s glasses, drew his tall figure to its full
height, and began to read his address, his face suddenly radiant with
the poise of conscious reserve power, oblivious of crowd, ceremony,
hostility or friendship. His voice was strong, high pitched, clear,
ringing, and his articulation singularly and beautifully perfect. His
words carried to the outer edge of the vast silent throng.

Betty watched his mobile features with increasing fascination. His bushy
eyebrows and the muscles of his sensitive face moved and flashed in
sympathy with every emotion. In a countenance of such large and rugged
lines every movement spoke unusual power. The lift of an eyebrow, the
curve of the lip, the flash of the eye were gestures more eloquent than
the impassioned sweep of the ordinary orator's arm. He made no gesture
with hand or arm or the mass of his towering body. No portrait of this
man had ever been made. She had seen many pictures and not one of them
had suggested the deep, subtle, indirect expression of his
face--something that seemed to link him with the big forces of nature.

The crowd was feeling this now and men were leaning forward from their
seats on the platform. The venerable Chief Justice of the Supreme Court,
Roger B. Taney, whose clear, accurate and mercilessly logical decision
on Slavery had created the storm which swept Lincoln into power, was
watching him with bated breath, and not for an instant during the
Inaugural address did he lower his sombre eyes from the face of the
speaker.

John C. Breckenridge, the retiring Vice-President, his defeated opponent
from the Southern States, the proud Kentucky chevalier, was listening
with keen and painful intensity, his handsome cultured features pale
with the consciousness of coming tragedy.

His opening words had been reassuring to the South, but woke no response
from the silent thousands who stood before him as he went on:

"I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the
institution of Slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have
no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so."

The simplicity, directness and clearness of this statement could find no
parallel in the pompous words of his predecessors. The man was talking
in the language of the people. It was something new under the sun.

And then, with the clear ring of a trumpet, each syllable falling clean
cut and sharp with marvellous distinctness, he continued:

"I hold that the