hundred. And the only honest backers old Abe seems to have are about a thousand serious young fellows from the West, whom General Scott has armed as a special guard to circle the crowd."

He paused and pointed to a group of a dozen Westerners standing beside a bush in the outer rim of the throng.

"There's a bunch of them-and there's one stationed every ten yards. The artillery in position, the infantry in line, the sharpshooters masked in windows, the guard under the platform with muskets cocked, and a thousand volunteers to threaten the crowd from without, I think the new President should get a respectful hearing! The procession is coming up the Avenue now with a guard of sappers and miners packed so closely around the open carriage you can't even see the top of old Abe's head

"Let's get our seats!" Betty cried.

They had scarcely taken them when a ripple of excitement swept the crowd as every head was turned toward the aisle that led down the centre of the platform.

"Oh, it's Mrs. Lincoln and the children and her sisters!" Betty exclaimed. "What perfect taste in her dress! She knows how to wear it, too. What a typical, plump, self-poised Southern matron she looks. And, oh, those darling little boys-aren't they dears! She's a Kentuckian, too-the irony of Fate! A Southerner with a Southern wife entering the White House and eight great Southern States seceding from the Union because of it. It's a funny world, isn't it?" "The South hardly claims Mr. Lincoln as a Southerner," Ned remarked dryly.

"Claim it or not, he is," John declared, nodding toward Betty, "as truly a Southerner as Jefferson Davis. They were both born in Kentucky almost on the same day

99

Another ripple of excitement and the Diplomatic Corps entered with measured stately tread, their gorgeous uniforms flashing in the sun. They took their seats on the left of the canopy, Lord Lyons, the British minister, seated beside the representative of the Court of France, two men destined to play their parts in the drama of Life and Death on whose first act the curtain of history was slowly rising.

The black-robed Supreme Court of the Republic, in cap and gown, slowly followed and took their places on the right, opposite the Diplomatic Corps.

The Marine band struck the first notes of the National Hymn amid a silence whose oppressiveness could be felt. The tension of a great fear had gripped the hearts of the crowd with icy fingers. The stoutest soul felt its spell and was powerless to shake it off.

Was it the end of the Republic? Or the storm X clouded dawn of a new and more wonderful life? God only could tell, and there were few men present who dared to venture a prediction.

A wave of subdued excitement rippled the throng and every eye was focused on the procession from the Senate Chamber.

"They're coming!" Betty whispered excitedly.

The contrast between the retiring President, James Buchanan, and Abraham Lincoln was startling even at the distance of the first view from the platform. The man of the old era was heavy and awkward in his movements, far advanced in years, with thin snow

white hair, his pallid full face seamed and wrinkled and his head curiously inclined to the left shoulder. An immense white cravat like a poultice pushed his high standing collar up to the ears. The sharp contrast of the black swallow-tailed coat, with the dead white of cravat, collar, face and hair, suggested the uncanny idea of a moving corpse.

With his eyes fixed on Buchanan, John suddenly exclaimed:

"A man who's dead and don't know it!""

Only for a moment did the actual President hold the eye. The man of the hour loomed large at the head of the procession and instantly fixed the attention of every man and woman within the range of vision. His giant figure seemed to tower more than a foot above his surroundings. Everything about him was large an immense head, crowned with thick shock of coarse black hair, his strong jaws rimmed with bristling new whiskers, long arms and longer legs, large hands, big features, every movement quick and powerful. The first impression was one of enormous strength. He looked every inch the stalwart backwoods athlete, capable of all the feats of physical strength campaign stories had credited to his record. One glance at his magnificent frame and no one doubted the boast of his admirers that he could lift a thousand pounds, five hundred in each hand, or bend an iron poker by striking it across the muscle of his arm.

As he reached the speaker's stand beneath the crowded canopy, there was an instant's awkward pause. In his new immaculate dress suit with black satin vest, shining silk hat and gold-headed cane, he seemed a little ill at ease. He looked in vain for a place to

put his hat and cane and finally found a corner of the railing against which to lean the stick, but there seemed no place left for his new hat. Senator Stephen A. Douglas, his defeated Northern opponent for the Presi-* dency, with a friendly smile, took it from his hands. As Douglas slipped gracefully back to his seat, he whispered to the lady beside him:

"If I can't be President, at least I can hold his hat!"

The simple, but significant, act of courtesy from the great leader of the Northern Democracy was not lost on the new Chief Magistrate. He could hardly believe what his eyes had seen at first, and then he smiled. Instantly the rugged features were transformed and his whole being was lighted with a strange soft radiance whose warmth was contagious.

Betty's eyes were dancing with excitement. "He's not ugly at all!" she whispered. Ned softly laughed:

"He certainly is not a beauty?"

"Who expects beauty in a real man?" she answered, with a touch of scorn. And Ned shot a look of inquiry at John's handsome face. But the older brother was too intent on the drama before him to notice. The editor's eyes were riveted on the new President, studying every detail of his impressive personality. He had never seen him before and was trying to form a just and accurate judgment of his character. Beyond a doubt he was big physically-this impression was overwhelming everything large-the head with its high crown of skull and thick, bushy hair, deep cavernous eyes, heavy eyebrows which moved in quick sympathy with every emotion, large nose, large ears,

large mouth, large, thick under lip, very high cheek bones, massive jaw bones with upturned chin, a sinewy long neck, long arms, and large hands, long legs, and big feet. A giant physically-and yet somehow he gave the impression of excessive gauntness and about his face there dwelt a strange impression of sadness and spiritual anguish. The hollowness of his cheeks accented by his swarthy complexion emphasized this.

The crowd had recognized him instantly, but without the slightest applause. The silence was intense, oppressive, painful. John glanced up and saw the huge figure of Senator Wigfall, of Texas, looking down on the scene from the base of one of the white columns of the central façade. He waved his arm defiantly and laughed. His presence in the Senate after all his associates had withdrawn was the subject of keen speculation. He was believed to be a spy of the Confederate Government. He had asked General Scott, half in jest, if he would dare to arrest a Senator of the United States for treason. The answer was significant of the times. Looking the Senator straight in the eye the old hero slowly said:

"No-I'd blow him to hell!"

Evidently the Senator was not as yet unduly alarmed. His expression of triumphant contempt for the evident lack of enthusiasm could not be mistaken. When John Vaughan recalled the confusion in the ranks of the triumphant party he knew that the Senator's scorn would be redoubled if he but knew half the truth. Again he turned toward the tall, lonely man with sinking heart.

The ceremony moved swiftly. The silence was too oppressive to admit delay. Senator Baker, of Oregon,