"'Ef you take a soaord an droar it,
An go stick a feller thru,
Guv'ment won't answer for it,
God'll send the bill to you!'
This was slightly audacious and irreverent in expression, but it was
remarkably popular in New England at that time. The writer is now one
of the editors of a popular Boston periodical, and would be one of the
last, I have no doubt, to induce a Northern soldier to withdraw his
sword from the body of any unhappy Southerner whom he had, contrary to
the poet's former political ethics, 'stuck thru.' But it is not the
revolution wrought in the minds of men of great intelligence that is
most to be deplored - for the powerful will of such men may compel their
thoughts back again to a philosophy of peace; no, it is the mercenary
and military interests created under Mr. Lincoln which are represented,
the former by an estimated governmental outlay of above $100,000,000
this year, and the other by the 800,000 men, whose blood is thus to be
bought and paid for; by the armies out of uniform who prey upon the
army in uniform; by the army of contractors who are to feed and clothe
and arm the fighting million; by that other army, the army of tax-
collectors, who cover the land, seeing that no industry escapes
unburthened, no possession unentered, no affection even, untaxed. Tax!
tax! tax! is the cry from the rear! Blood! blood! blood! is the cry
from the front! Gold! gold! gold! is the chuckling undertone which
comes up from the mushroom millionaires, well named a shoddy
aristocracy. Nor do I think the army interest, the contracting
interest, and the tax-gathering interest, the worst results that have
grown out of this war. There is another and equally serious interest -
the revolution in the spirit, mind, and principles of the people, that
terrible change which has made war familiar and even attractive to
them. When the first battle was fought - when, in the language of the
Duke of Wellington, the first 'butcher's bill was sent in' - a shudder
of horror ran through the length and breadth of the country; but by-
and-by, as the carnage increased, no newspaper was considered worth
laying on the breakfast table unless it contained the story of the
butchery of thousands of men.
'Only a thousand killed! Pooh, pooh, that's nothing!' exclaimed Mr.
Shoddy, as he sipped his coffee - in his luxurious apartment; and
nothing short of the news of ten or fifteen thousand maimed or slain in
a day could satisfy the jaded palate of men craving for excitement, and
such horrible excitement as attends the wholesale murder of their
fellow-creatures. Have these sights and sounds no warning addressed to
us? Are we as those who have eyes and see not; ears and hear not;
reason, neither do they understand? If we are true to Canada - if we do
not desire to become part and parcel of this people - we cannot overlook
this, the greatest revolution of our own times.
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