Governor Tompkins--being a politician--hesitates at the bold step. The Bucktails, Aaron-guided, grow menacing. Seeing himself in danger, Governor Tompkins hesitates no longer. Mayor Clinton is ignominiously thrust from office into private life. With him go those hopes of a presidency which for half a decade he has been sedulously cultivating. Under the blight of that removal, those hopes of a future White House wither like uprooted flowers. Broken of purse and prospects, Clinton is in despair. “He will never rise again!” exclaims Van Ness. “My friend,” says Aaron, “he will be your governor. He will never be president, but the governorship is yet to be his; and all by your negligence--yours and your brother Buck-tails.” “As how?” demands Van Ness. “You let him declare for the Erie Canal,” returns Aaron. “You were so purblind as to oppose the project. You should have taken the business out of his hands. If I had been here it would have been done. Mark my words! The canal will be dug, and it will make Clinton governor. However, we shall hold the town against him; and, since we have been given a candidate for the presidency, we shall later have Washington also.” “Who is that presidential candidate to whom you refer?” “Sir, he is your friend and my friend. Who, but Andrew Jackson? Since New Orleans, it is bound to be he.” “Andrew Jackson!” exclaims Van Ness. “But, sir, the Congressional caucus at Washington will never consider him. You know the power of Jefferson--he will hold that caucus in the hollow of his hand. It is he who will name Madison’s successor; and, after those street-corner speeches and his friendship for you in Richmond, it can never be Andrew Jackson.” “I know the Jefferson power,” returns Aaron; “none knows it better. At the head of his Virginia junta he has controlled the country for years. He will control it four years more, perchance eight. Our war upon him and his caucus methods must begin at once. And our candidate should be, and shall be, Andrew Jackson.” “Whom will Jefferson select to follow Madison?” “Monroe, sir; he will put forward Monroe.” “Monroe!” repeats Van Ness. “Has he force?--brains? Some one spoke of him as a soldier.” “Soldier!” observes Aaron, his lip curling. “Sir, Monroe never commanded so much as a platoon--never was fit to command one. He acted as aide to Lord Stirling, who was a sot, not a soldier. Monroe’s whole duty was to fill his lordship’s tankard, and hear with admiration his drunken lordship’s long tales about himself. As a lawyer, Monroe is below mediocrity. He never rose to the honor of trying a cause wherein so much as one hundred pounds was at stake. He is dull, stupid, illiterate, pusillanimous, hypocritical, and therefore a character suited to the wants of Jefferson and his Virginia coterie. As a man, he is everything that Jackson isn’t and nothing that he is.”