Belles, beaux and brains of the 60's . ethey wrote to foes and friends was waste of ink, every wordthey spoke a waste of breath. Southern senators, representatives and even minor of-ficials were leaving their long-time seats by every train,families of years residencewere pulling down theirhousehold gods and startingon a pilgrimage to set themup—where they knew not,save that it must be in theSouth. Even old friendslooked doubtfully at eachother and rumors were rifeof incursions across the Po-tomac by wild-haired ridersfrom Virginia. Even thefungi of departmental desksseemed suddenly imbuedwith
Belles, beaux and brains of the 60's . ethey wrote to foes and friends was waste of ink, every wordthey spoke a waste of breath. Southern senators, representatives and even minor of-ficials were leaving their long-time seats by every train,families of years residencewere pulling down theirhousehold gods and startingon a pilgrimage to set themup—where they knew not,save that it must be in theSouth. Even old friendslooked doubtfully at eachother and rumors were rifeof incursions across the Po-tomac by wild-haired ridersfrom Virginia. Even thefungi of departmental desksseemed suddenly imbuedwith life, rose and threwaway their quills—and withthem the very bread fortheir families—to go South!It was the passage out of COLONEL JOHN FORSYTH ^^^^^^ -^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ A dull, vague unrest brooded over Washington, as thoughthe city lay in the shadow of a great pall or was threatenedwith a plague. Then, again, when it was too late, GeneralScott virtually went into the cabinet. The General, as he was familiarly known, practically. BELLES, BEAUX AND BRAINS OF THE SIXTIES 41 filled the chair that Jefferson Davis had once held. Saga-cious men foresaw no result from this, and all felt that thetime had arrived when they must range themselves on oneside or the other. The South had spoken and sheseemed to mean what she said. All Washington was atlast convinced that there might be war, that there must beseparation. Into this dull, leaden suspense, that a breath might lashinto a seething maelstrom of passion, suddenly droppedAbraham Lincoln, unexpectedly and alone, in a Scotch capand a long cloak. The new president was a man of iron. His coming thuswas not the escapade it has been dreamed by some. Farless was it the result of fear for himself. He had played agreat game boldly for a great stake, and he was not disposed torisk his winnings, and perhaps his life, on some chance throwof a fanatic or a madman. Could any vague forecast of thedoom hovering above him have whispered its hal
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