Thanksgiving

17 mourning weed and cypress-wreath for the burial! Her disconsolate sisters beyond the sea were quite prepared to administer, not exactly to her relief but — upon her estate !—But blessed be the Lord God the young giantess did not die ! Presently there gleamed from that glazed eye a flash of the old fire ! There was a re-knitting of wasted sinews ! a quickening and deepening of the old vital flood the stricken one staggered to her feet again ; she breathed heaven's pure air and drank the living water, and grew strong, and walked abroad ! and her old flag floats again ! her old eagle soars ! She concluded to defer dying, at least for the present our disconsolate English cousins can not have their "wake" yet! Sir Lytton Bulwer writes glorious romances, but rather fails as a prophet! And God's hidden meaning of love in these American providences lies a little too deep even for the stupendous plummet of Earl Russell's intellect ! Blessed be God we are saved ! But how% By blood-letting!—the good old allopathic, and only infallible remedy for this plethora of avarice ! We are saved from this deadly evil of Peace, by the sharp, but smaller evil of War! The thunder of cannon in Charleston harbor broke the lethargy that was fast destroying the national life—and every true heart thanks God this day that this death-spell was broken, even by the tramp of armed men and the roar of the battle! And in emergencies like this surely even war is 2

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