Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

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20 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE IN THE LIBRARY OF THE WHITE HOUSE A TALL, GAUNT MAN LOOKED DOWN UPON THE ROWS OP TENTS. in Vermont, and with a keen eye for effect, General Smith — "Baldy" Smith as he was known to his men — argued that the lesson for the others would be the stronger if the execution of sentence was delayed. The men were used to the instant snuffing out of life, and the sight of Scott waiting day after day to meet his doom would be vastly more effective. It was night. On the lots back of the White House rose a white city of war. The tents, newly issued to the recruits, still were white in the moonlight, for these latest volunteers had not seen service and were waiting impatiently for orders to move South when some discipline had been instilled into the untrained companies. In the library of the White House, a tall, gaunt man, whose face was beautiful for its very homeliness, looked down upon the row of tents. Upon the strong, homely face there was a look of anguished sorrow such as the face of Christ might have worn in the garden of Gethsemane; for Abraham Lincoln, stern of face, but tender in heart as any woman, knew that many of those who slept beneath the white canvas soon would sleep the last sleep of death beneath the red clay of Virginia, and his heart wept for those mothers who would mourn their lost firstborn. The cause was just and holy, but he had plunged the country into war and he felt a personal responsibility to the thousands whose unmarked graves were filled before their time. He did not see the broad Potomac, flowing in silver tranquillity past the sleeping city ; he did not see the broad sweep of the flats, or the headlands across the eastern branch. His gaze passed beyond these to the scenes of carnage, where brother fought against brother, and the flower of the land was laid low. There came, too, the vision of that Vermont home from which had come that day an appeal for the life of William Scott of the Third Vermont. It was a simple little letter, eloquent not in words but in the simplicity of the