I start, of course, with the assumption, in which you will all unite, that this war must be brought to a close. It must not be allowed to drag its slow length along, bloody, and fruitless except with death. Lives enough have been sacrificed, graves enough have been filled, homes enough have been emptied, patriot soldiers enough have been sent back halt and maimed with one leg or one arm, tears enough have been shed. Nor is this all; treasure enough has been expended. It is common to think only of the national debt, now swelling to unnatural proportions; but this will be small by the side of the fearful sum-total of loss from destruction of property, derangement of business, and change of productive to unproductive industry. Even if we do not accept the conclusions of an ingenious calculator who places this damage at ten thousand millions of dollars, we must confess that it is an immensity, which, like the numbers representing sidereal distances, the imagination refuses to grasp. To stop this infinity of waste there must be peace; to stop this cruel slaughter there must be peace. In the old wars between King and Parliament, which rent England, the generous Falkland cried from his soul, “_Peace! peace!_” and history gratefully records his words. Never did he utter this cry with more earnestness than I do now. But how shall the blessing be secured?
I start with the further assumption, that there can be no separation of these States. Foreign nations may predict what Rebels threaten, but this result is now impossible. Pray, good Sirs, where will you run the boundary line? Shall it be the cotton limit? Shall it embrace Virginia in whole or part? How about Tennessee? Kentucky? Or shall it be the most natural line of cleavage, the slave line? And how will you adjust the navigation of the Mississippi, and the whole question of Slavery? And what principles, commercial and political, shall be established between the two Governments? But do not deceive yourselves into the idea that peace founded on separation can be anything but a delusion and a snare. Separation is interminable war, “never ending, still beginning,”--worse than the forays which ravaged the Scottish border, or the Tartar invasions which harassed China until its famous wall was built, fifteen hundred miles long, and so thick that six horsemen ride upon it abreast. War will be chronic, and we must all sleep on our arms. Better that it be all at once, rather than diffused over a generation. If blood must be shed, better for a year than for an age.