THE TRUE TEST OF LINCOLN'S STATESMANSHIP

HE man who can control other men without their realizing it is in himself great. The firm decision of gentleness has won more victories than aggressive force. The statesmen sitting in Lincoln's political family all felt that in experience and judgment they were much greater than their chief; each man was confident that he alone was the real master of the situation. Now they were advising, now threatening, now demanding. Clamor and intrigue surrounded him.

"Let the Union slide," shouted the abolitionists.

"Let the South go her way. The North can take care of itself," cried the financial powers.

"Wayward sisters, depart in peace," exclaimed the venerable patriot of two wars who was now in command of the Federal Army.

Lincoln heard the words but made no reply.

"Turn public attention immediately by waging a war with some foreign nation on some pretext or other and thus force the South to unite with the North to protect themselves against foreign invasion," advised the most distinguished member of the cabinet.

"We must change the question before the public from one upon slavery or about slavery, to one upon union or disunion," he urged. "I would demand explanations (on the Monroe Doctrine) from Spain and France, energetically, at once. . . and if not received . . . I would convene Congress and declare war against them. I would seek explanations from Great Britain and Russia, and send agents into Canada, Mexico, and Central America to arouse a vigorous spirit of continental independence."

But the man in the White House remained calm. He betrayed no emotion of anger against the insinuations nor boastful self-confidence. Whether it was to be war or peace, union or disunion, life or death, he took the fearful burden of it wholly upon his own shoulders, with the simple words that whatever the course might be: "I must do it."

"Remind the British that we have whipped them in two wars," urged the cabinet adviser, "and are ready to fight them again, and, if need be, two or three other European powers at the same time.”

Lincoln sat at his cabinet table, with his eyes looking out of the window on the soldiers that guarded the White House, as if peering into the future. "One war at a time," he said, softly. “One war at a time." Native common sense was now in contest with statesmanship.

THE STRENGTH OF LINCOLN IN A NATION'S PERIL

A

MAN must be willing to resign to the inevitable, but he must first be sure that it is the inevitable. Lincoln knew that every stroke of the hour was now moving him toward it; that there

was no human power that could resist it. All that he could now

do was to meet it with the courage and resignation of manhood.

It was on the twelfth of April in 1861-the day was Friday. Lincoln had arisen with the dawn and was sitting at his morning duties in the executive mansion when a messenger approached.

"They have fired on Fort Sumter!" he exclaimed.

The message startled the National capital and passed from city to city until it had aroused the continent and was echoing around the world. The ancient monarchies well understood its meaning.

The American Flag had been assailed; not by a foreign foe, but by its own sons. The sound of that shot was like the tap of a drum calling its people to arms. The South, inspired by its own convictions, rose in courage and cheered. The North sprang to its guns in an outburst of frenzied patriotism. The bonds of brotherhood were now severed. The whole people cried out for war.

Excited groups of statesmen gathered at the White House. Party dogmas and doctrines were forgotten. Diplomatic relations and policies were set aside. Political enemies clasped hands and pledged themselves to the service of their country.

Lincoln walked among them, grave and calm. All day long came the news of the deadly fire in the ramparts of Fort Sumter. Lincoln shook his head as he listened to the despatches that told of the brave defense of the little garrison, who for thirty-four hours stood at their post, enveloped in sheets of flame, and when they, too, faced the inevitable, marched bravely out on that Sunday afternoon with colors flying and drums beating, saluting the bullet-ridden flag of the Union with fifty guns as it was lowered from its staff.

The Confederate States of America had now proclaimed their empire. The sovereignty of the state had now been baptized by shot and shell. The last vestige of "federal despotism," as they looked upon it, was now driven from their soil and the American people stood arrayed against each other in two mighty republics, ready and waiting to lay down their lives on the fields of battle for the sake of the principles which each held more precious than life. The inevitable had come.

THE FAITH OF LINCOLN IN THE COMMON PEOPLE

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HE heart of the people has never failed to respond when duty calls it—and never will. The great army of humanity that has come down through the ages in endless procession since the world began may have seemed to waver at times under the sieges of fire, but its lines have never been known to break when standing on the battle-line of civilization.

And so it was when Lincoln called for volunteers to defend the nation's flag, and the Confederacy marshaled its sons under the new standard of the Stars and Bars. Throughout the North could be heard the tramp of marching men. Over the green plantations of the South rolled the call to arms. From village to village sounded the drumbeat of the Union. Men left their plows and laid down their tools of labor to take up arms in defense of their homes and their country, while wives and mothers prayed.

The tragedy of it all lay before the eyes of Lincoln. The flag of the Confederacy floated on the bluffs across the Potomac River in Virginia. In the streets before him were women fleeing with their children to the hills. Great wagons of ammunition and provisions thundered over the thoroughfares. Outside, at the door, he could hear the gruff voices of the soldiers barricading his home into a fortress. Office seekers and statesmen walked the corridors of the White House with muskets and revolvers. Lincoln, turning to his wife and children, urged them to flee from the city in safety. The terror-stricken woman looked into the sad face of her husband, and, clinging to his arm, whispered, "I am as safe as you. I shall never leave you here alone."

It was five o'clock in the evening on the nineteenth of April, in 1861. Lincoln stood at the window in the White House. Far down the street, he could see a great body of men moving nearer and nearer the men of the North, who had heard his call and had come to the defense of their country, dusty, torn and bleeding. On their faces was grim determination. Behind them, in single file, came seventeen stretchers bearing the wounded. Their dead they had left hehind in the streets of Baltimore, where, a few hours before, they had shed the first blood for the Union.

On came the volunteers, pouring floods of men into the national capital, until, on the Fourth of July, three hundred thousand were marching under the Stars and Stripes, and from every hill and valley throughout the land echoed the refrain: "We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!"