I believe that the war now waged by our Northern armies is eminently just and righteous, or the world has never seen one. I believe that there never has been a time when the Government could have avoided the conflict without unutterable dishonour, and that it will inherit and deserve the contempt of humanity if it fail to continue the struggle with the utmost vigor, until every atom of this rebellion is crushed into annihilation. Whether this be the proper view to take of the war, or not, is a question of momentous import. For, if not, how can we find comfort for the mourners, who have sent forth the idols of their households to die in its cause; or how can we fitly rebuke those who would deepen these sorrows and dampen all patriotic ardor, by their open sympathy with our enemies in arms? Therefore, does it become us to ask and answer the question, “What are we fighting for?” What we are _not_ fighting for is apparent enough. We are not fighting for the abolition of slavery. We are not fighting, as Lord John Russell says, for empire. We are not fighting from love of power――from vindictiveness or hate. We are fighting simply for our own. We are fighting to establish, on foundations eternal as our mountains, one grand, stupendous, geographical fact, that the country and people lying between “the St. John’s and the Rio Grande, between the Tortugas Islands and Vancouver’s Land,” compose _one Nation_, and are called “The United States of America.” In a public address I delivered in this city, some years ago, occurred these words, viz.: “All over the land, the politicians are echoing the cry of disunion, but the people do not hear it, or do not heed it; they are busy at their workshops, on their farms, doing daily duty, earning daily bread, and they do not hear it; but when they do――when the talk of politicians begins to shape itself to deeds――they will smother the life out of this disunion cry.” I believed then, as I believe now, and as events have proved, if rightly interpreted, that the common sense of the common people――of the American masses――had long ago settled the true value of the American Union. The intuitions of a people are better than their logic. Their profoundest convictions make the least noise. Not by argument――not by the talk of politicians, nor the expositions of statesmen――but by the benefits and blessings that flow in upon them through the passing years, do men learn to measure best the value of their institutions. The greatest truths sink into the heart silently, like the dews of Heaven. As the influences of home and of Christian example mould and fix the character, so do the influences of good government and beneficent institutions settle the convictions of a people, unconsciously, noiselessly, but most profoundly. And it is often true, that nothing but some great world upheaval can arouse men to a consciousness of their slumbering powers, their sublime beliefs, and duties, and perils.