In that moment, he was the incarnate Soul of the
South. The Chieftain of the men who wore the gray in this hour of solemn
trial, stood before them with countenance like the lightning. Cheer on
cheer rose and fell with throbbing passion.
A smile of strange prophetic sweetness lighted his pale haggard face.
The ovation he received was the sure promise to his tired soul that when
the passions and prejudices, the agony and madness of war had passed the
people would understand all he had tried to do in their service. In that
moment of divine illumination he saw his place in the hearts of his
countrymen and was content.
He spoke with even restrained flow of words, with a mastery of himself
and his audience that is the mark of the orator of the highest genius.
His gestures were few. His low, vibrant, musical voice found the heart
of his farthest listener. He swayed them with indescribable passion.
Into the faces of the foe who had demanded unconditional surrender he
hurled the defiance of an unconquered and unconquerable soul. He closed
with an historical illustration which lifted his audience to the highest
reach of emotion. Kossuth had abandoned Hungary with an army of thirty
thousand men in the field. The friends of liberty had never forgiven nor
could forgive this betrayal.
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