ers, was his use of ardent liquors. This
habit grew upon him, especially after the failure of the war. A proud,
imperious nature, accustomed to great labors and great responsibilities,
was left without its main resource and supplied with the stimulus of
wine. No man needed that stimulus less than he did. His was a manhood
vibrant in age with the warm blood of youth, and always at its best when
his spirits and intellect alone were at play. He was easily affected by
the smallest indulgence. When he measured himself with others, glass for
glass, the result was distressing, disastrous. The immediate effect of
excess was short. The next morning his splendid vitality asserted
itself, and he was bright and clear as ever. The habit, however, grew
upon him. The want of a physical check was bad. This was the worst of
all his faults, and was exaggerated by special circumstances. It was
less indulged in at home and greatly circulated abroad. Frequently the
press reporters would surround him and expose in the papers a mere
caricature of him. His talk, when under the influence of wine, was racy,
extravagant, and fine, and his sayings too often found their way into
print. In this way great injustice was done to the life and character of
Robert Toombs, and Northern men who read these quaint sayings and
redolent vaporings formed a distorted idea of the man.

To a Northern correspondent who approached him during one of these
periods, General Toombs said: "Yes, a gentleman whose intelligence
revolts at usurpations must abstain from discussing the principles and
policies of your Federal government, or receive the kicks of crossroad
sputterers and press reporters; must either lie or be silent. They know
only how to brawl and scrawl 'hot-head' and 'impolitic maniac.' Why, my
free negroes know more than all your bosses. Now, damn it, put that in
your paper."

Robert Toombs was built to live ninety years, and to have been, at
Gladstone's age, a Gladstone in power. He took little pains to explain
his real nature. He seemed to take pains to conceal or mislead. He
appeared at times to hide his better and expose his worse side. If he
had been Byron, he would have put forward his deformed foot. He was
utterly indifferent to posthumous fame. Time and again he was asked to
have his letters and speeches compiled for print, but he would never
hear of it. He waived these suggestions away with the sententious
remark, "that his life was written on the pa