"Truly you will go down in history as a great statesman because of this, Mr. President," Lord Lyons replied, almost limp with relief that Lincoln had chosen to see reason-with Americans, you never could tell ahead of time. "And in time, the United States and the Confederate States, still having between them a common language and much common history, shall take their full and rightful places in the world, a pair of sturdy brothers."

Lincoln shook his head. "Your Excellency, with all due respect to you, I have to doubt that. The citizens of the United States want the Federal Union preserved. No matter what the Rebels did to us, we would fight on against them-if England and France weren't sticking their oar in."

"My government seeks only to bring about a just peace, recognizing the rights of both sides in this dispute," the British minister answered.

"Yes, you would say that, wouldn't you, Lord Lyons?" Lincoln said, freighting the title with a stinging load of contempt. "All the lords and sirs and dukes and earls in London and Paris must be cheering the Rebels on, laughing themselves sick to see our great democracy ground into the dirt."

"That strikes me as unfair, Mr. President," Lord Lyons said, though it wasn't altogether unfair: a large number of British aristocrats were doing exactly as Lincoln had described, seeing in the defeat of the United States a salutary warning to the lower classes in the British Isles. But he put the case as best he could: "The Duke of Argyll, for instance, sir, is among the warmest friends the United States have in England today, and many other leaders by right of birth concur in his opinions."

"Isn't that nice of 'em?" Lincoln said, his back-country accent growing stronger with his agitation. "Fact of the matter is, though, that most of your high and mighty want us cut down to size, and they're glad to see the Rebels do it. They reckon a slaveocracy's better'n no ocracy at all, isn't that right?"