In that
press of good knights, many a hard blow is struck. The victor and
vanquished stand to-day, looming gigantic on the dim horizon of
the past. It is the dark before the dawn of the War of the Rebellion.
It was before these days of degenerated citizenship, when the
rising tide of gold floats the corrupt millionnaire and syndicate's
agent into the Senate. The senator's toga then wrapped the shoulders
of our greatest men. No bonanza agents--huge moral deformities of
heaped-up gold--were made senatorial hunchbacks by their accidental
millions.
No vulgar clowns dallied with the country's interests in those old
days when Greek met Greek. It was a gigantic duel of six leaders:
Webster, Seward, and Clay, pitted against Calhoun, Davis, and
Foote. Pausing to refresh their strength for the final struggle,
the noise of battle rolled away until the early days of 1850.
California was kept out.
The delegates at Monterey hastened home to their exciting callings.
Philip Hardin saw the wished-for victory of the South deferred.
Gnashing his teeth in rage, he rode out of Monterey. Maxime
Valois now is the ardent "Faust" to whom he plays "Mephisto." His
following had fallen away. Hardin, cold, profound, and deep, was
misunderstood at the Convention.
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