The telegraph bears to every hamlet of the Golden State the
news of the senatorial choice.
Philip Hardin, seated on the porch of the old mansion at Lagunitas,
reads the eulogies crowding the columns of fifty journals.
From San Diego to Siskiyou one general voice hails the new-made
member of that august body, who are now so rapidly giving America
"Roman liberties."
The friend of Mammon, nurtured in conspiracy, skilled in deceit,
Hardin, the hidden Mokanna, grins behind his silver veil.
His deep-laid plans seem all safe now. The local meshes of his golden
net hold the District Judge firmly. It will be easy to postpone, to
weary out, to harass this strange faction. He has stores of coin
ready. They are the heaped-up reserves of his "senatorial ammunition."
And yet Joe Woods, that burly meddling fool. To placate Natalie!
To induce her to leave at once for Paris! How shall this be done?
Ha! The marriage is her dream in life! He is elected now. He fears
not her Southern rival. The ambitious political lady aspirant! He
can explain to her now in private, To give Natalie an acknowledgment
of a private marriage will content her. Then his bought Judge can
quietly grant a separation for desertion, after Natalie has returned
to France.
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