All that was required among the Southern people, for the initiation of this gigantic rebellion, was some universal animating idea, capable of binding them together in unanimous accord, imparting the necessary force and velocity in the direction of treason, when started and impelled by the efforts of their leading men. Slavery was just such a principle; it was the gravitating power which hurled them down the precipice, and gave the tremendous impetus of ruin which they have exerted in their awful descent. But, in truth, this mischievous power has been accumulating ever since the Government was founded. It grew out of the antecedents of existing society; and the present generation is not wholly responsible for it. The misfortunes of our fathers, their omissions and errors as well as ours, have left this fatal legacy to descend into our hands. We may not have dealt with it wisely, but assuredly the framers of the Constitution did not intend slavery to be perpetual, nor did they provide for it the power to overthrow the Government. ON GUARD. In the black terror-night, On yon mist-shrouded hill, Slowly, with footstep light, Stealthy, and grim, and still, Like ghost in winding sheet Risen at midnight bell, Over his lonely beat Marches the sentinel! In storm-defying cloak-- Hand on his trusty gun-- Heart, like a heart of oak-- Eye, never-setting sun; Speaks but the challenge-shout, All foes without the line, Heeds but, to solve the doubt, Watchword and countersign. Camp-ward, the watchfires gleam Beacon-like in the gloom; Round them his comrades dream Pictures of youth and home. While in his heart the bright Hope-fires shine everywhere, In love's enchanting light Memory lies dreaming there. Faint, through the silence come From the foes' grim array, Growl of impatient dram Eager for morrow's fray; Echo of song and shout, Curse and carousal glee, As in a fiendish rout Demons at revelry. Close, in the gloomy shade-- Danger lurks ever nigh-- Grasping his dagger-blade Crouches th' assassin spy; Shrinks at the guardman's tread, Quails 'fore his gleaming eyes, Creeps back with baffled hate, Cursing his cowardice. Naught can beguile his bold Unsleeping vigilance; E'en in the fireflame, old Visions unheeded dance. Fearless of lurking spy, Scornful of wassail-swell, With an undaunted eye Marches the sentinel. Low, to his trusty gun Eagerly whispers he, 'Wait, with the morning sun March we to victory. Fools, into Satan's clutch Leaping ere dawn of day: He who would fight must watch, He who would win must pray.'