ere will be no bloodshed
unless it is forced upon the government. The government will not use
force unless force is used against it."

The two ideas underlying this utterance had grown in his thought
steadily, consistently, ever since their first appearance in the Protest
twenty-four years previous. The great issue to which all else--slavery,
"dominion status," everything--was subservient, was the preservation of
democratic institutions; the means to that end was the preservation of
the Federal government. Now, as in 1852, his paramount object was not
to "disappoint the Liberal party throughout the world," to prove that
Democracy, when applied on a great scale, had yet sufficient coherence
to remain intact, no matter how powerful, nor how plausible, were the
forces of disintegration.

Dominated by this purpose he came to Washington. There he met Seward. It
was the stroke of fate for both men. Seward, indeed, did not know that
it was. He was still firmly based in the delusion that he, not Lincoln,
was the genius of the hour. And he had this excuse, that it was also the
country's delusion. There was pretty general belief both among friends
and foes that Lincoln would be ruled by his Cabinet. In a council that
was certain to include leaders of accepted influence--Seward, Chase,
Cameron--what chance for this untried newcomer, whose prestige had been
reared not on managing men, but on uttering words? In Seward's
thoughts the answer was as inevitable as the table of addition. Equally
mathematical was the conclusion that only one unit gave value to the
combination. And, of course, the leader of the Republicans in the Senate
was the unit. A severe experience had to be lived through before Seward
made his peace with destiny. Lincoln was the quicker to perceive when
they came together that something had happened. Almost from the minute
of their meeting, he began to lean upon Seward; but only in a certain
way. This was not the same thing as that yielding to the practical
advisers which began at Philadelphia, which was subsequently to be the
cause of so much confusion. His response to Seward was intellectual. It
was of the inner man and revealed itself in his style of writing.

Hitherto, Lincoln's progress in literature had been marked by the
development of two characteristics and by the lack of a third. The two
that he possessed were taste and rhythm. At the start he was free from
the prevalent vice of his time, rhetoricality. H