Take the case of Andy Johnson. He is a man against whom I have fought for twenty-five years with all my might, pouring hot shot into him continually, both on the stump and through the columns of my paper, and he in turn giving me as good as I sent. He and I are to-day upon the most amicable terms. We, the people of East Tennessee, have merged every other issue into this great issue of the Union. (Loud applause.) You ought to do so in Indiana. You should never touch one of your aspiring politicians with a ten-foot pole unless he is totally and unconditionally opposed to this infernal rebellion. Where would I see a man who is base enough to sympathise with secession before I would vote for him for office? I would send him where, in the language of Milton, "Cold performs the effect of fire," or, as Pollock says, "Where gravitation, shifting, turns the other way, And sends him _Hellwards_." They drove Johnson's wife, far gone with consumption, and very feeble, to take refuge with her son-in-law in the adjoining county of Carter. They drove him into the woods, where he remained no less than three months, used his house and his beds for a hospital, and sold his goods at public sale. But the scale has turned. Andrew Johnson is now Governor. He is "the right man in the right place." If President Lincoln had consulted the Union men of Tennessee as to what man should occupy that position, the reply would have been almost unanimously, "give us Andy Johnson." He has the unflinching courage of Old Hickory, and let me tell you, too, that he feels all the malice and venom requisite for the occasion. He will row those wretches up Salt River. He will send a good many of them to Fort Warren, where, I trust, after due trial for treason, they will be hung upon a gallows of similar character and dimensions to that upon which Haman hung. When, upon the 6th of November, they thrust me into jail at Knoxville, I found one hundred and fifty men whose sole offence was their faithfulness to the Union. Every man among them was an acquaintance of mine. Three of them were Baptist preachers. One of these three, old man Pope, a man seventy years of age, and for many years a Minister of the Gospel, was thrown into jail for praying, previously to his sermon, for the blessing of God upon the President of the United States. The Rev. Mr. Kates, a man about seventy-five years old, was imprisoned for throwing up his cap and hallooing as a company of Union Home Guards was passing. When I entered the door the inmates of the prison were perfectly astonished. Some of them were so overpowered by the nature of the circumstances, that they could hardly speak. "O," said they, "we never expected to come to this. We never expected the day would come when we would look through the iron grates of a prison!"