Let Men Not Ask What

Pray Excuse Me. I Cannot Take It.

The Troops Of Other States Have Their Reputation To Gain, The Sons Of The Alamo Have Theirs To Maintain.

Your Little Army, Derided For Its Want Of Arms, Derided For Its Lack Of All The Essential Material Of War, Has Met The Grand Army Of The Enemy, Routed It At Every Point, And Now It Flies, Inglorious In Retreat Before Our Victorious Columns. We Have Taught Them A Lesson In Their Invasion Of The Sacred Soil Of Virginia.

The Time For Compromise Has Now Passed, And The South Is Determined To Maintain Her Position, And Make All Who Oppose Her Smell Southern Powder And Feel Southern Steel.

If The Confederacy Fails, There Should Be Written On Its Tombstone: Died Of A Theory.