He had been reelected to Congress by a plurality of over 1700 votes over his Whig opponent.  The Whigs opposed the annexation of Texas.  Clay was against it.  New England preached and sang against it.  But Tyler had tried to negotiate a treaty for it.  It had failed.  He devoted much of his last annual message to Congress to the Texas subject, soliciting “prompt and immediate action on the subject of annexation.”  Douglas, during the campaign in Illinois and in Tennessee, had denounced those weaklings who feared that the extension of the national domain would corrupt the institutions of the country.  As to war with Mexico because of Texas, let it come.  The Federal system was adapted to expansion, to the absorption of the whole continent.  Great Britain should be driven, with all the vestiges of royal authority, from North America.  “I would make,” he said, “an ocean-bound republic, and have no more disputes about boundaries or red lines upon the maps.”

These words sent a thrill through the country.  What had Clay to offer as a counteractant, as an equal inspiration to the pride of this lusty nation?  Surely not the tariff.  This imaginative impulse had carried Mr. Polk to the Presidency; but before Mr. Tyler laid down his office he was able to send a message to Texas with an offer of annexation.  It was accepted, and in December of that year, 1845, Texas became a state of the Union.

Mother Clayton had come on to Chicago at last, and we were fully settled with Mammy and Jenny to run the house.  My life was ideal, divided as it was between money making and participation in Chicago’s development.  We had Mr. and Mrs. Williams and Abigail and Aldington as a nucleus for new friendships.  I could see more clearly than ever that Dorothy and Abigail were as dissimilar as two women could be.  Nevertheless, they became friends.  Mrs. Williams and Mother Clayton found much in common.  My business relations with Mr. Williams were altogether agreeable.

I resumed my readings with Abigail and Aldington, although Dorothy was not greatly interested.  Poe’s Raven went the rounds this winter and created an excitement.  We read Hawthorne’s novels.  Emerson’s Essays, the second series, appeared.  Then the first discordant note came between Dorothy and Abigail.  For Emerson said:  “We must get rid of slavery, or get rid of freedom.”  Abigail exclaimed over this epigrammatic truth.  Dorothy looked at Abigail disapprovingly, apparently seeing in her face evidence of a different spirit than she had hitherto suspected.  Aldington joined Abigail in praise of Emerson.  And for the sake of a balance, I sided with Dorothy and Mother Clayton against them.  Though none of us had anything to do directly with the matter of slavery, it thus cast its shadow upon our otherwise happy relationship.