banner whereon is written 'to the victors belong
the spoils.'" Everywhere there seemed to be unkindness, unrest, or
indifference.

Nevertheless, Van Buren's candidacy had been so persistently and
systematically worked up by the President that, from the moment of his
inauguration as Vice President, his succession to the Presidency was
accepted as inevitable. It is doubtful if a man ever slipped into an
office more easily than Martin Van Buren secured the Presidency. That
there might be no failure at the last moment, a national democratic
convention, the second one in the history of the party, was called to
nominate him at Baltimore, in May, 1835, eighteen months before the
election. When the time came, South Carolina, Alabama, and Illinois
were unrepresented; Tennessee had one delegate, and Mississippi and
Missouri only two each; but Van Buren's nomination followed with an
ease and a unanimity that caused a smile even among the office-holding
delegates.

Indeed, slavery was the only thing in sight to disturb Van Buren. At
present, it was not larger than a cloud "like a man's hand," but the
agitation had begun seriously to disturb politicians. After the North
had emerged from the Missouri struggle, chafed and mortified by the
treachery of its own representatives, the rapidly expanding culture of
cotton, which found its way in plenty to northern seaports, had
apparently silenced all opposition. A few people, however, had been
greatly disturbed by the arguments of a small number of reformers,
much in advance of their time, who were making a crusade against the
whole system of domestic slavery. Some of these men won honoured names
in our history. One of them was Benjamin Lundy. In 1815, when
twenty-six years old, Lundy organised an anti-slavery association,
known as the "Union Humane Society," and, in its support, he had
traversed the country from Maine to Tennessee, lecturing, editing
papers, and forming auxiliary societies. He was a small, deaf,
unassuming Quaker, without wealth, eloquence, or marked ability; but
he had courage, tremendous energy, and a gentle spirit. He had lived
for a time in Wheeling, Virginia, where the horrors, inseparable from
slavery, impressed him very much as the system in the British West
Indies had impressed Zachary Macaulay, father of the distinguished
essayist and historian; and, like Macaulay, he ever after devoted his
time and his abilities to the generous task of rousing his countrymen
t