of Kentucky birth. A Democrat from Illinois, a Whig from
Kentucky--such was the anomalous situation. And both agreed about taking
over the Oregon territory. But Douglas was the better campaigner, the
more winning personality, the more indefatigable worker. Like Napoleon,
his sleep was intermittent, his meals eaten on the run. He made speeches
for more than a month of successive days. And he was elected. A member
of Congress at thirty!

I could see that the hard life was wearing upon him. Perhaps he was too
convivial. There was hard drinking everywhere about him; and he did not
abstain. He had supreme confidence in the lasting character of his own
vitality. He might be ill for a few days occasionally, but he was soon
up and actively at work again. His "integrity is as unspotted as the
vestal's flame--as untarnished and pure as the driven snow," said a
local newspaper when his methods were assailed, and no one could face
him without believing that he had courage that would have its way
without stooping to meanness, and vision that saw its objective through
the hesitant dreams and sickly qualms of lesser strength.

When I went to Springfield in the fall about my farm I found that
Douglas had been seriously ill for some weeks. The campaign had
exhausted him. There was more gentleness in his manner now than was his
wont. He held my hand warmly and was visibly grateful that I had come.
He was heartened by this fresh evidence of my affectionate interest. He
talked of his plans. He wished to visit his mother in New York State as
soon as he could be about. He said that he was entering upon a new stage
of his life--upon the beginning of his real career. He wished to have
his mother's blessing before taking his seat in Congress.

When I next went to Springfield I found him gone. The place was lonely
to me. I collected my note and wandered about idly; passed the Ridgeway
mansion where I had met Abigail; went through the new state house. The
years between seemed so brief but so full of events. I was twenty-eight,
Douglas was thirty; Reverdy had passed forty; Zoe was dead. My farming
days were over. It all seemed a dream. My grandmother in England was now
in the middle sixties. There were steamships crossing the Atlantic, the
first one four years before. Great forces here and in Europe, movements
of peoples, and interests were flowing to carry Douglas along for some
years, and to carry me and all others in their sweep. I was lonely