he wanted.  Lincoln’s anxieties of course remained, and he watched eagerly for news, and was seen often at the war department till late at night, waiting to learn what Grant was doing; but Grant was left with the whole military responsibility, because he was evidently competent for it; the relief to Lincoln must have been immense.  The history of the war, from this time, belongs to the life of Grant rather than of Lincoln.  Suggestions to that successful soldier from civilians now were like those of the Dutch Deputies when they undertook to lecture the great Marlborough on the art of war.  To bring the war to a speedy close required the brain and the will and the energy of a military genius, and the rapid and concentrated efforts of veteran soldiers, disciplined by experience, and inured to the toils and dangers of war.

The only great obstacle was the difficulty of enlisting men in what was now more than ever to be dangerous work.  When Grant began his march to Richmond probably half-a-million of soldiers had perished on each side, and a national debt had been contracted of over two thousand millions of dollars.  In spite of patriotic calls, in spite of bounties, it became necessary to draft men into the service,—­a compulsory act of power to be justified only by the exigencies of the country.  In no other way could the requisite number of troops be secured.  Multitudes of the survivors have been subsequently rewarded, at least partially, by pensions.  The pension list, at the close of Harrison’s administration in 1892, amounted to a sum greater than Germany annually expends on its gigantic army.  So far as the pensioners are genuinely disabled veterans, the people make no complaint, appreciating the sacrifices which the soldiers were compelled to make in the dreadful contest.  But so vast a fund for distribution attracted the inevitable horde of small lawyers and pension agents, who swelled the lists with multitudes of sham veterans and able-bodied “cripples,” until many eminent ex-soldiers cried out for a purgation of that which should be a list of honor.

Nor is it disloyal or unpatriotic to shed a tear for the brave but misguided men whom the Southern leaders led to destruction without any such recompense for their wounds and hardships,—­for the loss of their property, loss of military prestige, loss of political power, loss of everything but honor.  At first we called them Rebels, and no penalties were deemed too severe for them to suffer; but later we called them Confederates, waging war for a cause which they honestly deemed sacred, and for which they cheerfully offered up their lives,—­a monstrous delusion, indeed, but one for which we ceased to curse them, and soon learned to forgive, after their cause was lost.  Resentment gave place to pity, and they became like erring brothers, whom it was our duty to forgive, and in many respects our impulse to admire,—­not for their cause, but for their devotion to it.  All this was foreseen and foretold by Edward Everett during the war, yet there were but few who agreed with him.