State of Tennessee. I wrote upon log cabins, and waved coon-skins and water-gourds high and low. [Laughter.] In succeeding contests, gentlemen and ladies, I supported Taylor, Fillmore and Donelson. The last contest I was engaged in, was in the support of the Bell and Everett ticket. The tail of that ticket is now doing well enough in the State of Massachusetts. It stands erect, and carries itself majestically. But the latter end of the ticket will yet do to tie to, but as to the frontispiece—"pity the sorrows of a poor old man." [Laughter.]

One word before I progress further—upon the subject of slavery. What I have to say on that subject—all I have to say at home or abroad, I will say to you now, for, ladies and gentlemen, I have no sentiments in the South that I do not entertain when I am in the North. I have none in Cincinnati that I do not entertain when I am at home in Knoxville. [Applause.] The South, as I told them months ago, when I was surrounded by three thousand Confederate troops—the South is more to blame for the state of things that now exist than the North is. But yet, I have to say, just in this connection, that if, about two years ago, I had been authorized to collect—if I had been let hunt them up, for I know the men I would have wanted—if I had been allowed to hunt up about one or two hundred anti-slavery agitators and fanatics at the North, scattered here and there, and about an equal number of our God-forsaken, hell-deserving, corrupt secessionists and disunionists, I should have marched the whole army of them into the District of Columbia, and dug a common ditch, erected a common gallows, after embalming their bodies with gipsy weed and dog-fennel. Had this been done, I should not have been here to-night—we would have had none of the troubles which afflict the country now.

One word more upon the subject of slavery. If the issue shall be made by the South—if they are mad enough, if they are fools enough to make the issue of Slavery and no Union, or Union and no Slavery—I am for the Union. [Applause.] I have told them so at home upon the stump in my own town. I will stand by the Union until you make the issue between the Federal Union and the Christian religion; then I will back out from the Union—but for no other institution. [Applause.]

The speaker here commenced the narrative of the doings of treason in East Tennessee. About twelve months ago, he said, a stream of secession fire, as hot as hell, commenced pouring out of the Southern States in the direction of Leesburg, Richmond and Manassas, by way of Knoxville, Tennessee. Then it was that the rebel soldiery of the South, made drunk upon mean whisky, halted over night—day in and day out—in the town of Knoxville, and commenced their depredations, visiting the houses of Union men and stoning the inmates, blackguarding all whom they saw in them, male and female. His (Mr. Brownlow's) house, in Cumberland street, was more frequently visited by them than any other building in the town. At the same time he was reading, in the Mobile and South Carolina papers, that the best blood of the South had volunteered in the cause of "Southern rights." He said to his wife, "If this is the flower of the South, God deliver us from the Southern rabble."

The rebel soldiers became more and more insulting and overbearing. Finally, in the month of May, they commenced to shoot down Union men in the streets. The first man they singled out was Charles S. Douglas, a gentleman who had been conspicuous at the election as a Union man. They deliberately shot him down from the window of his house, in the day time. Mr. Brownlow was in the street at the time they made propositions to shoot down other Union men. Thinking prudence the better part of discretion, they retired from the crowd, many of them slipping into their houses quietly. But the work of murder and slaughter went on. Finally, many of the loyal men had to flee to the mountains—to the mountains of Hepsidam, if you please, said the speaker.

They remained away for several days, sleeping in the open air, and subsisting on bread and meat brought from their homes, with a quantity of game which they shot.

The rebel troops took possession of Mr. Brownlow's printing office—destroyed his press and type, and converted the building into a blacksmith shop for altering old flintlock muskets which Floyd had stolen from the Government. They were contemplating the destruction of his dwelling house, and would have accomplished it but for the timely arrival of General Zollicoffer, who, being a personal friend of the Dr.'s, set a guard around the premises, and issued an order confining the Texan troops to their camps for two days.

Retiring to Knoxville, Mr. Brownlow received a letter from Gen. George B. Crittenden, stating that he had been ordered by the Confederate Secretary of War to give him (Brownlow) a passport beyond the Confederate lines into the State of Kentucky to a Union neighborhood. Mr. Brownlow was about to accept the General's proffer, when he was arrested on a charge of treason, for writing and publishing what appeared in the Knoxville Whig as his farewell letter to his patrons and subscribers. On the 6th of December he was thrust into the Knoxville jail. He found in the jail one hundred and fifty Union men—the building crowded to overflowing. Every man confined on a charge of treason was a personal friend of Mr. Brownlow's. They ran around him in astonishment, and asked him what he was thrown into prison for. Some of them shed tears, others smiled when they saw him enter the iron gates. He told them he was under arrest for treason on a warrant just issued. He had been in jail ten or twelve days when a Confederate Brigadier General, whom he had known as an old Union man, paid him a visit. Upon entering the jail with two of his Aides he shook hands with him. The prisoners all crowded round to see the "sight." After a while the Brigadier said it was too bad to see Brownlow in such a place, and tried to impress upon the patriot's mind the propriety of his taking the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy, upon which condition he should be released immediately. Brownlow was in a good humor until that proposition was made. That stirred up the bile of his stomach. "Sir," said he to the officer, looking him full in the eye, "I will be here till I die with old age, or till I rot in prison, before I will take the oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy. You have no Government. I deny that you are authorized to administer such an oath. You have organized a big Southern mob—not a Government. You have never been recognized by any civilized Government on the face of God Almighty's earth, and you never will be. And yet you are here asking me to take the oath of allegiance to the vilest mob that was ever organized South of Mason and Dixon's line. Not wishing to be profane, nor desiring to be regarded by you in that light, permit me to conclude my remarks by saying that I will see your Southern Confederacy in the infernal regions, and you high on top of it before I will take the oath." The officer remarked that that was d—d plain talk. Mr. Brownlow replied that it was the right way to make men understand each other. The General turned upon his heel, tipped his duck-bill cap and walked off. [Applause.]

When the speaker entered the jail he found among the inmates three Baptist preachers. One of them, a Mr. Pope, 77 years of age, was charged with having prayed to the Lord to bless the President of the United States, to bless the General Government, and put an end to this