Here crashed a sturdy oath of stout John Bull, Who damned away his eyes as heretofore; There Paddy brogued “By Jasus!”—“What’s your Wull?” The temperate Scot exclaimed; the French Ghost swore In certain terms I shan’t translate in full, As the first Coachman will; and midst the roar The voice of Jonathan was heard to express, “Our president is going to war, I guess.”

He doesn't want to go out on a limb, but he really should give it a try.

Preparations for the president's arrival made for a frenzied week.

Let us bless him as we see acts of friends or foes to him and his children, proclamations and repudiations, orders and countermandings, motions of loyalty and rebellion, all providentially arranging themselves as so many onward steps […]