ndoning
their posts and leaving a junior officer to capitulate in their stead.
Certainly the action of these generals at Donelson was somewhat
irregular in a strictly military view. But the people argued that they
had done all that in them lay; that they had fought nobly until
convinced that it was futile; that they had brought off five thousand
effective men, who, but for that very irregularity, would have been
lost to the army of the West; and, finally, that General Johnston had
approved, if not that one act, at least their tried courage and
devotion.

Still, Mr. Davis remained firm, and--as was his invariable custom in
such cases--took not the least note of the popular discontent. And
still the people murmured more loudly, and declared him an autocrat,
and his cabinet a bench of imbeciles.

Thus, in a season of gloom pierced by no ray of light; with the enemy,
elated by victory, pressing upon contracting frontiers; with discontent
and division gnawing at the heart of the cause--the "Permanent
Government" was ushered in.

The 22d of February looked dark and dismal enough to depress still more
the morbid sensibilities of the people. A deluge of rain flooded the
city, rushed through the gutters in small rivers, and drenched the
crowds assembled in Capitol Square to witness the inauguration.

In the heaviest burst of the storm, Mr. Davis took the oath of office
at the base of the Washington statue; and there was something in his
mien--something solemn in the surroundings and the associations of his
high place and his past endeavor--that, for the moment, raised him in
the eyes of the people, high above party spite and personal prejudice.

An involuntary murmur of admiration, not loud but heart-deep, broke
from the crowds who thronged the drenched walks; and every foot of
space on the roof, windows and steps of the Capitol. As it died, Mr.
Davis spoke to the people.

He told them that the fortunes of the South, clouded and dim as they
looked to-day, must yet rise from the might of her united people, to
shine out as bright and glorious as to-morrow's sun.

It was singularly characteristic of the man, that even then he made no
explanation of the course he had seen fit to take--no excuses for
seeming harshness--no pledge of future yielding to any will but his
own. The simple words he spoke were wholly impersonal; firm declaration
that he would bend the future to his purpose; calm and solemn iteration
of abiding faith