In this whirlpool of political turmoil rebellion had time to grow and thrive in its southern strongholds, for its imminence could not be forced upon the cool consideration of a people whose traditions had so long been those of prosperous peace. The idea of a civil war, in which thousands on thousands of brave Americans would redden the soil but just denuded of its primeval timber, was an idea so horrible that the most iron-hearted man failed to recognize it as a possibility. That the revolt of these Southern States would in less than a year fill the whole length and breadth of the land with widows and orphans—that American brothers could ever be brought to stand face to face in mortal strife as they have done—that women, so lately looked on with love and reverence, should grow coarse and fiendish from a scent of kindred blood, mocking at the dead and sending victims into a death-snare by their smiles, alas! alas! who could have foreseen it? The very angels of Heaven must have turned away from the suggestion in unbelief. Never on the face of the earth has a war so terrible been waged on so little cause. The French Revolution—whose atrocities we have not yet emulated, thank God—was the frenzied outbreak of a nation trodden under foot and writhing in the grasp of tyranny such as no American ever dreamed of. If the people became fiends in their revenge, it was the outgrowth of fearful wrongs. But where is the man North or South in our land who had been subject to tyranny or aggression from its government when this war commenced? No wonder the government looked upon the rebellion with forbearance. No wonder it waited for the sober second thought which it was hoped would bring its leaders back to the old flag, under which the contending parties might reason together. But no, the first step, which ever counts most fatally, was taken, and every footprint that followed it is now red with American blood. A month passed. President Lincoln was in the White House, besieged by office-seekers almost as closely as Major Anderson was surrounded in Fort Sumter. Ambassadors, consuls, postmasters, collectors, and all the host of placemen that belong to the machinery of a great nation, made their camping ground in Washington, and their point of attack the White House. But amid all this excitement, great national events would force themselves into consideration. News that Jefferson Davis was mustering troops, and that rebellion was making steady strides in the disaffected States, broke through the turmoil of political struggles.