to convince Jefferson, who listened attentively, wondering, with a sigh, how any man could pour out his thoughts so rapidly and so well.  “Will you turn this over in your mind, and let me see you again in a day or two?” asked Hamilton, as he finished his argument.  “Let me reiterate that there is no time to lose.  The Government is at a standstill in all matters concerning the establishment of the country on a sound financial basis, until this subordinate matter is settled.”

“You alarm and deeply interest me,” said Jefferson.  “I certainly will give the matter my attention.  Will you dine with me to-morrow?  We can then discuss this matter at leisure.  I will ask one or two others.”

The next day, at Mr. Jefferson’s epicureous board, Hamilton played his trump.  Having again wrought havoc with his host’s imagination, but by no means trusting to the permanence of any emotion, he proposed a bargain:  if Jefferson would use his influence with the Virginians and other Southern anti-assumptionists in Congress, he and Robert Morris would engage to persuade obstinate Northerners to concede the Capital city to the South.  Hamilton made no sacrifice of conviction in offering this proposition.  There was no reason why the Government should not sit as conveniently on the banks of the Potomac as elsewhere, and if he did not carry the Union through this new crisis, no one else would.  All his great schemes depended upon his bringing the hostile States to reason, and with his usual high-handed impatience he carried his object in his own way.

Jefferson saw much virtue in this arrangement.  The plan was an almost immediate success.  White and Lee of Virginia were induced to change their votes, and assumption with some modifications passed into a law.  The Government, after a ten years’ sojourn in Philadelphia, would abide permanently upon the Potomac.

XXI

Mrs. Hamilton, albeit she had not a care in the world, sighed heavily.  She was standing before her mirror, arrayed in a triumph of art recently selected by Mrs. Church, in London.  On her head was an immense puff of yellow gauze, whose satin foundation had a double wing in large plaits.  The dress was of yellow satin, flowing over a white satin petticoat, and embellished about the neck with a large Italian gauze handkerchief, striped with white.  Her hair was in ringlets and unpowdered.  She was a very plate of fashion, but her brow was puckered.

“What is it?” asked her husband, entering from his room.  “You are a vision of loveliness, my dear Eliza.  Is there a rose too few, or a hoop awry?”