he moral man in ordinary matters pertaining to life. Once break down
the barrier which separates the right from the wrong, that success may
come of it, and every principle of restraint to immoral or dishonest
conduct is swept away. For this reason men of stern integrity never
make good politicians. They are very often the reliable Statesmen,
never the reliable politicians.

Governor Wolcott had through his life sustained an unimpeached
reputation. He had filled to the full his political ambition. Again and
again he had been honored by his people who had grown up with him. He
had been honored by the confidence of Washington, and the nation. He
was wealthy, was old, and only aspired to do, and to see done, justice
to the whole people of his native State. In doing this he came in
conflict with the unjust views and iniquitous conduct of an old,
crushed party, and he was denounced as a traitor, and ostracized
because he would be just.

This was the disruption forever of the Federal party in Connecticut;
for though it had ceased to exist as a national organization, it still
was sufficiently intact to control most of the New England States. Mr.
Monroe's Administration had been so popular that in his second election
he received every vote of every State in the Union, save New Hampshire:
one man in her electoral college, who was appointed to vote for him,
refused to do so, and gave as his reason that he was a slave-owner. New
interests had supervened, old issues were dead--they had had their
day--their mission was accomplished; old men were passing away, the
nation was expanding into great proportions, and men of great talents
were growing with and for the occasion; old party animosities were
dimming out, and the era of good feelings seemed to pervade the
national heart. Even John Adams and Thomas Jefferson were amicably
corresponding and growing affectionate at eighty. It was but the lull
which precedes the storm--the sultry quiet which augurs the earthquake.

Upon one occasion I ventured to ask Governor Wolcott to tell me
something of Washington. We were strolling in his garden, where he had
invited me to look at some melons he was attempting to grow under
glass. He stopped, and turning round, looked me full in the face, and
asked me if I had not read the "Life of Washington."

"Not the private life," was the reply.

"Ah! a very laudable curiosity in one so young. I knew him well, and
can only say his private was very muc