y to which few went willingly. Clinton heaped her with reproaches,
but she argued sweetly that he was outvoted, and that she should ever go
where duty called. "She felt politics to be her mission," and in truth
she enjoyed its intrigues, the double game she played, with all her
feminine soul. Hamilton would not help himself in her valuable
storehouse, but it pleased her to know that she held dangerous secrets
in her hands, could confound many an unwary politician. And she had her
methods, as we have seen, of springing upon Hamilton many a useful bit
of knowledge, and of assisting him in ways unsuspected of any. She
established herself in lodgings in Chestnut Street, not unlike those in
which she had spent so many happy hours for two years past, inasmuch as
they were situated on the first floor and communicated with a little
garden. Her removal was looked upon as quite natural, and so admirably
did she deport herself that even Mrs. Washington received her in time.

Philadelphia was a larger city than New York, with wide ill-kept
streets, good pavements, and many fine houses and public buildings.
Chestnut Street was the great thoroughfare, shopping district, and
promenade. It was a city renowned for social activity and "crucifying
expenses." Naturally its press was as jubilant over the revival of its
ancient splendour as that of disappointed New York was scurrilous and
vindictive. When the latter was not caricaturing Robert Morris,
staggering off with the Administration on its back, or "Miss Assumption
and her bastard brats," its anti-Federal part was abusing Hamilton as
the arch-fiend who had sold the country, and applying to him every
adjective of vituperation that fury and coarseness could suggest. There
were poems, taunts, jibes, and squibs, printed as rapidly as the press
and ingenuity could turn them out. If our ancestors were capable of
appreciating the literary excellence of their pamphleteers, as many of
those who have replaced them to-day could not, it must be admitted that
we do not rage and hate so violently. The most hysteric effusions of our
yellow press, or the caustic utterances of our reputable newspapers, are
tame indeed before the daily cyclones of a time when everybody who did
not love his political neighbor hated him with a deadly virulence of
which we know little to-day. We may be improved, merely commercialized,
or more diffuse in our interests. In those days every man was a
politician first and hims