Sabbath, Nov. 30, 1862

So ends of the autumn of 1862.  Rebellion still uncrushed and boasting itself of Northern Democratic sympathizers.  The national heart bleeds and tears flow from the eyes of thousands of mourners who weep for the beloved ones who will return no more.  What further miseries are still in store God only knows.  France threatens intervention and is trying to draw all Europe into the measure.  With southern rebels and northern traitors at home, and all Europe down upon us we do seem to be a God forsaken people.  Gloom and darkness envelope the land.  The people have offered themselves willingly but "cui bono"?  More than a million loyal men bear arms in this land today, but where are the leaders?  Shame and confusion of face is ours in view of the imbecility and treachery of those who like McClellan and Buell and a host of others have failed us in our hour of need.