Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy, deserves better treatment than history has accorded him. The years have not been kind to his memory for two reasons: 1) he led the losing side; 2) when compared to his Northern counterpart, Lincoln, Davis left much to be desired in both personality and statesmanship. Unlike Lincoln, Davis was handsome, well-educated, and experienced in political and military affairs. However, he lacked administrative skill. He tried to do all of the government’s work—and he was a slow worker. Worst of all, Davis was never able to gain the affection of his people in a degree remotely approaching the love heaped on Lincoln by the North. Yet Davis did his best in an impossible job. He was harassed and criticized by jealous governors, independent generals, an apathetic vice-president, and a Confederate Congress more noted for constant arguing than for constructive activity. Ever-present from without was an enemy that heavily outweighed the South in resources. [Illustration: The Confederate “White House” in Richmond stands at the end of East Clay Street. President Davis and his family lived in this imposing three-storied home throughout the four years of war. The home is now a noted museum.] Davis was in a sense doomed to failure from the start, but his devotion to the South never wavered. In spite of many physical handicaps, he demonstrated throughout his life honesty, courage, fortitude, and a firmness in the right as _he_ saw the right. In sectional terms, he may be adjudged one of the true patriots in American history. Military analysts often assert that U. S. Grant was “the first of the modern generals” and that Robert E. Lee was “the last of the old-fashioned generals.” What this implies is that two able field commanders fought one another differently: Grant introducing all-out, total war, Lee relying on a 500-year-old concept of limited warfare. Certainly Grant was original in much of his strategy. To him a single victory meant very little. The long-range result of a continual hammering was the important factor. “The art of war is simple enough,” he once stated. “Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike at him hard as you can, and keep moving on.” Grant’s aggression, therefore, became attrition—that is, a skillful, systematic grinding down of the South’s whole capacity to fight. War under Grant became modern war: all-inclusive and brutal. He meant it that way, for he always thought of war as a cruel, bloody business to be ended as quickly as possible. [Illustration: Ulysses S. Grant (1822-1885) was born in Ohio, entered the Civil War from Illinois, and spent his last years in New York. He served two terms as 18th President of the U. S. Grant completed his memoirs only a week before his death from throat cancer.]