fifty. It was only far-off Kentucky that had not yet fallen into line. Kentucky cast its vote for Thomas Jefferson, and one elector in South Carolina voted for Aaron Burr.

A caucus of members of Congress, then, was the first method hit upon for the selection of candidates. It is difficult to conceive of any other plan suited to the state of things at that time. A National Convention, even if it had been thought of, would have absorbed the greater part of a year, and there was then no Press which could in any sense be called national. The newspapers were few and of limited circulation, and a nomination by them would have been considered impertinent by the country gentlemen then so influential. The Congressional caucuses were held with closed doors, and no part of their proceedings was communicated to the public except the result. It is obvious that such a mode of nomination was open to objections, since it gave opportunity for personal intrigue and solicitation, and it rendered a President who desired re-election, and a Cabinet minister ambitious of the succession, subservient to those members of Congress upon whom would soon devolve the nomination of candidates, and whose nomination was frequently equivalent to an election. These objections, however, though immediately apparent to the few thoughtful observers, were not at first regarded by the people-certainly not considered formidable. Five Presidents in succession were nominated in this manner, who, upon the whole, were the men best entitled to the confidence of their party, and all of whom served their country well.

In 1796, when it was known that General Washington would retire at the expiration of his second term, there was no man in the Federal party of such commanding prominence as to be its natural and spontaneous choice. The Federalist who was most active and who possessed most of personal force and influence, was Alexander Hamilton; and it is somewhat remarkable that so shining a light in the Federal party should never have been thought of for the Presidency. It is true, he was not a native of the United States; but a special clause of the Constitution had provided for such cases as his, by making foreign-born citizens eligible to the Presidency who had been citizens at the adoption of the Constitution. Why, then, was the creator and soul of the Federal party never its official head? Partly because he never desired it. He was not ambitious of official distinction. Whatever Alexander Hamilton did in politics, whether wrong or right, was done with a single eye to the public good. If he intrigued, he intrigued for his country. If he used improper means for the success

of his party, it was because he believed that the honor and safety of his country depended absolutely upon its being governed by Federalists. Destitute of fortune, he was compelled to devote himself to the labors of his profession; and at that day a man but forty years of age, dependent upon his industry for his livelihood, had not that kind of weight in the country which would have drawn attention to him as a possible candidate for the highest office. Besides this, he was the author of the very measures most odious to the Republicans. He was, we may say, the Charles Sumner of the Federalists; and who has ever proposed Charles Sumner for the Presidency?

The Federal members of Congress in 1796 recommended to their fellow-citizens John Adams for the Presidency, and Thomas Pinckney for the Vice-Presidency. The Republican members nominated Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr. Here we see at once both the

excellence and the perils of this mode of nomination. Adams, Jefferson, and Pinckney were fit and proper names to be presented for the consideration of their fellow-citizens. The impetuous and unmanageable Adams, during the seven years of his Vice-Presidency, had been in a position which kept him aloof from party politics, and concealed from those around him his eminent unfitness to rule. His revolutionary services, his diplomatic career, his oratorical talents, his fine personal presence, and the English cast of his mind, made him a suitable représentative of the party with which he sympathized.

Thomas Jefferson-the author of the Declaration of Independence, the conspicuous champion of France and the defender of the French Revolution, and the first Democrat of his age-was peculiarly entitled to the suffrages of the party himself had created. Pinckney too, as a member of an important and wealthy Southern family, of dignified demeanor, and respectable talents, could not have been considered out of place in the chair of the Senate. But Aaron Burr-what was he, and what had he done, that at the age of forty he should have been reckoned a fit man to succeed John Adams in the second office? His nomination was unquestionably due to the fact, that, having sat in the Senate for six years, he had brought to bear upon members of Congress at once the magic of his personal presence and the arts of the politician. A popular Convention might not have selected either of these names; or, if either, the dexterity of a Burr might have had a better chance than the earnest wisdom and sublime humanity of a Jefferson. We can say, that through the instrumentality of a Congressional caucus, the best attainable statesmen were sometimes placed in nomination, and only once the mere politician.

Candidates in those simple old days were usually passive, and if they were not so, it was felt to be dishonorable. The letters, diaries, and private memoranda of Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, Madison, and John Quincy Adams, convince us that neither of those gentlemen wrote a line, or uttered a word, designed or calculated to promote their own elevation or to prevent that of another. In such a man as John Adams, infatuated as he was with a consciousness of his transcendent merits, such delicacy as this was highly honorable. There is an amusing passage in one of his letters, written a few days after his inauguration, which we may quote:

"It is a delicate thing," he says, "for me to speak of the late election. To myself, personally, my election might be a matter of indifference, or rather of aversion. Had Mr. Jay, or some others, been in question, it might have less mortified my vanity, and infinitely less alarmed my apprehensions for the public. But to see such a character as Jefferson, and, much more, such an unknown being as Pinckney, brought over my head, and trampling on the bellies of hundreds of other men, infinitely his superiors in talent, services, and reputation, filled me with apprehensions for the safety of us all. It demonstrated to me that, if the project succeeded, our Constitution could not have lasted four years. We should have been set afloat, and landed the Lord knows where. That must be a sordid people indeed-a people destitute of a sense of honor, equity, and character-that could submit to be governed, and see hundreds of its most meritorious public men governed, by a Pinckney under an elective government. Hereditary government, when it imposes young, new, inexperienced men upon the public, has its compensations and equivalents, but elective government I mean by this no disrespect to Mr. Pinckney, I believe him to be a worthy man. I speak only by comparison with others." This passage shows at once the weakness of the man and the error of his party. In their view, men were every thing--institutions, principles, people, were subordinate. Happily for us, this is not the case; for, if it had been, a man so fussy, so vain, and so unteachable as Adams, might have destroyed the country, instead of merely ruining the Federal party.

has none.

During the four years of Mr. Adams's administration, Vice-President Jefferson, though presiding over the Senate and performing no independent action, constantly grew in the affections and the esteem of the Republican leaders. His influence over those around him was due to the captivating power of truth, and the persuasive eloquence with which he expounded it in conversation. He had never served his coun

try in the field, and he was as little of an orator as General Grant. He probably never made a speech of fifteen minutes' length in his life, and never addressed a popular audience. The public knew him as the man who had abolished in Virginia the laws of primogeniture and the legal supremacy of the Episcopal Church-the twin measures which annihilated caste and set religion free. They honored him as the great writer who had known how to express with force and dignity the feeling and the determination of America in the Declaration of Independence. They knew him as the man who could forgive the violence and even the cruelty of the revolutionists in France easier than he could forgive the infinite turpitude of their oppressors. These things, however, might not have won for him the plaudits of a miscellaneous convention.

Again we find the name of Burr associated in the Presidential canvass with that of the illustrious Democrat. A Congressional caucus, we again see, was not infallible in its palmiest days, since, while nominating a philosopher and statesman, it could at the same time recommend to the people an adroit politician-a man who perhaps had as little of the true Democrat in him as any one then living. Burr was chosen by the caucus, simply in recognition of his skill as a political manager. As it was the State of New York which decided the elec tion in favor of the Republicans, it was agreed in the caucus that the candidate for the second office should be a New Yorker, and Burr carried the day against Chancellor Livingston and George Clinton, both of whom were superior to himself in age, fortune, services, and social rank.

A dastardly weapon early employed in our Presidential contests was calumny; but the wounds which it inflicted were never mortal. We may assert that slander has never seriously harmed a public man, though it has frequently aided one. Hamilton, accused of peculation, could only refute the charge by confessing himself an adulterer; but neither the lie nor the truth lessened his influence as a politician, nor indeed lowered his character as a man; for those who lamented his immorality, honored its frank acknowledgment. Jefferson was denounced as an atheist, and it was said that his plantation swarmed with the yellow-faced proofs of his licentiousness. These accusations gained for him more votes than they lost. The virtuous John Adams was accused of importing mistresses from England, but no one regarded the ridiculous tale. Such calumnies as these had one pernicious effect: they prevented well-founded charges from being believed. Aaron Burr, for example, was neither a moral nor

an

honest man; but, in the midst of such a torrent of groundless slanders, who could believe that the candidate for the Vice-Presidency was profligate or debauched? So, in later times, when true representations of the violence of Andrew Jackson were given to the public, people disbelieved them as a matter of course.

Skillful politicians in these modern days have learned wisdom from the experience of their predecessors. We have known instances, during the last few years, of the best-founded objections to the private character of candidates being deliberately withheld from the public, from the conviction that they would benefit rather than injure.

A profound peace settled upon the politics of the country after the inauguration of Jefferson in 1801. That great man knew the importance of little things. The stately ceremonies and tedious etiquette of the White House were immediately laid aside, and a republican simplicity characterized all the intercourse between the President and his fellow-citizens. A coach and four no longer conveyed the President through the mire of Washington. When Mr. Jefferson had occasion to attend at the Capitol, he rode thither on horseback, unattended, and tied his horse to a post before entering the building. While such trifles as tl ese enchanted the multitude, wise men were gratified to see the national affairs conducted with a dignity, wisdom, and economy, which, we truly believe, have never been equaled in the government of any nation. It cannot be that Jefferson was a chimera of the popular imagination. No man's conduct and character have ever endured so long and keen a scrutiny as his, and he retained to the last the veneration of a great majority of the American people. Such an ascendency as he maintained for thirty years over the popular mind was not due to any splendor of talent, or to the éclat of military exploits; it was the honest tribute of an intelligent people to the greatest and best of their servants. Thomas Jefferson ruled the United States, by himself and his disciples, for twenty-four years. Indeed, we may say, with considerable truth, that the United States has only had four Presidents, namely: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, and Abraham Lincoln. The rest have been satellites, disciples, or accidents.

In 1808, two men were prominent above all others for the succession, and they were prominent chiefly because Thomas Jefferson was known to prefer and honor them. These were James Madison, Secretary of State, and James Monroe, the negotiator who had recently purchased Louisiana from Napoleor. Of these two, Monroe was the man whose "record," as we term it, had most in it which the people