mpared with the performance of a man who, enveloped in the
friendly mists of anonymity, was as aggressive and valiant as Hamilton
on the warpath. These Resolutions protested against the
unconstitutionality of the Federal Government in exiling foreigners, and
curbing the liberty of the press, in arrogating to itself the rights of
the States, and assuming the prerogatives of an absolute monarchy. If
Jefferson did not advise nullification, he informed the States of their
inalienable rights, and counselled them to resist the centralizing
tendency of the Federal Government before it was too late. Even in the
somewhat modified form in which these Resolutions passed the Kentucky
legislature, and although rejected by the States to which they were
despatched, they created a sensation and accomplished their primary
object. The war excitement had threatened to shove the Alien and
Sedition laws beyond the range of the public observation. The Kentucky
and Virginia Resolutions roused the country, and sent the Republicans
scampering back to their watchful shepherd. It is one of the
master-strokes of political history, and Jefferson culled the fruits and
suffered none of the odium. That these historic Resolutions contained
the fecundating germs of the Civil War, is by the way.

Such was the situation on the eve of 1800, the eve of a Presidential
election, and of the death struggle of the two great parties.

It was in December of this year of 1799 that Hamilton bent under the
most crushing blow that life had dealt him. He was standing on the
street talking to Sedgwick, when a mounted courier dashed by, crying
that Washington was dead. The street was crowded, but Hamilton broke
down and wept bitterly. "America has lost her saviour," he said; "I, a
father."

BOOK V

THE LAST BATTLE OF THE GIANTS AND THE END

I

The sunlight moved along the table and danced on Hamilton's papers,
flecking them and slanting into his eyes. He went to the window to draw
the shade, and stood laughing, forgetting the grave anxieties which
animated his pen this morning. In the garden without, his son Alexander
and young Philip Schuyler, his wife's orphan nephew, who lived with him,
were pounding each other vigorously, while Philip, Angelica, Theodosia
Burr, and Gouverneur Morris sat on the fence and applauded.

"What a blessed provision for letting off steam," he thought, with some
envy. "I would I had Burr in front of my fists this moment. I suppos