llers were knocking at the door-the negro, the poor white, the w

e the spirit of patience, self-restraint and hope marked the life of the men who had made the most terrible soldiery. They were glad to be done with war, and have the opportunity to rebuild their broken fortu

f whose battle cry yet thrills the world, transformed in a month int

has no pit dark enough, and no damnation deep enough for t

, banks closed, every dollar of money worthless paper, the country plundered by victorious armies, its cities, mills and homes burned, and the flower of its manhood buried in nameless trenches, or worse still, flung upon the charity of poverty, maimed wrecks. The task of organising this wrecked society and marshalling into efficient citizenship this host

an was simple, broad and statesmanlike, and its spirit breathed Fraternity and union with malice toward none and charity toward all. It declared what Lincoln had always taught, that the union w

g, was a writer of brilliant and forceful style. Before the war, a virulent Secessionist leader, he had justified and upheld slavery, and had written a volume of poems dedicated to John C. Calhoun. He had led the movement for Secession in the Convention which passed the ordinance. But when he saw his ship was sinking, he turned his back upon the "errors" of the past, professed the most loyal union sentiments, wormed himself

w pretense, grieved for their great leader, who was now locke

sharpened his wits and his pen, and b

and South, who had not met their foe in battle. Their day had come. The

jority. At the election only the men who had voted under the old regime were allowed to vote. The Preacher had not appeared on the hustings as a speaker