers and popularity. But ain't I a pretty man of God to kneel beside a dying man! What damnable mockery! As if Christ would listen to such a liar, backslider, hypocrite, and villifier of religion as I am!

“My former hopes are fled; My terror now begins: I feel, alas! that I am dead In trespasses and sins.”

But, what of it? I'll go on and fool people. I'll fill hell with sinners, if I can't fill heaven with saints. I'll have a friend in the devil, if not in Christ. I'll damn poor ignorant souls if I can't save them. I'll earn political pay if I can't win the approval of God—the God I am trying to fool. I'd like to hear Christ preach a sermon! I wonder if he'd instil hate, sectional discord, envy, oppression, persecution, and such ideas into the minds of His followers. He said:

“Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall,” &c.

I think that is a mistake. I don't believe Christ ever said it.

American religion is that of hate, wrong, discord, envy, war, oppression, persecution, and killing of people for a difference of opinion.

“But Thou, soul-searching God! hast known The hearts of all that bent the knee; And hast accepted those alone, Who in the spirit worshipped Thee.”

But it makes no difference with me. There is no true religion in me. I'd endorse the devil, and preach hell if it 0012 12 was popular, and paid! I'd forsake Christ any time for an increase of pay, and let the cause of religion die out forever!

What a liar I am!

And what liars all those so-called Christians are who profess to have their hearts filled with heavenly love; yet, war upon a people for a difference of opinion, who read from stolen Bibles, who kneel by stolen chairs, who read in stolen books, who look at themselves in stolen mirrors, who lay their children to sleep on stolen sofas, who themselves slumber on stolen beds, who eat from stolen dishes, who beautify their dwellings with stolen ornaments, who go to church in stolen garments, who partake of the blood of the Redeemer from stolen silver cups, who ride to funerals in stolen carriages, who ride for pleasure behind stolen horses, who have shrouds made from stolen cotton, who are awakened in the night by the braying of stolen mules, who are purged with stolen medicines, who get drunk on stolen liquors, who play sacred airs on stolen organs and melodeons, who play patriotic a?rs on stolen pianos, who, surrounded by thousands of things stolen from the South, in the name of loyalty, by the men who are the brothers of their victims—by the Christians of the North, whose preacher and heavenly guide board I am!

Won't I catch it when I die? If there is a hot place—a lake where the molten brimstone is deepest—a locality where the eternal worm is bigger than the serpent of the late rebellion, I'll have it if there is a just God, who punishes those who enlist for Him, and work for the devil—to fill hell with victims rather than heaven with ransomed ones. The only consolation I have is that four-fifths of the ministers of Christ are as great hypocrites as I am.

SOLILOQUY OF A POOR MECHANIC.

How my back aches!

And I want a little more sleep, but unless I am there when the seven o'clock bell rings I am not wanted.

But I'll rest, snooze here as I rest, and waken in a few moments.

That noise in the kitchen?

That is my wife preparing breakfast. Poor woman, she did not go to bed till an hour or more after I did, and she is always up an hour before me. Her work is never done; mine is never done. I hear her step in another room. I hear the dishes as they are placed on the table. This pillow is not as large as some pillows, so I'll double it up and rest my head on it. And this bed is not such as rich people have, but its good enough for a poor man! The feather bed is th?n; the clothes are none too nice, but then we are better off than thousands I know.

Why not have better ones?

Simply because I cannot afford it.

Do you see these hands? Do you see the calloused palms, the little labor cracks, the half stiffened blunt fingers? Well, sir, they are marks of industry. I go to the shop early; I work late. I take my dinner in that little tin-pail. I work till my back aches. I save my money. My wife helps me at home; she is prudent, saving, industrious and hopeful. My children are not dressed as well as my neighbor's children, but they wear the best I can get for them.

0013 13

I have no money for luxuries; my family must live, even if my bed be hard, my pillow small, the feathers few, and the bed clothes worn—the floors uncarpeted.

Hard work?

Of course I have work, and I have pay for it; but money does not go so far now as it used to. Two dollars today are not as good as one dollar six years ago. My wages go for flour, meat, potatoes, butter when we can afford it, eggs, tea, coffee, sugar, cloth, medicines and taxes.

Why purchase tea, coffee, butter, etc?

Why live? I am tired at night and want something I can relish, and a cup of tea gives me strength and a new life; and bread is dry without butter. And in the morning, with the labors of the day staring me in the face, as they lead me on to the grave, I have but little appetite, a cup of coffee with sugar in it, and perhaps an egg on my plate tempts the worn out appetite, and thus I gain strength for my toil.

Be more saving!

I am saving; my wife is saving; I have hardly a decent suit of clothes. My wife does not have more than two dresses a year. She mends and turns, and patches and saves, and pieces; and she uses our worn-out garments to make clothes for the children; and we have no luxuries in the pantry or cellar—simply plain food. A dollar does not go far in market now. I do not complain, but I do get discouraged at times, and wonder why a poor man was born—what use there is in living? Everything costs so much. Cotton costs five times as much now as six years ago; woolen goods, ditto. Tea, coffee, flour, meat, sugar, rice, butter, eggs, tobacco, spices, medicines, &c., &c., cost from three to five times as much as they once did; and my wages are not increased in proportion. And then the war; all I had saved for years went for war expenses. It was fifty dollars here, fifty dollars there; twenty dollars then; twenty dollars more for the last call; fifty dollars more for the next last call, and so on. I had to sell my cow and silver watch to raise bounty money.

Why didn't I enlist?

Why didn't you? My son, my brother, my cousin, enlisted, and they died or came home crippled. I was drafted; I mortgaged my house and lot to raise money to send a man in my place.

What made me?

To save the Union. They told me that the South wanted to get out of the Union, and that we must whip them back. I did not quite understand the matter. I wanted the Union restored, and I joined with the Republican party. But all this was for nothing. We went to war; we lost half a million of men; we ruined the South, so it is worth nothing to the Union; they submitted; we disbanded our armies; the South laid down her arms and has gone to work, and now these same Republicans say the South is out of the Union, and they are going to keep her out, for fear she will vote against them. I can't see what we gained by war; and I find that the Democrats were right, and that Democratic times were the best for poor people. And the taxes—why I am now taxed, and taxed, and taxed. I must support myself, my family, my poorer relatives, my crippled relatives who came back from the war; I pay ten times the city, State, town and county taxes I did before; I am 0014 14 taxed to help support free negroes who once worked, as I have to, and supported themselves; and, worse than all, I am taxed to pay interest money to rich bondholders, who live in ease, whose hands are soft, who pay no taxes, yet live on what I earn, and what all of us, poor men, earn. Now what chance has a poor man under such a republican government? A chance to work hard and die poor.

A FREED NEGRO'S SOLILOQUY.

Yaas!

Dis am a blessin'. Not only a blessin' to de country, but to de darkey!

De war was a God-send to us darkeys, bress massa Abram, and all who loves dat great an' good name. Goramity! But didn't us darkeys have to work on dem plantashums down dar in de Souf! Um-um, ges dat am so. We had to hoe de cotton when it wan't worf in de Norf but tree to seven cents a pound; and we had to weed 'backer when it wan't worf but five dollars a load. An' we had to cut de sugar cane down in de Souf, when sugar wan't worf but tree cents a pound in de big barrel. We had to do all dem tings; now we don't, an' its nice.

An' gorra, didn't we have to work jest as de poor white trash of de Norf now has to work? Dat was afore de war. An' de darkey couldn't go beggin' an' stealin' all ober de happy land as now. Dat is de way de Ablishnests got rich, an' a darkey is better dan an Ablishnest, or de white trash of de Norf wouldn't go to war an' get killed, an' den go home to pay de taxes for us children of Abra-Ham! Dat's wat's de matter.

No more work for dis nigga. We'se swapped our cabin for a burore. Don't know what dat is, but it's a good ting if de cost am de critering, or what you call 'em. Now de darkeys am dere own bosses. Yaas!

It cost dis guvment more dan twelve tousand million dollars to set us free, an' we darkeys am now bound in honor to honor our librators, by doing nuffin while dey support us. Didn't know a nigga was worf so much afore. Gorra! no more work for a gemman when he is worf so much as dat. De cotton an de corn, de sugar an' de 'backer may go to de debil, for de darkey hab quit de degrashum ob labor. We can now do as de blessed ableshin, p'litical Linkum generals did in de war; we can steal mules, horses, cotton, picturs, pianors, bedsteds, books, silver ware, an' all dem little tings; but gorra, we'se got to go Norf to steal dem, for de blessed Christian genrals stole all dere was in de Souf, and took 'em Norf. Dat am Christium patriotusm. We darkeys am natural Christium patriots, an' know how to do dat ting. Dis last war would hev bin dun gon finished afore dis if dere hadn't bin so much good stuff in de Souf to steal. Gorra mity! dere was so much to steal down dar dat I tought afore God dey'd neber get de darkey free in de world. Yaas.

Serve dem wicked suthners jest right. Dey no bizness to be rich. I goes about de Norf and I begs cold vittels, for dey is better for de nigga's teef dan hot vittels, an' I see in all de Ablishin houses ob de Norf someting what I saw in ole massa's house in de Souf. In de minister's house I see de big Bible wid massa's name, an' missis's name, an' de young massa's name torn out. De Ablishin minister am a good man; he takes de word ob God 0015 15 wherever finds um. Dat Bible my massa had, an' 'twas given to de Abl?shin' minister in de Norf by de officer who stole um, so de minister would pray for him. An' I see de pianor missis play'd on down Souf, up Norf now. Missis don't pianor no more; she am foolish enough to pick up posies an' frow dem on de graves ob dem dead rebels down dar; an' dat am good 'nough for her. She no bizness to love rebels, an' de Linkum sogers 'll see dat she don't do 'em any more. Yaas.

I'se bin all ober de country. I rides in de cars; I sleeps in de best beds at de hotels; I ride on guvment cars an' steamboats, an' I gets guvment food. It ain't so good as de food massa guv me, but its more 'spensive, an' don't cost me one cent. Gorra, but ain't dis nigga in luck! Lots ob dem oder niggas done gone dead, 'cause dey has nobody to care for dem; but am dere fault.

Oh, it's nice! I don't have to work only when I wants to. De poor white trash does all de work. Dey pay twelve million dollars every year to make one burore for us niggas, an' dere'll be lots ob burores. Reckin de burores for us niggas will cost so much dat de white trash won't have no coffins 'fore soon. Yaas.

An' it serves dem fellars up Norf just right. Dey can pay taxes an' support us. We'se bin slaves long 'nough, now de white trash am slaves. Work on, you poor white folks; support us darkeys, an' de bondholders and de p'litical gemmen dat am Ablishnists; it's all right. I'se gwine to Washington to get an office. A man tole me todder day da't 'twouldn't do no good, for I couldn't get one, an' now I'se goin' to see if de nigga Congress, de Republicans, as you call dem, dare refuse us niggas what we wants! If so, we'll vote agin 'em, an' den cut deir froats, as bressed John Brown taught us to.

Oh deah!

Gorramity! but dis bein' a freeman ain't so nice. It's just like um! D—m de Ablishnests! Here I is, a poor old nigga, an' no one cares a cent for me. Ise got no home; Ise got no friends; Ise got no cabin; Ise got no missus to visit me when I'se sick; no massa to send for de doctor; no little patch ob ground to live on. Ise simply an ole gray-headed nigga. I can't work, for Ise too old. I can't steal, for I ain't so smart as dem Ablishnests. I go beggin' ober de country, and folks say, “go 'long, you black whelp!” Dis is de wust freedom dis nigga ever seed. Once I had a happy home; I was fat as de possum, an' didn't work half so hard, nor live half so poor as half de white folks up Norf. I had some one to care for me when sick, and to bury me when dead. Now Ise simply a poor old nigga. De war ruined massa; it ruined me, too, for what was massa's interest was my interest. When he done well, I done well. He took care ob de little pickaninnies an' de ole folks; he gave us holidays an' a Christian burial; but My happy days am ober, Sweet liberty hab come; De country's got de nigga, But de nigga's got no home! De Ablishishnest took us from happy plantashuns in de Souf, an' let us die in de streets, de out-houses, an' de gutters. An' dis is deir Christian love for de poor slave. Reckon Christ neber taught dat kind ob love. An' now all 0016 16 Ise got to do is to die as half a million poor niggas have since de bressed war. But tank de Lord for one ting—us niggas hain't got to pay de cost ob all dis foolishness; de poor white trash ob de Norf does dis, an' it serves dem jest right for not letten us be when we'se happy an' doin' some good. An' now dis nigga is gwine to die, like a poor ole dog.

SOLILOQUY OF A RADICAL MEMBER OF CONGRESS.

Three thousand dollars a year.

And mileage!

And stealings!

And—well that is enough!

It is but little I know of legislation, or of laws, or of the Constitution; and it is less that I care. The people have, like the soul of blessed John Brown, marched on from statesmanship to intolerance and experiments, and any fool will make a good Abolition member of Congress, if he has

Plenty of lip;

Can abuse Democrats;

Is good at stealing;

Will legislate to protect bondholders, and aid to make poor men poorer;

And believes in depriving eleven southern States of representation to please six New England States.

The people went crazy for the negro; they grew tired of law, of order, of prosperity, of peace, of national unity, of happiness. They wanted to try something new, and of course I am the man to aid the people, if I can get a few dollars by it.

I was elected by an easy people—was sent to legislate. The time was when members of Congress required brains. That day has passed. Once, men of ability, statesmen and high-minded and national men, were wanted for this business; but that day has passed. We live by agitation. We live for private ends and aims. We legislate for those who pay us best. We must do this, for unless we have such paymasters, how can we live and indulge in all manner of extravagances? What do I care for the people? The people care nothing for me. It is but a few years I can live; but a very few if I indulge in Washington habits. Legislators once worked for the interests of the country; but that was Democratic. Whatever is Democratic is wrong. The Bible is Democratic; it advises peace on earth, and good will to all men. This is where the Bible and I differ. I don't care a farthing whether my country is at peace or not. The idea of national prosperity, or a country's greatness, is a novelty to my brain. Posterity may take care of itself; my pockets are what engages my attention. If I can retain my seat, and secure a re-election, it is all I want. The North says it hates the South. I hate the South. If the North loved the South there would be no trouble about representation. New England hates the South; New England money controls me. New England brains manage western men; New England bondholders own the Government, and they are my special patrons. What do I care for the people? I say d—n the people—d—n the poor people; they have no business to be poor. Let the poor people hold bonds, as the rich ones do; and then those who are poorer yet than the poor people will have all the taxes to pay. Old style legislation protected rich and poor alike. D—n the old style. This 0017 17 is an age of progress. New ideas, new Constitution, new amendments, and new bureaus for the niggers, and labor and taxation for the poor white men. But I am not poor, so let the tiger loose. I am a member of Congress; a title-page of an Abolition volume; a shining political light for the God and Morality party which professes to love peace and good will, yet votes for just such bawling Union haters as I am to represent them in Congress.

And that innocent country constituency of mine! How those pious and moral men who voted for me attend divine service, pray in meeting, quote scripture, and prate of universal love! And while they are doing that, I am carousing about Washington, playing cards, faro, kino, vingt-un, euchre, roulette, &c., &c., drinking wine, and spending my nights in places where my respectable constituents dare not visit, except on the sly. I draw my salary, vote for my friends, and this amusement is dignified by the name of legislation! Well, if the people are satisfied with this mountebankism, I am the man to represent them 'till I can feather my own nest, and have a few years of dissipation.

THE RETURNED SOLDIER'S SOLILOQUY.

Good bye, blue ruin! Go into the dye-tub; into the rag-bag; anywhere out of my sight. For three years I wore these blue duds, and now, thank God, they are off, and once more I am in command of myself. And if I wan't a d—d fool, I'll be d—d! Learned to swear in the army.

What in the devil did I go to the war for? That's the question. What did I eat hard tack for; drink commissary whiskey; carry a mule's load; sleep in the mud; suffer in hospital, and lose this limb for? Who knows?

I enlisted to save the Union.

I went to war to put down the rebellion.

I fought to punish traitors.

I killed people to restore the harmony of things.

I went to war because that was, in old times, the way to patriotism.

And what was there gained? I had thirteen dollars a month. I rode shank's mare from Bull Run to the Red River, and tramped from high living to hell, almost for nothing.

I fought to keep this Union whole, and now, when the war is ended, I am told that fighting divided, and that legislation alone can restore the Union. Then why in thunder must I lose three years of time and a limb if all this work must be done by Congress? What did Congress want of men? Why were a million of us killed by drunken, thieving, cotton-stealing, silverware-hunting, conceited, up-start political generals, who went up like rockets and came down like sticks, if Congress can do, or could restore the Union by legislation?

I went to war in good faith.

I fought a score of times, and the more I fought, and the less I stole, the slower came promotion.

I helped to make a dozen Generals, fifty Colonels, and a hundred other officers rich.

I have lugged many a piano, rosewood bedstead, marble-top table, cabinet of books, mahogany sofa, and such stuff out of southern homes to be sent north for the use of my superior officer, and the adornment of his home in the 0018 18 North. This was the big dart for putting down the rebellion. Great God, what fighting some of our Generals did!

And I went to war for less wages than I could have earned at home. And my wife was often starving while I was away. And my children became dirty and ragged; my farm ran to weeds; my shop ran down; my tools were stolen or lost; my place is filled by another; I came home a cripple, filled with disease, and am now looked upon by the same men who wanted me to go to war, much as people look upon some dead beat who has gone through them for all their spare stamps.

And the Abolitionists, who forgot to take care of the soldiers' families; the Abolitionists, who told us that the Democrats wanted the Union dissolved; the Aboli ionists, who said Democrats were traitors; the Abolitionists, who staid at home and dare not fight, except in the form of a mob, in the attack of some defenceless Democrat, now tell us—the d—d cowardly traitors and rascally thieves we have found them to be—that

The late war did not restore the Union!

The war was therefore a failure!

The white men of the North were no match for the white men of the South.

The war would have ended in defeat for the North but for the niggers.

This is what the Abolitionists tell us. Reckon they will have a good time getting us returned soldiers engaged in another crusade for cotton, niggers, mules, and stolen plunder, taken by force of the bayonet from poor women and children.

It seems to me as if the late war was a humbug—a wicked, treasonable, unconstitutional gag. It did not restore the Union, but it made a pile of Abolitionists and War Democrats rich.

It never prevented scession, but left this Union in the shape we did not find it.

It never benefitted any one, North or South, except thieving soldiers, army chaplains, swindling contractors, drunken officers, incompetent generals, and other such pets of the late administration.

It didn't help the white people

It didn't help the niggers.

It impoverished half of the Union.

It didn't make the South friendly to northern ideas, interests, or people.

It piled a big debt upon us, and took from us two-thirds of our means to pay it.

And now I am back from the war to find that I must pay the most exorbitant taxes, and to find that old Grudgings, a mean, narrow minded, stay-at home coward, is rich, with a safe full of United States notes or bonds, for which I must work the balance of my life out to pay the interest on, while he escapes taxation and lives?n idleness. I had a hundred dollars bounty to go to the war. Now I come home to find the town, county, city and State in debt for the money I had; the wealth of the county is in bonds; the school-house is in ruins; the bridges in ruins; the court-house, &c., in ruins; all these things to be built up; the bonds and their interest to be paid, besides all the other taxes, and the holders of bonds living in luxurious idleness, with large incomes, and not one cent of tax to pay any body for any purpose.

0019 19

It was bad enough to fight for such infernal cowards.

It is bad enough to have it said we could not have whipped the South without the aid of these high-flavored nigger troops who are now to be called our equals.

It is bad enough to have enormous taxes to pay the damages time and war have wrought. But its worse than all to have to pay six hundred million dollars a year interest to the men who hold bonds exempt from taxation, or, in other words, to go to war, and then come home and pay ourselves for being shot at, wounded and killed. Abolitionism don't pay. Now I'm as good a man as any of them. No man has a right now to lord it now over me. I wear no badge of servitude, advertising that I am a fit subject for shoulder-strapped cuffs, kicks, guard-houses, &c. I'm a returned soldier, a poor man who must work or starve. I love my country. I'm a better patriot than the man who asks the poor man to pay taxes and interest on bonds exempt from taxation, and I say it boldly that the next time I shoulder a musket will be for equal taxation, equal rights, and a free country. I don't like the idea of repudiation, but if government don't tax her bonds, may I be d—d if I ever pay a cent of taxes, for my crippled limb is a better and more honorable bond then the Government ever issued. If all are taxed alike, it is well. If not, its repudiation or another fight.

SOLILOQUY OF A SOUTHERNER.

Dog gon my buttons if us folks down here don't amount to a little bit of a melody after all. We were but a handful of cowards before the war killed off half of us, yet the great big North is afraid to have us in the Union! We uns helped make the Constitution, and helped make our common country great, and when we saw danger of our rights under the Constitution being ignored after we were educated by Abolitionists to believe we had the right to secede, and to save ourselves did secede, dog gon us if these same men who wanted us out didn't want us back again! They said we were a bill of expense to the Union—that it cost more to furnish us mails, revenue officers, &c., &c., than it came to; and when we wished to relieve the liberal North of this taxation on our account, dog gon us but they incurred more expense to keep us in than we were worth while we were in. And they didn't want us to work niggers, yet were willing to sell them to us, and to buy all the niggers raised, and pay us in gimcracks for the same. They drove us out of the Union. They said we had better go out. We took them at their word, for such good Christians as populate the North must be honest, and they sent armies here to drive us back. They said we'd a right to secede, and advised us to do so. We took the North at the word. Then they said we could not secede.

And they sent soldiers and thieves down among us. While brave men fought us, thieves stole from us the things we bought of them, and now insist on selling them over! We could stand their fighting, but, dog gon 'em, not their stealing! When we sent our wounded home, we found our homes were burned, or our goods stolen. They destroyed or stole all we had, then blamed us for not taking care of their wounded! They carried on war 0020 20 against us to drive us back into the Union; and when we were driven back, they discovered that we were out of the Union!

They wanted us to send members to Congress, and they sent them back home. They say the war was a brilliant success. They say fighting alone can restore the Union; and still, when the fighting is over with, say war divided the Union. We have been subjugated, repudiated, dispossessed, disfranchised, contrabanded, reconstructed, and desolated.

We have quit fighting, yet are warred upon. We want peace, yet are promised war. We want to be in the Union, yet are told we shall not come in. They call us infidels, yet forget Christianity themselves.

If we are now without money, influence, power, or prestige, why is the North afraid of us? If we are expected to be good citizens, why do not the radicals of the North set the example? If we are not in the Union, why taxed by that Union? If we are not in the Union, where are we? If this is our reward for disbanding our serried ranks, what was the use of disbanding? Why not keep on fighting? If we are conquered, why not accept us as such? If we are not conquered, why not go on with the war, renew the murderous crusade for cotton, mules, niggers, jewelry, and furniture? The men who fought us like brave men now say that fair play shall be the order of the day. The cowards, thieves and plunderers who robbed and desolated and desecrated us, now are anxious for another war upon us, that the balance of what we have may be stolen from us, and their pockets still farther filled, and we are blamed for not laughing at our own funerals. We are asked to sing melodies while sitting on bayonets! We are asked to dance while the slow match is burning still brightly in our cellars. We are asked to sit still, and be insulted by the men who stole from us—who insulted our women—who stole while others fought. We are asked to be good citizens, when we are treated like bad citizens. We are asked to believe o hers who will not believe us even in tears. We are asked to grow flowers in the face of wintry blasts, yet piping from the North, and to deck our graveyards with flowers, while dogs are barking at our heels. The North claims the religion of the country, yet jabs and stabs us with puritanical hate.

All we want is peace. We wish to repair the damages the war has made. We wish to live as brothers of a common heritage, yet are treated as servants. As one of the southerners I try to bear all this; I try to smile; I try to dance while our conquerors are fiddling in drunken glee; I am in earnest in asking for the peace which was promised us, if we disbanded our armies; I keep faith with the North, yet the North will not keep faith with us. And I tell you, if we can't have the peace and the rights promised us, life is a burthen, and we had better lose it at once. But I will wait awhile, for surely the sense of national honor has not quite died out in the North. There is a better day coming; another year will tell the story!

0021 21
WHY SUPPORT BONDHOLDERS? THE EAST AND THE WEST.

Readers, tax-payers, working men! Come with us a few moments. Do you see that map of the country hanging against the wall over yonder? Let us step closer and look at it. Trace the water mark, the ocean line with us, from the Bay of Fundy, down by Cape Cod, Cape May, Cape Hatteras, Cape Fear, Cape Florida, Mobile Bay, Corpis Christi Bay, thence over to Cape St. Lucas, thence up the golden strands of the Pacific coast to Victoria, and then across the country to the pine points of Maine. Quite a little trip! And all this is our country. The pine forests of Maine, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Minnesota, and Texas; the rocky hills of New England; the coal beds of the Keystone State; the rich farms of New York and New Jersey; the plantations of the South; the broad prairies of the West; the golden gulches of California; the quartz mountains of Nevada, Montana, Idaho, &c., the Eastern, Western, Northern and Southern States, all belonging to the Union—to you, the sovereigns.

And do you realize that all this country is controlled by the devil of New England radicalism; New England aristocracy; New England protection; New England narrow-mindedness, and New England bondocracy? Let us see. Way up there is a little point of land. It is where the witch-burning, psalm-singing Puritans landed, and whipped people for kissing their wives on the Sabbath, and where men are taught to mind the business of other people, and to skin everything from eels to gun flints. Let us take these six New England States and see what they amount to in area, population, and voice in Congress:

Area, sq. m. Population. Maine 31,766 628,276 New Hampshire 9,280 326,072 Vermo t 10,212 315,116 Massachusetts 7,800 1,231,065 Rhode Island 1,306 174,621 Connecticut 4,674 469,151 65,038 3,144,301

This portion of our Union is represented in Congress by twelve Senators and twenty-seven members.

Now, look over there towards the setting sun, yet not half way to the Pacific! There are six States. Let us figure a little. Take your pencil and set down—

Area sq. m. Population. Indiana 33,809 1,350,941 Illino s 55 405 1,711,753 Michigan 56,243 749,112 Iowa 50,914 674,948 Wisconsin 53,924 775,873 Minnesota 84,000 172,022 334,295 5,434,649

Hardly a State of the last six named but is equal in size to all of New England, while one is a third larger; and the population is nearly double.

In view of the fact that since the census was taken from which we glean the above figures, the New England States have fallen off twelve per cent., and the six Western ones have increased over thirty per cent, it is safe to say we more than double them in population, as we beat them five times and over in extent.

And all this tract of country, an empire of itself, has but the same representation in the Senate, with five representatives in the House. Now let us sit down on this log, by the forge, on your shoe, tailor or carpenter's bench; let us lean on this hoe handle, rest on this pick-axe; on this plow 0022 22 beam, or wherever we are, and see what a difference there is between the West and the East, and see if we owe the East our very blood, as it were.

The war is over. The armies are disbanded, and still New England intolerance, vengeance and spite, war upon subdued people, and upon the Constitution she hates.

New England nabobs hold United States bonds, by a New England Congress exempt from taxation.

New England dares not have the South back in the Union, for the votes of that section will justly be against her narrow-minded protective interests.

New England Abolitionists have set the negro free, and make you and I not only support the “freedmen,” but the bondholder who sits and receives his interest, the whole exempt from taxation.

New England wants her manufacturing interest protected. She wants the burden of taxation to fall upon the consumers of her industry, and to rise to power and wealth on the labor of the poorer classes, who in the thirty other States of the Union purchase of her.

The East is built up; it is finished. Her schools, roads, churches, jails, prisons, poor-houses, asylums, &c., are erected. Much of this work is to be done yet in the West. While we in the West are at work, New England bondholders are riding in their easy carriages, sitting in the shade, reveling in wine dinners, sporting in creek and jungle, their wealth secured and in United States bonds, by a New England-controlled Congress exempted from taxation. We have a country yet to improve. We have roads, school-houses, asylums, churches, towns and cities yet to build.

We have the negro, who once supported himself, to support in idleness; and with him the thieves and swindlers who are the knobs to the negro bureau.

We have the expenses of government to pay. We have the interest on the public debt to pay. We have millions of dollars a year to pay to the rich, lazy bondholders, who are by the Government protected in their laziness, while we are by the same Government ground still deeper into the earth on account of our poverty.

Why this favoritism? Is this the reward given the West for forsaking her business; for fighting her real friends; for spilling rivers of blood?

We did not restore the Union, for New England says the Union is not restored!

We did not benefit the negro, for he is worse off to-day under the drippings of this New England mercy than under the care of his former master.

We did not better ourselves by the war.

We did not soften the heart of the South.

But we did this, western men—we made fools of ourselves; we fought our true friends, to help our worst enemies.

We piled up a mountain of debt, astride of which sit thousands of New England bondholders, and we have got to bend our backs to the load, while they crack the whip over us, the poor white trash of the West.

May God in His goodness hasten the day when the people will open their eyes at the greatness of the misery in store for us as a nation, and give us men bold enough to lead the way to peace and prosperity.

0023 23
DISBAND THE DEMOCRACY!

Never!

Why should this grand, good old party be disbanded, and its brave members left to rally under banners of their enemies, or to die by the wayside? What good can come of giving up the name, the principles we have fought for so long?

In this State, as in others, leading (so-called) Democrats are in favor of disbanding our party organization, forming a Union, or a Johnson, or some other kind of a party, and to this move, be it here or elsewhere, we wish to say a few words, earnestly and candidly.

In the name of two million Democratic voters, North and South—in the name of one million and eight hundred thousand Democrats in the North who voted for McClellan, we arise now to ask what good will come of this forsaking principles?

We respect Andrew Johnson, President of the United States. We have great faith in him. We are willing he should have and form a Johnson party if he wishes to, but will never consent to see the Democratic party of the country disbanded, and called together on his platform. Mahomet may go or come to the mountain, the stately ship may enter the harbor, the eagle soar to the sky, the rain may come to the earth, Johnson may come to the Democratic party, and it will shelter him so long as he is true to the Constitution; when he is not, he will be spewn out of its mouth.

The mountain cannot go to Mahomet.

The harbor cannot go out to shelter the ship, no matter how brave it be.

The great cerulean dome cannot and will not come down to meet the eagle, no matter how bravely he soars aloft.

The beautiful earth will never go up to claim the rain-drops from the clouds which are of its own making.

The Democratic party of the country shall never disband, and go straggling out to meet Johnson or any other man, for its principles and hopes are beyond the reach of any one mortal!

We are willing Johnson should come back.

We are willing to endorse him in what is right, and assuredly shall denounce him when wrong. But we are not in favor of this forming Johnson clubs of Democratic timber. The great trouble in this country is that people think in droves, and accept all sorts of statements as facts. The people are too credulous.

We object to placing two million Democrats under the influence of Seward's bell-cord. We object to be blinded when going into a fight. We dislike forsaking the eternal principles of Democracy for an individual name. If Johnson and Seward and others are tired of Republicanism, let them come out from the Rump Disunionists, and stand up for the principles of that great Democratic party which has no apology to make for the ruins our enemies have strewn over the land.

We do not wish to enlist under men who will soon want us to fight under Abolition, Republican, Disunion banners—men who would in a year or two go laughing home, showing the fish caught in the Johnson net, and claiming high reward for their strategy and impudence.

It may not be fashionable to speak thus, but we cannot help it. Five 0024 24 years since Democrats were caught by chaff Let us not be taken in that manner again. What! Disband the Democracy?

Never!

While there is one Democrat in the country, that party must not be disbanded. The hopes of millions, the happiness of the people, the future glory of America, the guardianship of the Constitution, the honor of our laws, the restoration of our bleeding Union, is in the custody of the Democratic party, and to dissolve is to betray.

Take care, so-called leaders!

Eighteen hundred thousand Democrats in the North protest, and will hurl you over the battlements, if this thing be forced upon them.

Halt!

About face!

Men of pluck and nerve, to the front! Close ranks, steady, shoulder to shoulder, head of co umn forward to death or to victory! The battle is won already.

Give up now?

Disband now, when the enemy is divided?

Disband when the country is on its knees; is with tearful eyes and uplifted hands, firmly clasped, looking to us for aid and happiness?

Disband when to do so would be to bring more ruin on the land?

You men who think of this, come with us for a moment. Take off your hats. Forget your pockets, and step carefully.

Do you see a dissevered Union, broken by the men who ask you to disband us?

Do you see those prisons filled with innocent Democrats, kept there till covered with lice, filth and mildew, with no other music to gladden their hearts than the tinkling of the little bell in the hands of the cunning man who wants us to kiss the dagger which stabbed us?

Do you see those mobs, beating the brains out of defenceless Democrats, while the President was telling his little jokes in the White House?

Do you see the pai? soldiers of the Republic, by order of the little bell, turning their bayonets upon Democratic voters?

Do you see the cowardly tools of a tyrant tearing down printing offices, and battering the presses into splinters?

Do you see the party in power proscribing men in business and social circles for being Democrats?

Do you see the sneaks and blue-coated minions of the provost force sneaking under your windows?

Do you see postmasters opening your letters, and retarding the circulation of your papers, because you will not shout in praise of wrong and corruption?

Do you see half a million widows standing in tears over soldiers' graves—widows who were made by Republicans in a Republican crusade for cotton, mules and niggers?

Do you see the orphans in rags, the houses in ashes, the unlettered headboards of soldiers' graves, the homes of those made poor by Lincoln's minions; the jewels, the mistresses, the houses, the lands, the bonds of Lincoln's thieves, the mobs of his friends and supporters beating the brains out of, or suspending to trees, the Democrats who would not forsake their principles?

Look, you cowards and time-servers 0025 25 on these pictures, and in shame recall your words. By the living God, the Democratic party shall not be disbanded!

We have an interest in it; our father had an interest in it; our children have an interest in it. You shall not barter it for a handful of greens! We have stood by that old flag when cowards forsook us, when men sought our life, when bayonets were at our heart, when the rope was ready for our neck, when the hand of the assassin has sought our heart, when enemies have sought us in the street, when men have withheld business from us, when poverty looked in one eye and death in the other, when mobs have sought to drive us from principle, when offers of high place in and out of the army have been made us, when to say we were a Democrat was to court abuse, to toy with death, and subject ourself and friends to insult and to blows, and we shall never give up the flag or the faith. While there is life with-us, the Democratic party has one member who will not be led into the shambles.

Two million Democrats, the truest men the sun ever shone upon, the men who voted for McClellan, who stood by their faith when cowards forsook them, the only true patriots of the country, would be a nice prize for Seward to lead back to his disintegrated party, but there is one man he cannot lead. He is a good diplomatist, but not good enough for this most impudent swindle upon the hopes and the patriotism of the people. If Republicans want Democrats, they know where to find us every time; if they use us, it must be as a body, and not as sheaves to keep their death and tax mill running. Stand by the flag!

CHARGE! DEMOCRATS, CHARGE!

Brothers in a holy cause! Freemen, patriots, sons of illustrious blood, side by side, hand in hand, arm in arm, with a bold front, for we have done no wrong, let us charge upon the fanatical element of our country the history it has made.

Shoulder to shoulder— Hearts firm, strong and true! We never will be conquered By a Union-hating crew!

Would to God that some man with the eloquence of inspiration might now step forth to rivet home upon the Abolitionists of the land the nails they drove through our national wainscoting, and paint the tragic history of negroism as we have seen it through years of bloody suffering, and dark hours of the Republic. Who are traitors? Who are the original disunionists? Who are now making war upon the government? Who are insulting a fallen foe? Who are they who trifle with the destinies of a God given America, and seek to cloy their fiendish hate on the mangled corpse of an attempted Confederacy? Who are the ones who stand up in the Rump Congress and insult the soldiers, by saying the Union is not restored, and that imbecile gutter-snipe legislation can do what the prowess of American soldiery failed to accomplish? Let these questions be asked those who wallow with the Rump Congress in its treasonable infancy rather than stand like men by the President in support of the right. Let us stand true to the sacred principles of Democracy, and charge home upon this fanatical element, which is at war with the Union, that the only traitors now existing are the 0026 26 fanatical members of the Rump Congress and place-hunters who endorse their infamous acts. Charge home upon the element which is opposing the country that they sought first and last to divide the Union, and but for the Democracy of the North would have succeeded. These men sought to break up the Union; to make the South and North hate each other. They warred upon the Constitution; they ignored laws; they broke their oaths of office; they perjured themselves before God and man; they meddled with that which concerned them not; they trampled laws under foot; they elected tyrants and cowards to office; they defiled a patriotic army with dishonest generals; they turned a war of patriotism into a crusade of plunder; they put innocent men into prison, and guilty men in office; they sacrificed thousands of brave men on the altar of diabolism and military incompetency; they took men and money from the people under false pretences; they killed our men, destroyed our property, and squandered the money we furnished them; they mobbed people for opinion's sake; they murdered people in cold blood here in the North for speaking their honest belief; they have stolen of the poor; they have protected the rich; they have lied to the nation, and in drunken glee danced on the coffin lid of their country till the corpse has been awakened to a new life, and a life that will deal in vengeance most terrible if the murderous dance be not stopped at once; they have draped the land in mourning, populated deep graveyards, made prostitutes, piled billions of taxes upon the workingmen, filled the pockets of rich men with bonds exempt from taxation, and now flaunt the scheme of their cowardly insolence in the face of a people that fought while our rulers rioted in drunkenness, that died on battle-fields while our rulers were stuffing ballot-boxes in the North! Let these crimes, and others we have not room to mention, be changed home upon the element now at war with the President, and upon the honest industry of the country North and South. Democrats have not broken laws, ignored oaths of office, and made a sieve of the Constitution, through which to thrust negroes, political generals, army contracts and dishonest legislation! Democrats have made no war upon the Constitution, nor have they told smutty stories in the White House over the withering victims of Abolition hate, while the vultures of desolation were howling and flapping their wings over the country red with blood, broken hearted and staggering with grief. Let those things be charged home to those who rode into power shouting free speech, free press, free Kansas, a free people—retrenchment and reform! How about free speech, and a free press, and a free people?

And how do you like the arithmetical illustrations of the Black Republican retrenchment and reform? Black Republicanism forced us into a war to free negroes from happy slavery, and let them rot in military camps, or be pensioners upon us by enormous taxation. The negroes are worse off today than ever before. The country is worse off to-day than it was ever before. Our debts are a thousand times greater than ever before. Our ability to pay is less than ever before. There are more mourning and wickedness in the land now than ever before. How 0027 27 do you like the working of Abolitionism? Answer and tell us, ye once happy and prosperous workingmen, to whom we are now talking through the pen. Tell us farmers, mechanics, son of the forest, men of toil, and brother victims of this great God and morality party, which did so much good in theory, so much evil in practice. Charge these truths home. We have charged them home for the last four years.

We have defied their mobs, sneered at their proscriptions, walked unharmed through attempts at assassination, held aloft the banner of Democracy, and gathered javelins to hurl in the face of our common enemies till the last tyrant, or apologist for tyranny and wrong, shall be driven from power. God hates cowards! We have the right on our side; we have law, justice, equal rights, and the record of honest acts. What more incentive do we need? If these are not sufficient, look ahead to the millions who will bless us for wresting the sword from the hands of those who murder innocents. Open wide the gates of the Republic—open the doors of Democracy. Hang out your glorious old banner of Democracy. Appeal to the people. Defy your enemies.

Stand like men of nerve in defence of our liberty, and charge upon those who will not forsake the error of their ways the truths of the history they have written in blood, and pinned up with the bayonet! This is no time for abject crawling to kiss the foot of usurped power. The future is to be bright, united and happy, or dark, bloody and terrible, as we choose. If Democracy, in the great struggle now upon us, is successful, the country is saved; if not, we must wade to our inheritance through blood here in the North, and the scenes of the past will soon be re-enacted at our own doors.

A FEW WORDS WITH YOUNG MEN.

Young man.

Where do you stand politically, and why do you stand there?

A young friend of ours in Indiana wants us to tell him why we are a Democrat, and we will try to tell him and others, in plain, simple language.

Democracy means “the voice of the people”— vox populi. It has been said Vox Populi Vox Dei. “The voice of the People is the voice of God!”

We believe the people are capable of governing themselves.

We believe a confederation of States, a union of kingdoms, where every man is a monarch, to be the best plan of government ever yet devised, or that ever will be, for in that confederation the people speak—God speaks.

We believe in giving every State of the Union the absolute right to regulate its own affairs, to say who shall vote and who shall not; what rates of interest, taxation, &c., it will adopt, and who shall be citizens, so long as such State shall give aid to her sister States, and give her voice for the good of the Union.

And we believe it is not the business of one State to meddle with the affairs of another, for each State is a government and of itself.

We believe in equal taxation.

We believe in economy in public affairs.

We believe in electing statesmen, men of brave and comprehensive views to high positions, and in leaving in obscurity 0028 28 those who are but clowns, robbers, or simply low wits!

We believe white men should govern white men; that white men should not be compelled to support negroes.

That the rich should pay taxes on their millions of United States bonds now exempt from taxation, at the same rate as the poor man is taxed for his cow, his horse, his farm, and earnings.

We believe in God, in God's religion, in broad and liberal views of national matters—in Democracy.

We do not believe in Puritanism.

We do not believe in the religion which stirs up hate, strife and discord.

We do not believe in teaching States and people of a common brotherhood to hate and war upon each other.

We do not believe in Congressional interference with the rights of States.

We do not believe it right, Constitutional, or just, to make United States bonds exempt from taxation, and make poor men who have taxes to pay support the rich ones who do not.

This country was once Democratic.

It was ruled by wise men.

It was counseled by statesmen and not by clowns and reckless adventurers.

It grew to prosperity under Democratic administrations successively and successfully administered.

It became a great nation of freemen, a land where millions of people met on a level, and where the poor came to escape taxation, the oppressed to find a home, the ignorant to be educated, the man of thought to enjoy the Constitutional right to think and speak as he pleased.

And this was, and is, and always has been, Democracy.

In the days of Democracy we had peace, plenty and prosperity. The poor man came here; the labor of his hands made him a home and a competency. The foreigner came to our shore with his household gods, was welcome; he had no such taxes to pay as now; he came here the equal of white men, and not a whit below any man in nobility.

The States were governments by themselves, the mosaic of boundary was the most beautiful in the world, the wheat field nodded to the rice, the corn to the cotton, the northern pine to the southern palmetto, the snowball to the magnolia, and we were all happy together. And when the labors of the day were over, the fisherman of New England and the farmer of the West sat by their firesides and talked of the greatness of our Union. And the new comer from foreign shores gathered at sundown his little ones about him and told them legends of the wondrous Faderland; the dusky laborer of the South, blessed with muscle, but not with brains, sang and danced on the plantation lawns, and Democracy was, in the happiness of the people, fully realized.

Then came the fife and drum.

To arms! to arms!

By the thousands, and the thousands, and the thousands, our men went forth. A blue wave reaching from the Atlantic to the Father of Waters. On foot and on horse; musket and sabre, shot and shell. The men from the pines are now corpses under the palmettos. The warriors from the wheat fields, the corn fields and prairies, are sleeping in the rice and cotton fields. The lovers from the rose bush are at rest 'neath the sod their life blood reddened under 0029 29 the pale magnolia. The land is draped in mourning. Widows and orphans, debt, poverty, unjust taxation, and bigoted intolerance, now fill the land. This is the work of Republicanism. We never saw these sights we never heard the whistling bullet, the shrieking shell, the whirring rifled cannon ball, the groans of the dead and dying, while the people were true to Democracy. Democracy made the country; Republicanism impoverished it; made widows of our women, corpses and cripples of our men, orphans of our children, slaves of poor white men, aristocrats of dishonest, selfish, easeloving bondholders.

The nation has tried Democracy and Republicanism.

We have tried statesmanship and buffoonery.

We have tried wisdom and foolishness.

We have tried justice and tyranny.

We have tried law and order, and mobs and disorder.

We have tried minding our own business, and interfering with that which concerned us not.

We have tried peace and war.

We have tried low taxation and high.

We have tried equal taxation and Republican favoritism.

We have tried sense and infamy.

We have seen Democracy nurture and build up the country.

CONCILIATION.

Once in a great while we hear a mild Democrat talking of the necessity of homed words and conciliation. And once in a while “some man without a mind” tells us that we would gain more converts if we would not speak so loud.

Why, bless your easy temper! Has not the Democratic party “conciliated” for six years, till ashamed of itself? When it lost its pluck it lost its power.

The American people love bravery. God hates a coward. We hate a coward. Who does not hate a coward? When the Abolition party proposed a war against a large majority, as the Democratic party then was, people endorsed it for its bravery.

And people said Democrats must conciliate.

For what?

Conciliate who?

The Abolition scoundrels who now sit like the nightmare on the breast of Democracy, won their power by refusing to conciliate.

And Democrats lost their strength by being cowed down.

We have nothing to repent of except conciliation.

How did Abolitionists conciliate the people?

How did the rail-splitting buffoon conciliate?

How did Seward, the devil of America, conciliate?

And how did Stanton conciliate?

And how did the loyal mobs, the red-mouthed members of the God and morality party, the stay-at-home patriots, the lovers of the negro, the thieves, upstarts, cowards, assassins, ignoramuses, rowdies, and platter-brained minions of a tyrant, who were once in power as provost-marshals and deputies, conciliate?

They hung us to trees.

They touched little bells, and we went to prison.

They beat our brains out with clubs.

0030 30

They ostracised us in business.

They prayed God to damn us here, henceforth and forever.

They taught their children to hate us; they lied about us; they slandered us; they stole from us; they cheated us in drafts and quotas; they stole our bounty money; they filled the country with nigger paupers and bastard children; they shot at us; they hung us; they pillaged us; they broke us up and down in business; they taunted us with cowardice; they called us t?adies, fools, traitors, cowards, and God only knows what not!

Conciliate!

Play coward; play baby; play nice little boy; play mild gentleman in Sunday suit. The ones who have wronged, who have ruined the people, are the ones to talk conciliation—not the victims of wrong, of tyranny, of injustice, persecution, fraud, and clownish intolerance.

Who will we conciliate?

For what should we conciliate?

Had not the leading Democrats of the nation lost their pluck, and stopped to conciliate a few years since, there would be no such work as now.

Had we demanded the rights but our own, had the two million Democrats of the North stood on their muscle in 1861 and '62, and '63, and '64, there would be more men and fewer corpses in the land to-day

Nice time to conciliate, when a murderer has the knife to your heart, the thief has both hands in your pocket, the burglar has gained entrance to your house; when the seducer laughs at his victim; when the incendiary is warming his hands and cooking his meat by the fire he has kindled; when the assassin has attacked you on the street; when a mob is at your door!

Thank God, we never tried the conciliation dodge! When the mob came we faced it; when the men called us a traitor, we slapped their faces; when cowards forsook us, we held our own, and kept the good old banner up where we could see it at all events!

What! Two million able-bodied victims talk of conciliation? Shame, shame, you patriots of America! Who are you afraid of? Without your aid, unless you hold still, it is impossible to chain you. If you will be willing slaves, you may, but we will not.

Charge home upon the Radical traitors, the Lincolnites, the Stantonites, the mobites, the cowards, robbers, insulters, cotton thieves, contract swindlers, grave robbers, hospital plunderers, nigger lovers, white men haters, and Union separators, the work they have done.

We'd sooner conciliate the hyena who has his nose in the graves of our darlings, the wolf who has robbed us of our lambs, the Butler who has stolen our silver, the resurrectionist who has snatched our wept one from the grave, the tyrant who is strangling our infant, the minion of power who poisons those he dare not fight, and the viper which is ready at all times to strike his fangs into us, rather than with the ones who for hate, envy, spite, greed, money, place, power and lust, have broken into the temple and ravished the goddess there sleeping, while we, her chosen defenders, were, coward-like, talking of “conciliation.” Let those who do not fight go to the rear.

0031

IN PRESS, To be issued between July 1st and July 15th, A YOUTH'S HISTORY OF THE GREAT CIVIL WAR.

1 Vol., 16mo, 360 pages. Price $1 50.

Illustrated with Fifteen Engravings on Wood, by the best Artists.

This work is designed to furnish the youth of our country a candid and impartial History of the Great War through which we have just passed, from a Democratic standpoint. The minds of the youth of our country are being poisoned and miseducated by the false and partial histories of the Abolitionists, and it is of great importance for the welfare of our country that the real Disunionists, as they are now proving themselves to be, shall be properly portrayed. The great importance of a sound juvenile literature has long been felt and acknowledged, and as this is the first attempt to furnish it, the Publishers respectfully solicit the encouragement of the public, and the assistance of the Democratic press. It will be just such a book as every Democrat, North or South, will desire to place in the hands of his children, to give them a correct idea of the late war and its causes.

A few of its opening chapters will be devoted to tracing the origin of the disputes between the Northern and Southern States. The author will show that there were two parties in the formation of our Government, one desiring a Democratic Constitution, the other, one of a monarchical character—that these differences were represented by Alexander Hamilton on one side, and Thomas Jefferson on the other.

He will further show that the old Hamiltonian, Federalist, Black Republican, or Abolition Party have been, from the beginning, trying to change the government from the plan on which it was formed, and in order to accomplish their purposes, finally seized hold of the negro question as a means to effect the utter overthrow of republican institutions; that by professing great devotion to “freedom,” this party succeeded in deceiving thousands, particularly of the young men of our country, who in the first flush of youthful patriotism, were seduced by its artful phrases, into joining it.

After a few chapters on these points the author will take up the narrative of the War, and give, in concise and clear language, the story of the four years of blood and suffering through which we have passed. The style of the entire volume is such as to be easily understood by a child twelve years old. At the same time it is adapted to adult readers, making, in fact, an Illustrated History of the War for the low price of $1.50.

The illustrations in this volume will be first class engravings on wood by the best artists. It will contain ten likenesses, as follows: Generals Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Grant, McClellan, Sherman, Johnston, Jefferson Davis, Abraham Lincoln, Alexander H. Stephens, John Wilkes Booth, &c., besides several full page cuts giving scenes in the war, battle incidents, etc., etc.

The book will be sent, postage paid, as soon as issued, on receipt of price.

VAN EVRIE, HORTON & CO., Publishers, 162 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

[???]Agents wanted to circulate it all over the United States.[???]

0032

White Men must Rule America!

NEW YORK DAY-BOOK FOR 1867.

The Day-Book steps upon the threshold of the New Year with an increasing business and a wider circulation than that of any other Democratic Paper published, though for the past four years it has done little else than wade through official persecutions. Twice denied the mails, yet it, or its substitute, The Caucasian, was, for some time, the only Democratic Journal published in the great Empire City. It has, however, triumphed over all opposition, and once more addresses itself to its readers in all parts of the country. Profoundly believing that the Resolutions of 1798 and the Dred Scott decision interpret the true theory of our Government, and having never shrunk from their defense in the hour of danger, and knowing that neither cannon balls nor bullets can kill ideas, it desires to be counted out of that class of journals which propose to surrender to a cowardly clamor what has not been ratified by public opinion. Holding, therefore, that this is a White Man's Government, on the basis of a Federal Union, it will never yield up these everlasting Truths at the bidding of the most monstrous and revolting delusion that ever degraded the mind or perverted the moral instincts of mankind—a delusion that has sacrificed a million of lives, contracted a debt of four thousand millions of dollars, overthrown the Federal system, struck down self-government, and laid society in ruins in one half of the country, and is not yet satisfied! It now demands negro citizenship, absolute equality, absolute amalgamation of the negro race in our system, and will not stop, or rather cannot logically stop short of this, and therefore it will march on, either to its own utter overthrow or to the amalgamation of races, and consequent destruction of American Institutions. This delusion must be grappled with. It cannot be satiated by yielding to it. We must show that distinct races must occupy distinct legal and social positions, and that this is not Slavery, but a natural and harmonious relation of the races, and thus overthrow Abolitionism and administer the Government on “ The Constitution of 1787” and “ The Union as it was, ” if we would escape social anarchy, war of races, and horrors far greater than any yet experienced.

A part and parcel of this gigantic Abolition conspiracy is to give Capital the power to crush Labor, and thus destroy the independence and intelligence of the Agricultural and Mechanical classes. Here is a terrible struggle just before us, and The Day-Book will, as ever, be found on the side of the People, and against all the land sharks, who would, by tariffs, taxes and paper currency, devour the proceeds of labor, and reduce the producing classes to the position of the degraded peasants of Europe. But the only way to get rid of present evils and avoid future ones, is to restore the Government to its original position; and as public opinion is, after all, the power that rules, through books, pamphlets, and especially newspapers, it entreats every true American to throw off all doubt and despair, and seize hold of this lever with all his might. With it we can and must revolutionize the revolutionists. With it the South can reap the substantial fruits of victory, the North punish the enemies of Democracy, and both uniting, they will drive Abolitionism, the unclean bastard of British Monarchy and American Toryism, forever from our soil, and restoring our glorious system of Government to its primitive simplicity, protecting free speech, free press, habeas corpus, trial by jury, &c., &c., we may march on to the grandest destiny that ever fell to the lot of any people. The Day-Book confidently appeals to every true American to aid it in this work. And it believes that every intelligent person will perceive that, however valuable other journals may be as news papers, yet unless they boldly meet this question on its merits, they are necessarily useless in bringing about that change in public opinion which is absolutely essential to the salvation of our country.

TERMS: CASH IN ADVANCE.

One Copy, one year, $ 2 00

Three Copies, one year, 5 50

Five Copies, one year, and one to the getter-up of the Club, 10 00

Ten Copies, one year, and one to the getter-up of the Club, 17 50

Additional Copies, 1 75

Twenty Copies, one year, 30 00

Every Postmaster, live Democrat, or any person opposed to negro equality, who believes the circulation of The Day-Book will do good, is authorized and requested to act as agent in his neighborhood, and send on subscriptions.

Address, giving Post-office, County and State in full, VAN EVRIE, HORTON & CO., No. 162 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.