was a greater man than he was before he despatched his famous ultimatum to Great Britain.  His old-time friends supported him even more faithfully than before hostilities began, and his political energies of other days became the might of his right arm.  Those who opposed him most bitterly and unremittingly when it was a campaign between the Progressive and Conservative parties were most eager to listen to his counsels and to stand by his side when their country’s hour of darkness had arrived.  Not a word of censure for him was heard anywhere; on the contrary, every one praised him for opposing Great Britain so firmly, and prayed that his life might be spared until their dream of absolute independence was realised.

Sir Charles Dilke once related a conversation he had with Bismarck concerning Paul Kruger.  “Cavour was much smarter, more clever, more diplomatically gifted than I,” said the Prince, “but there is a much stronger, much abler man than Cavour or I, and that man is President Kruger.  He has no gigantic army behind him, no great empire to support him.  He stands alone with a small peasant people, and is a match for us by mere force of genius.  I spoke to him—­he drove me into a corner.”  Kruger’s great ability, as delineated by Bismarck, was indisputable, and a man with less of it might have been President and might have avoided the war, but only at a loss to national interests.  The President had one aim and one goal, his country’s independence, and all the force of his genius was directed toward the attainment of that end.  He tried to secure his country’s total independence by peaceable means, but he had planted the seed of that desire so deeply in the minds of his countrymen that when it sprouted they overwhelmed him and he was driven into war against his will.  Kruger would not have displaced diplomacy with the sword, but his burghers felt that peaceful methods of securing their independence were of no avail, and he was powerless to resist their wishes.  He did not lead the Boers into war; they insisted that only war would give to them the relief they desired, and he followed under their leadership.  When the meetings of the Volksraad immediately preceding the war were held, it was not Paul Kruger who called for war; it was the representatives of the burghers, who had been instructed by their constituents to act in such a manner.  When the President saw that his people had determined to have war, he was leader enough to make plans which might bring the conflict to a successful conclusion, and he chose a moment for making a declaration that he considered opportune.  The ultimatum was decided upon eleven days before it was actually despatched, but it was delayed eight days on account of the Free State’s unpreparedness.  Kruger realised the importance of striking the first blow at an enemy which was not prepared to resist it, and the Free State’s tardiness at such a grave crisis was decidedly unpleasant to him.  Then, when the Free State was ready to mobilise, the President secured another delay of three days in order that diplomacy might have one more chance.  His genius had not enabled him to realise the dream of his life without a recourse to war, and when the ultimatum was delivered into the hands of the British the old man wept.