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The greatness of Lincoln was that of a common man raised to a high dimension. The possibility, still more the existence, of such a man is itself a justification of democracy. We do not say that so independent, so natural, so complete a man cannot in older societies come to wield so large a power over the affairs and the minds of men; we can only say that amid all the stirring movements of the nineteenth century he has not so done. The existence of what may be called a widespread commonalty explains the rarity of personal eminence in America. There has been and still remains a higher general level of personality than in any European country, and the degree of eminence is correspondingly reduced. It is just because America has stood for opportunity that conspicuous individuals have been comparatively rare. Strong personality, however, has not been rare; it is the abundance of such personality that has built up silently into the rising fabric of the American Commonwealth, pioneers, roadmakers, traders, lawyers, soldiers, teachers, toiling terribly over the material and moral foundation of the country, few of whose names have emerged or survived. Lincoln was of this stock, was reared among these rude energetic folk, had lived all those sorts of lives. He was no "sport"; his career is a triumphant refutation of the traditional views of genius. He had no special gift or quality to distinguish him; he was simply the best type of American at a historic juncture when the national safety wanted such a man. The confidence which all Americans express that their country will be equal to any emergency which may threaten it, is not so entirely superstitious as it seems at first sight. For the career of Lincoln shows how it has been done in a country where the "necessary man" can be drawn not from a few leading families, or an educated class, but from the millions.

“Perhaps,” said the General, “(though I don’t think either of the girls like their aunt,)[108] he may perceive that degree of family resemblance in Julia, which has, sometimes, so powerful an effect on the disordered imagination.”'When it was clear,' he said, with infinite respectability and an obedient bow, 'that she was not to be found, I went to Mr. James, at the place where it had been agreed that I should write to him, and informed him of what had occurred. Words passed between us in consequence, and I felt it due to my character to leave him. I could bear, and I have borne, a great deal from Mr. James; but he insulted me too far. He hurt me. Knowing the unfortunate difference between himself and his mother, and what her anxiety of mind was likely to be, I took the liberty of coming home to England, and relating -' 鈥極ur Christmas festivities have already begun. Our house is pretty full with Native friends. Perhaps the most interesting is dear B., the once Muhammadan wife of a Christian Catechist, and mother of Christian children, who was so sturdily bigoted that she held out for thirteen years, before she would give herself to the Saviour. But then she did so in her honest way. B. was never a hypocrite; we respected her when she vexed us. It was something for her to remain with her husband; for, by Muhammadan law, baptism of husband or wife constitutes divorce. Mera Bhatija told me of a curious case, which excited much interest,鈥攖o Europeans it would excite much surprise. A Muhammadan, who had, I suppose, read Christian books, was travelling with some other Muhammadans, and was imprudent enough to say that Muhammad wrought no miracles, and expressed doubts as to his being really a prophet. The poor man happened to have a rich wife, who, we may believe, did not care for him. To speak against the Prophet is enough to constitute a divorce! The companions of the man did not let their chance go of half ruining him. The case was brought into Court,[298] and an English judge was obliged to give a verdict against the unfortunate fellow, who had expressed an honest opinion. He lost his wife and her rich dowry....鈥 'I think - shall I be quite plain, Agnes, liking him so much?' Sitting in his cabin, listening to the quiet creak of the woodwork and watching his pencil on the dressing-table roll slowly between his hair brush and the edge of his passport, Bond remembered the days when her course had been different, when she had zig-zagged deep into the South Atlantic as she played her game of hide-and-seek with the U-boat wolfpacks, en route for the flames of Europe. It was still an adventure, but now the Queen, in her cocoon of protective radio impulses-her radar; her Loran, her echo-sounder-moved with the precautions of an oriental potentate among his bodyguards and outriders, and, so far as Bond was concerned, boredom and indigestion would be the only hazards of the voyage.

'What is it?'

iii. The Tibetans Defend Themselves