couragement as black as followed the triumph of the first Manassas.
Among many fascinating passages in this connection two are perhaps especially significant. "Notwithstanding my additional experience in the command of armies and departments, I feel less confidence in myself than I did two years ago, for I know that if I succeed, I only increase the irritation of certain persons against me, and if I fail, their satisfaction and ire. Without intending to flatter myself, I feel like Samson shorn of his locks."9
And imagine either Lee, or Jackson, or Johnston writing the following letter to a lady friend, with its delicious mixture of naïvete, self-confidence, and also genuine modesty: "I then had suddenly on the spur of the moment to change my whole plan of battle, with troops which had never yet fought and could scarcely manœuvre. My heart for a moment failed me I I felt as though all was lost, and I wished I had fallen in the battle of the 18th; but I soon rallied, and I then internally pledged my life that I would that day conquer or die. Immediately everything appeared again clear and hopeful, though the worst was yet to come." 10
After the war Beauregard adopted a curious, ingenious, and not altogether happy method of self-laudation. He had his life written by Colonel Roman who could say things that not even his commander could say himself. The device is not, of course, new. Badeau's "Grant" comes dangerously near the same category. And the old
