sleep," he would have been the next President, and the war would have been averted, for it would have been unnecessary.
My little part in that great day, the 7th of March, was this: Ladies were to be admitted on the floor of the Senate, and my father got me the seat of General Greene, of Rhode Island, very near Mr. Webster. The venerable and beautiful Mrs. Madison and Mrs. Webster sat not far off, while everybody of distinction in Washington and crowds from Boston and New York were present. Mr. Webster rose, dressed in buff and blue, the colors of Fox, which he always wore on great occasions — a dress-coat buttoned across the waist over a yellow vest — his great face serious, splendid; his cavernous eyes glowing with fire, his hair carefully brushed back from his majestic forehead.
Surely "no one could be so great as he looked." He had not proceeded far when Mr. Calhoun jumped to his feet, making some objection to what he said. "The gentleman from South Carolina and I have broken a lance before this," said Mr. Webster." I have no desire to do so again," said Mr. Calhoun, "but — " etc.
Mr. Calhoun was dying; in fact, he died on the 30th of the month. His face was spectral, and his stiff gray hair, which he brushed upward, gave a peculiar expression to his very marked appearance. This 7th of March was his last appearance in the Senate. He made on that occasion his most remarkable prophecy: "Sir, the Union can be broken." But neither of these great men knew that it not only could be and would be broken, but that it could be cemented together again, alas! by a mingling of the best blood on both sides — a cement which, please God! shall hold it through the ages. It seems now impossible that the great logical mind of Mr.
