and her sisters!" Betty
exclaimed. "What perfect taste in her dress! She knows how to wear it,
too. What a typical, plump, self-poised Southern matron she looks. And,
oh, those darling little boys--aren't they dears! She's a Kentuckian,
too--the irony of Fate! A Southerner with a Southern wife entering the
White House and eight great Southern States seceding from the Union
because of it. It's a funny world, isn't it?"

"The South hardly claims Mr. Lincoln as a Southerner," Ned remarked
dryly.

"Claim it or not, he is," John declared, nodding toward Betty, "as truly
a Southerner as Jefferson Davis. They were both born in Kentucky almost
on the same day----"

Another ripple of excitement and the Diplomatic Corps entered with
measured stately tread, their gorgeous uniforms flashing in the sun.
They took their seats on the left of the canopy, Lord Lyons, the British
minister, seated beside the representative of the Court of France, two
men destined to play their parts in the drama of Life and Death on whose
first act the curtain of history was slowly rising.

The black-robed Supreme Court of the Republic, in cap and gown, slowly
followed and took their places on the right, opposite the Diplomatic
Corps.

The Marine band struck the first notes of the National Hymn amid a
silence whose oppressiveness could be felt. The tension of a great fear
had gripped the hearts of the crowd with icy fingers. The stoutest soul
felt its spell and was powerless to shake it off.

Was it the end of the Republic? Or the storm clouded dawn of a new and
more wonderful life? God only could tell, and there were few men present
who dared to venture a prediction.

A wave of subdued excitement rippled the throng and every eye was
focused on the procession from the Senate Chamber.

"They're coming!" Betty whispered excitedly.

The contrast between the retiring President, James Buchanan, and Abraham
Lincoln was startling even at the distance of the first view from the
platform. The man of the old era was heavy and awkward in his movements,
far advanced in years, with thin snow white hair, his pallid full face
seamed and wrinkled and his head curiously inclined to the left
shoulder. An immense white cravat like a poultice pushed his high
standing collar up to the ears. The sharp contrast of the black
swallow-tailed coat, with the dead white of cravat, collar, face and
hair, suggested the uncanny idea of a moving corpse.

With his eyes fixed