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CHAPTER XVII. The Beginning of the End 170 CHAPTER XVIII. The Close of the Revolution 181 CHAPTER XIX. The First President 191 CHAPTER XX. The War With Canada 203 CHAPTER XXI. The Advance of the Republic 212 CHAPTER XXII. More Difficulties Straightened Out 222 CHAPTER XXIII. The Websters 233 CHAPTER XXIV. Befo' the Wah—causes Which Led To It—masterly Grasp Of the Subject Shown by the Author 243 CHAPTER XXV. Bull Run and Other Battles 252 CHAPTER XXVI. Some More Fratricidal Strife 263 CHAPTER XXVII. Still More Fraternal Bloodshed, on Principle—outing Features Disappear, and Give Place To Strained Relations Between Combatants, Who Begin To Mix Things 274 CHAPTER XXVIII. Last Year of the Disagreeable War 284 CHAPTER XXIX. Too Much Liberty in Places and Not Enough Elsewhere.—thoughts On the Late War—who Is the Bigger Ass, The Man Who Will Not Forgive and Forget, Or The Mawkish and Moist Eyed Sniveller Who Wants To Do That All the Time? 297 CHAPTER XXX. Reconstruction Without Pain—administrations of Johnson And Grant 305 CHAPTER XXXI. Closing Chronicles 317 Appendix 329

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CHAPTER I.

THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA.

It was a beautiful evening at the close of a warm, luscious day in old Spain. It was such an evening as one would select for trysting purposes. The honeysuckle gave out the sweet announcement of its arrival on the summer breeze, and the bulbul sang in the dark vistas of olive-trees,—sang of his love and his hope, and of the victory he anticipated in the morrow's bulbul-fight, and the plaudits of the royal couple who would be there. The pink west paled away to the touch of twilight, and the soft zenith was sown with stars coming like celestial fire-flies on the breast of a mighty meadow.

Across the dusk, with bowed head, came a woman. Her air was one of proud humility. It was the air of royalty in the presence of an overruling power. It was Isabella. She was on her way to confession. She carried a large, beautifully-bound volume containing a memorandum of her sins for the day. Ever and anon she would refer to it, but the twilight had come on so fast that she could not read it.

ISABELLA AT CONFESSIONAL.

Reaching the confessional, she kneeled, and, by the aid of her notes, she told off to the good Father and receptacle of the queen's trifling sins, Fernando de Talavera, how wicked she had been. When it was over and the queen had risen to go, Fernando came forth, and with a solemn obeisance said,—

"May it please your Majesty, I have to-day received a letter from my good friend the prior of the Franciscan convent of St. Mary's of Rabida in Andalusia. With your Majesty's permission, I will read it to you."

"Proceed," exclaimed Isabella, gravely, taking a piece of crochet-work from her apron and seating herself comfortably near the dim light.

"It is dated the sixth month and tenth day of the month, and reads as follows: