ew feebler.

Reared in a religious atmosphere, Grant's nature was essentially moral
and religious. He possessed all the big essential virtues--honesty,
justice, truth, honour, good will. He loved the truth. He felt that he
had done what he could. Southern soldiers and generals as well as
Northern comrades and friends brought to his bedside messages of
affection and good cheer. At length he fell asleep. His tomb on the
height above the Hudson has become a Mecca for innumerable multitudes.

To the end of time, perhaps, Lincoln will be remembered as the Martyr
President, the best loved of all our leaders, the great Emancipator, the
gentlest memory of our world; but side by side with Lincoln will stand
Grant, the man of oak and rock, the man of iron will, who fought the war
to a successful issue, and will be known in history as the greatest
soldier of the Republic.

XI

THE LIFE OF THE PEOPLE AT HOME WHO SUPPORTED THE SOLDIERS AT THE FRONT

It is a proverb that nothing moves men like tales of eloquence and
heroism. Historians and poets alike believe that stories of bravery and
anecdotes of heroes exert a profound influence upon young hearts. Here
is Socrates. His judges condemn him to the jail and poison. Socrates
quails not, and says: "At what price would one not estimate one night of
noble conference with Homer and Hesiod? You, my judges, go home to your
banquets--I to hemlock and death; but whether it is better for you than
for me, God knoweth." It is a moving story. Here is the early missionary
martyr, fettered and brought before a cruel tyrant, to be condemned to
death. The missionary lifts his chains, calls the roll of the king's
crimes, flashes the sword of justice, coerces the monarch from his
throne, makes him crawl, beg, plead, and beseech the missionary's pity
and prayers, for speech has made a prisoner king, and turned a monarch
into a captive. It is a moving tale. And here are the stories of war:
Xenophon's ten thousand young Greeks, lost in the heart of the great
nation, a thousand miles from home, without maps, without food,
outnumbered daily ten to one, living off the country, fighting all day,
surrounded by a fresh army each night, steadily pursuing their famous
retreat. See, too, the handful at Thermopylae, defending the Pass, and
every one of them giving his life. And here are the Dutch, driven by the
Bloody Alva into the North Sea, clinging to the dykes by their
finger-tips, and fighting the