age,
although he flew into a temper occasionally. He told himself he was
become a philosopher, and was far from suspecting the terrible passions
which the future was to undam. His mother, with dying insight, had
divined the depth and fury of a nature which was all light on the
surface, and in its upper half a bewildering but harmonious
intermingling of strength, energy, tenderness, indomitability,
generosity, and intense emotionalism: a stratum so large and so
generously endowed that no one else, least of all himself, had suspected
that primeval inheritance which might blaze to ashes one of the most
nicely balanced judgements ever bestowed on a mortal, should his enemies
combine and beat his own great strength to the dust.

But when Hamilton and Clinton approached the Court-house from opposite
directions, on the morning of the 17th, they did not cross the street to
avoid meeting, although they bowed with extreme formality and measured
each other with a keen and speculative regard. Clinton was now
forty-nine years old, his autocratic will, love of power, and knowledge
of men, in their contemptuous maturity. He was a large man, with the
military bearing of the born and finished martinet, a long hard nose,
and an irritated eye. The irritation kindled as it met Hamilton's, which
was sparkling with the eager determination of a youth which, although
desirable in itself, was become a presumption when pitted against those
eighteen additional distinguished years of the Governor of New York.
That there was a twinkle of amusement in the Federalist's eye was also
to his discredit.

"The young fop," fumed Clinton, as he brushed a fleck of mud from his
own magnificent costume of black ducape, "he is the _enfant gate_ of
politics, and I shall settle him here once for all. It will be a public
benefaction."

The Court-house, which stood halfway up the hill, on the corner of Main
and East streets, and was surrounded by the shade of many maples, was a
two-story building of rough stones welded together by a ruder cement.
The roof sloped, and above was a belfry. The Convention was held in the
upper story, which was unbroken by partition; and with the windows open
upon what looked to be a virgin forest, so many were the ancient trees
remaining in the little town, the singing of birds, the shrilling of
crickets, the murmur of the leaves in an almost constant breeze, the old
Court-house of Poughkeepsie was by no means a disagreeable
gather