"I must recommend the acceptance of the Lecompton constitution," said Mr. Buchanan.

"I shall feel it my duty to oppose its acceptance."

"Allow me to remind you, Senator Douglas, that no Democrat ever yet differed from an Administration of his own party without being himself crushed. I refer you to the fate of Tallmadge and Rives under the administration of President Jackson."

"Mr. President, allow me to remind you that General Jackson is dead." Mr. Douglas bows and leaves the White House. He keeps his word. He knows the slave power never will forgive him, but he also knows that unless he opposes the slave-holders in their attempts to force a hateful constitution upon the people of Kansas, he will endanger his own re-election to the Senate.

On the banks of the little river Marias-des-Cygnes (Marsh of the Swans), three miles from Missouri, settlers from the Free States were

1858.

ploughing their fields. They never had taken part in any trouMay 19, bles between other people and the Missouri ruffians, but they did not want slaves in Kansas, and had voted to make it a Free State. Lawless men in Missouri were ever ready to shoot settlers from the Free States. Charles Hamilton, with a gang of twenty-seven, seized eleven of the men who had taken farms in the valley of Marias-desCygnes. "Make ready! Take aim! Fire!" the word of command. The rifles and revolvers flashed, and all but one were killed or wounded. The murderers fired once more, riddling the bodies with bullets, and then rode back to Missouri to gloat over the morning's work. It was their way of upsetting the popular sovereignty of Senator Douglas -their way of interpreting the meaning of the Constitution-their method of carrying slavery into Kansas.

The people of the Northern States were horrified when they heard of the cold-blooded massacre, and the peaceful Quaker poet, John G. Whittier, far away on the banks of the Merrimac, in Massachusetts, wrote these lines:

"A blush as of roses,

Where roses never grew ;

Great drops on the bunch-grass,

But not of the dew;

A taint in the sweet air

For wild bees to shun;

A stain that shall never

Bleach out with the sun."

Into Missouri with a company of men marched John Brown, not to

of John Brown, marched him rapidly across the prairie in a burning sun, and treated him with such inhumanity that he became insane. Brown, with twenty-seven men, came upon the Missourians, took twentytwo of them prisoners, and captured their horses and supplies. Another company of ruffians hacked another of Brown's sons to pieces with their knives, threw his mangled body across a horse, took it to his own door, and tumbled it to the ground at the feet of his young wife.

Civil war had begun. Men were shot by lurking assassins; houses were deserted; the smoke of burning dwellings darkened the sky; women and children were fleeing from their homes to escape from the inhuman wretches who were desolating the land that they might secure it forever to slavery. It seems probable that Douglas, when he said he doubtless would be burned in effigy, did not look forward to any such outbreak as that which suddenly flamed up on the plains of Kansas. He saw only the bauble of the Presidency of the nation—not murdered men. On the day of his arrival in Chicago, after the adjournment of Congress, many of the flags flying above the vessels in the harbor were displayed at half-mast, and at sunset the church-bells tolled as at a funeral service. The feeling against him was deep and intense.

JOHN BROWN.

Men who had been his friends did not call upon him. But he put a bold face upon the matter, and began an address vindicating his course. No cheer welcomed him as he mounted the platform. For a while the people listened in sullen silence, and then asked questions which made him angry. He shook his fists in their faces, and the noise became so great that he could not finish his speech. He visited his old home in Springfield.

A great crowd filled the Hall of Representatives in the State-house. Abraham Lincoln was present, a silent listener to what Douglas had to offer. For six years he had taken no part in political affairs, but the violation of a sacred compact by Douglas and President Pierce in the

interest of the slave-holders had aroused his righteous indignation. He informed his friends that he should make a speech in reply.

1854.

Every seat, every inch of space is occupied, when Abraham Lincoln rises to speak. People are curious to hear what he will say, for Douglas is one of the able men of the country. He has practised law, Oct. 1, been elected judge and Senator. He has shown himself strong enough to secure the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, and his friends have named him "The Little Giant." He has respect for Abraham Lincoln, because, like himself, he has fought with adversity and won success. He knows Lincoln is an able lawyer, that he has been member of Congress; but his measure of success has been small in com parison with his own. Possibly Douglas feels a sense of superiority as he takes a seat in the hall to hear Lincoln's argument. He has encountered in debate Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts; William H. Seward, of New York; Thomas H. Benton, of Missouri. He is fresh from the arena, where he has won a great victory. He has listened to all the arguments that the champions of freedom could marshal in opposition to the repeal. The literature of the question is at his tongue's end. Lincoln has heard none of the speeches. He may have read portions of the arguments of Senators and members of Congress, but has been attending to his own affairs through the months. He has only a night to put his thoughts in order. After a cheerful welcome a hush falls upon the great audience. He has only a scrap of paper before him. His friends and Douglas are amazed at his marvellous presentation of facts, and his statement of political principles enforced with thrilling eloquence. Douglas rises to interrupt him, but is courteously waved to his seat. Memory recalls the scene in the slave-market in New Orleans, and he vividly pictures it. Douglas would reproduce such scenes all over the fair domain once consecrated to freedom. But the Territory is doomed to slavery by what has been done if the Missourians succeed in driving out the settlers from the Free States. These burning words fall from Lincoln's lips:

"This declared indifference-but I must think covert zeal-for the spread of slavery I can but hate. I hate it because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself. I hate it because it deprives our republican example of its just influence in the world; enables the enemies of free institutions to taunt us as hypocrites; causes the real friends of freedom to doubt our sincerity; is at war with the vital principles of civic liberty; contrary to the Declaration of Independence; and maintains that there is no right principle of action but self-interest. . . . If the negro is a man, is it not the destruction of self-government to say that he shall not govern himself? When a white man governs himself, that is self-government; but when he governs himself and another man, that is more than self

government-it is despotism. No man is good enough to govern another man without the other's consent. . . . Slavery is founded on the selfishness of man's nature; opposition to it is his love of justice. These principles are in eternal antagonism. . . . I object to the Nebraska Bill, because it assumes there can be moral right in the enslaving of one man by another. . . . Little by little, but as steadily as man's march to the grave, we have been giving up the old for the new faith. Nearly eighty years ago we began by declaring that all men are created equal; but now we have come to the other declaration that for some men to enslave others is a sacred right of self-government. These principles cannot stand together; they are as opposite as God and Mammon."

The building shook with the stamping of feet. Cheers rent the air; women waved their handkerchiefs. Douglas was confounded. Through the long debate in Congress the falsity of his position never

had been so clearly held up before the public. Never before had the immorality of the Nebraska measure been so exposed. Lincoln had spoken four hours, but Douglas was so stung that he spoke for two hours in a vain endeavor to break the force of Lincoln's argument.

Douglas went to Peoria, and was followed by Lincoln. As the trees are swayed by the winds, so the great audience there was moved by the thrilling words spoken in behalf of freedom. In the debate at Washing ton no Senator had given utterance to such fundamental truths as fell