Come what may of the Slave State rebellion, one point it has already established—that the high-bred and chivalrous “Southron” of whom we have all heard so much, and read so much, and seen so little, is an absolute and universal humbug. This long-haired model of good breeding and honor has been held up before us on all occasions—when we have engaged in trade, or tried to collect our dues, or tilled our fields, or objected to being tarred-and-feathered, or claimed any portion of our constitutional rights, or intimated that we should like to elect our own rulers. Compelled, as we of the North nearly all are and have been, to earn our bread by our own labor—to struggle with a Siberian climate on the one hand, and with a sharp competition on the other—it could not reasonably be expected that we should exhibit all the grace and polish of a courtly and imperial race fed by the labor of slaves, and able to devote an elegant leisure to self-culture. Constantly reminded of our inferiority, we came at last to recognize the superiority of the Southron. He made laws for us, and unmade them, at will. Compromises were binding only on us; he could violate them at pleasure. We built great war vessels—armed them—manned them,—and then, with a commendable distrust of Northern ability, gave up the command to the ruling caste. The cavalier got drunk and beat his quadroon concubine; and we looked upon the act as somewhat strange, but as inseparable from the very highest refinement. He swore on the way home from church; and we thought that never did blasphemy sound so harmless before. He left his hotel bill unpaid; and the patronised and admiring landlord set it down as an established custom with distinguished men.

It is perhaps worthy of a passing notice, that some obstinate Northern fanatics refused to concede the superiority of the Southron, and would persist in talking about Free Labor, Liberty of Speech, and the Rights of Man. They even denied that there was any evidence of true manliness or superior culture in the long-haired, loose-jointed, strangely-clad person with pea-green gloves and superabundant watchchain, who wrote his name on hotel registers or college records as a native of the Sunny South; they insisted that the sallow face, the languid manner, and the love of ease, were proofs that he had become familiar with all the vices of maturity before he was fit to leave the nursery; and they scoffingly pointed to his smattering of foreign dialects, and his ignorance of the geography of his own country. In the rude men whom they met in Washington—armed like assassins, dressed like outlaws, with the air of ruffians, speaking the language of blackguards, arguing after the fashion of pirates, rioting, drinking, incessantly chewing tobacco—they failed to recognize the greatest statesmen of the age, whose learning and refinement had so often put Northern ignorance and awkwardness to the blush. But aside from these bold and dangerous fanatics, our people had, as a general rule, quite resignedly come to the conclusion that they had themselves no manners, no cultivation, no sense of honor, and that the noble Southron had all three.

What a change has four months wrought in the public sentiment of the North! The conduct of the “noble Southron” in the cabinet, in the army, in the navy, filled our people at first with astonishment, next with shame, then with anger, followed by disgust and abhorrence, and by a strong conviction that they had been deceived and bullied by a humbug and a cheat. A Southron was Secretary of War [Secretary of the Treasury?]. With a deliberate and circumstantial villainy unknown in the previous history or traditions of men, he robbed, wasted, and destroyed the public treasure and resources, in order to smooth the way for treason, and then cast himself upon the bosom of his beautiful and virtuous South. Another Southron was Secretary of War. He literally disarmed the loyal North, and bared its throat to the knife of the rebel South. Another was Secretary of the Interior. He held his commission, affected loyalty, and all the while acted the part of a spy and emissary for the traitors. This man now goes about boasting of his shame. A majority of the Southrons in the last Congress were perjured traitors, who, while they swore allegiance to the Constitution, did all in their power to insure its speedy overthrow—telegraphed false dispatches and treasonable advice to the South—enjoined the necessity of attacking the Government, and in their seats whined about coercion.

But it was reserved for the Southrons in the army and navy to show how low it is possible for man to descend in infamy. Never before was the military character so disgraced. A white-headed old man—for fifty years petted by an indulgent country—heads the role of shame. And then comes a startling list of captains and lieutenants. They surrendered vessels; they opened the gates of fortresses to worse than common enemies of their country; they bound themselves by solemn oaths to convey private government dispatches to exposed points, and revealed the contents to the rebels; they resigned, they surrendered without fighting, they deserted; they brought sorrow upon their country, disgrace upon their profession, and then went among their confederates and fairly wallowed in their own shame. Never was treachery more infamous, more unpardonable, or more general. One wretch, who had been excused from service on the ground of illness, was so far restored to health by the inspiration of treason, that he led an attack on a navy yard which he had pledged his sacred honor to defend. Another, after notifying the rebels that they must attack his post immediately in order to take it, as he was in expectation daily of being re-inforced and superceded, hauled down the national flag with his own hands and cast it into the midst of a drunken rabble, where it was spat upon, trampled in the dirt, and torn in pieces. And all of these scoundrels, save Twiggs, have been promoted by the rebel junto. We expected to find this type of the Southron both vain and overbearing; but we feel ashamed for our country’s sake to find him a perjured sneak; and we feel still more ashamed that his infamy is openly approved by the exponents of Southern public sentiment.