holding and one from the Free States, each one to have the veto power with regard to the legislation of Congress, — a fantastic, impossible scheme.
There he sat, the old champion of slavery, himself the picture of his doomed cause, — a cause at war with the civilization of the age, vainly struggling against destiny, — a cause which neither union nor disunion, neither eloquence in council, nor skill in diplomacy, nor bravery in battle, could save: there he sat, motionless like a statue, with the hand of death upon him; his dark eyes flashing with feverish lustre from beneath his knitted brows; listening to his own words from another's mouth, and anxiously watching on the faces of those around their effect, — words of mournful despair, heralding the coming fate, and, without hope, still trying to avert it by counseling impossible expedients. Four weeks later Calhoun closed his eyes forever, leaving his cherished cause to its doom. Clay and Webster were among those who strewed flowers of eulogy upon his grave.
On March 7 Webster spoke. His speech was one of the sensations of the time. The anti-slavery men of New England had hoped that Webster would take in Congress the leadership of the opponents of slavery extension. Webster's past career gave good reasons for this hope, but the expectation was disappointed. Webster had always condemned slavery; now he paraded an array of excuses for its continued existence. He had opposed the annexation of Texas because of slavery;
