Grant was solemnly in earnest. He was inspired with one great thought--the putting down of the Rebellion. His predecessors had indulged in showy reviews; balls and parties had enlivened the tedium of the waiting hours in the camp; and beauty's flashing eye had gladdened the heart of the soldier. In accordance with the traditions of the army, the ladies waited upon Lieutenant General Grant, and suggested a ball as a fitting festivity in connection with the grand review of the army of the Potomac which was proposed. Gently, but firmly, he objected, and declared that "this thing must be stopped." He was not opposed to reasonable pleasures at suitable times, but he pointed out to them the condition of the country in the throes of a death-struggle with treason, and insisted that it was no time for festivities among the army officers. He spoke of the wounded and the dying in the hospitals, and manifested such a simple and genuine sensibility, that the ladies, who were true at heart, promptly abandoned the project. The grand review took place; yet it was not a holiday show, but a means of acquainting the general with the material of the army which was now to do the principal work in suppressing the Rebellion. It was a splendid army which marched in column before him, and the heart of the great commander was strengthened by the display, not of gilt and feathers, but of numbers, of muscle, of courage. Although in the spring of 1864 the Rebellion had been cut in two, the sundered parts, like the fabled reptile, were still vital. The Confederacy had been weakened, but by no means overpowered. Its supplies of food had been greatly reduced, but still it maintained large armies in the field. The South, nominally struggling for what it was pleased to call liberty, was the most absolute despotism on the face of the earth, and every energy and resource of the people, willing or unwilling, was turned into the channel of its defence. "The cradle and the grave were robbed" to recruit its armies. Terrible reverses had befallen the rebel arms, and perhaps impaired the faith of the Southern people in ultimate success; but their spirit was not broken, and still they howled about the "last ditch." Misfortune, instead of bringing thoughts of submission and peace, brought desperation, a mad and fanatical zeal, like that of a band of pirates who fight tenfold more savagely to escape the halter than to win a prize. Ill success, so far from moderating the fury of the rebel soldiers, transformed them into reckless zealots, more dangerous than ever before in the path of an army of civilized men. This is not a theory deduced from the insane protestations of rebel brawlers and newspaper writers, but from the conduct of rebel soldiers on the battle-field; a truth derived from The Wilderness, Cold Harbor, and Petersburg, not from Jeff. Davis and his co-rebel declaimers.