ned upon the Albemarle Resolutions and the morning's
proceedings in the House of Delegates, it was as though an invisible
grindstone had put upon the moment a finer edge.

Lewis Rand, sweeping his letters and papers together, had nodded to Adam
and moved from his table to that of a pillar of the Republican party,
with whom he was now in attentive discourse. Apparently he gave no heed
to the voices around him, though he might have heard his own name,
seeing that wherever the talk now turned it came at last upon his speech
of that morning. Presently, "Mr. Rand!" called some one from across the
room.

Rand turned. "Mr. Harrison?"

"Mr. Rand, there's a dispute here. Just what did you mean by--" and
there followed a quotation from the morning's speech.

Rand moistened his lips with wine, turned more fully in his chair, and
answered in a sentence of such pith as to bring applause from those of
his party who heard. In a moment there was another query, then a third;
he was presently committed to a short and vigorous exposition and
defence of the point in question. The entire room became attentive.
Then, as he paused, the strident voice of a noted and irascible man
proclaimed, "That's not democracy and not Jefferson--that doctrine, Mr.
Rand. Veil her as you please in gauze and tinsel, you've got conquest by
the hand. You may not think it, but you're preaching--what's the word
that 'Aurelius' used?--'Buonapartism.'"

A Federalist of light weight who had arrived at quarrelsomeness and an
empty bottle put in a sudden oar. "'Buonapartism' equals Ambition, and
both begin with an R." He looked pointedly at Rand.

"My name begins with an R, sir," said Rand.

"Pshaw! so does mine!" exclaimed the man at the table with him. "Let him
alone, Rand. He doesn't know what he is saying."

Rand turned to the first speaker. "'Buonapartism,'--that's a word that's
as ample as Charity, but I hardly think, sir, that it covers this case.
It's a very vague word. But writers to the Gazette are apt to be more
fluent than accurate."

"I shouldn't call it vague," cried his opponent. "It's a damned good
word, and so I'd tell 'Aurelius,' if I knew who he was."

"It wasn't random firing in that letter," said a voice from another
quarter of the room. "I don't much care to know the gunner, but I'd
mightily like to know who was aimed at. It was a damned definite thing,
that letter. 'Buonapartism--the will to mount--sacrifice of
obligations--Genius pro