ss on the State of the Country by
saying:

"Virginia, instead of clothing herself in sheep's wool, had better don
her appropriate garb of sackcloth and ashes!"

The nation was already at war before Abraham Lincoln left Springfield
for Washington to take his seat as President. It was deemed wise that he
should enter the city practically in disguise.

In vain the great heart that beat within his lonely breast tried to stem
the Red Tide in his first inaugural. With infinite pathos he turned
toward the South and spoke his words of peace, reconciliation and
assurance:

"I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the
institution of Slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have
no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so."

His closing sentences were spoken with his deep eyes swimming in tears.

"I am loath to close. We are not enemies but friends. We must not be
enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds
of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every
battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone all
over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again
touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

The noblest men of North and South joined with the new President,
pleading for peace. They knew by the light of reason that a war of
brothers would be a wanton crime. They proved by irresistible logic that
every issue dividing the nation could be settled at the Council Table.

They pleaded in vain. They pitched straws against a hurricane. From the
deep, subconscious nature of man, the lair of the beast, came only the
growl of challenge to mortal combat.

The new President is but a leaf tossed by the wind. The Union of which
our fathers dreamed is rent in twain. With tumult and shout, the armies
gather, blue and gray, brother against brother. A madman's soul now
rides the storm and leads the serried lines as they sweep to the red
rendezvous with Death.

CHAPTER XXXVI

A little mother with a laughing boy two years old and baby in her arms
was awaiting at a crowded hotel in Washington the coming of her father
from the Western plains. Her men were going in opposite directions in
these tragic days that were trying the souls of men. Colonel Phillip
St. George Cooke was a Virginian. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart was a
Virginian. The soul of the little mother was worn out