d the carriage." Sir, we of the South don't understand your women's-rights conventions. Women have their wrongs. "The Song of the Shirt,"--Charlotte Elizabeth,--many, many laws,--tell her wrongs. But your convention ladies despise the Bible. Yes, sir; and we of the South are afraid _of them_, and for you. When women despise the Bible, what next? _Paris,--then the City of the Great Salt Lake,--then Sodom, before_ and after the Dead Sea. Oh, sir, if slavery tends in any way to give the honour of chivalry to Southern young gentlemen towards ladies, and the exquisite delicacy and heavenly integrity and love to Southern maid and matron, it has then a glorious blessing with its curse.
Sir, your inquisitorial committee, and the North so far as represented by them, (a small fraction, I know,) have, I take it, caught a Tartar this time. Boys say with us, and everywhere, I _reckon_, "You worry my dog, and I'll worry your cat." Sir, it is just simply a _fixed fact: the South will not submit
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