the capitals of our respective States.  The right of petition on such a subject is tantamount to consideration and discussion, which would be unlawful interference with our greatest institution, leading legitimately and logically to disunion and war.  Is it right, is it generous, is it patriotic to drive us to such an alternative?  We only ask to be let alone.  You assail a sacred ark where dwell the seraphim and cherubim of our liberties, of our honor, of our interests, of our loyalty itself.  To this we never will consent.”

Mr. Clay then came forward in Congress as an advocate for considering the question of petitions.  He was for free argument on the subject.  He admitted that the Abolitionists were dangerous, but he could not shut his eyes to an indisputable right.  So he went half-way, as was his custom, pleasing neither party, and alienating friends; but at the same time with great tact laying out a middle ground where the opposing parties could still stand together without open conflict.  “I am no friend,” said he, “to slavery.  The Searcher of hearts knows that every pulsation of mine beats high and strong in the cause of civil liberty.  Wherever it is practicable and safe I desire to see every portion of the human family in the enjoyment of it; but I prefer the liberty of my own country to that of other people.  The liberty of the descendants of Africa in the United States is incompatible with the liberty and safety of the European descendants.”  Such were the sentiments of the leading classes of the North, not yet educated up to the doctrines which afterwards prevailed.  But the sentiments declared by Clay lost him the presidency.  His political sins, like those of Webster, were sins of omission rather than of commission.  Neither of them saw that the little cloud in the horizon would soon cover the heavens, and pour down a deluge to sweep away abominations worse than Ahab ever dreamed of.  Clay did not go far enough to please the rising party.  He did not see the power or sustain the rightful exercise of this new moral force, but he did argue on grounds of political expediency for the citizens’ right of petition,—­a right conceded even to the subjects of unlimited despotism.  An Ahasuerus could throw petitions into the mire, without reading, but it was customary to accept them.

The result was a decision on the part of Congress to admit the petitions, but to pay no further attention to them.

The Abolitionists, however, had resorted to less scrupulous measures.  They sent incendiary matter through the mails, not with the object of inciting the slaves to rebellion,—­this was hopeless,—­but with the design of aiding their escape from bondage, and perchance of influencing traitors in the Southern camp.  To this new attack Calhoun responded with dignity and with logic.  And we cannot reasonably blame him for repelling it.  The Southern cities had as good a right to exclude inflammatory pamphlets as New York or Boston has to prevent the introduction of the cholera.  It was the instinct of self-preservation; whatever may be said of their favorite institution on ethical grounds, they had the legal right to protect it from incendiary matter.