Here is the spectacle of a man who had risen, as we have seen, from the lowly log-house settlement of the Western slopes, unschooled, unpolished, except by the rude processes of hardships and necessity, yet who could rise to such self-command as this. Thousands of men of the higher order of the educated fail when they try to think and talk at the same time. The possibilities that were in Davy Crockett’s pathway were without limit; a vision of political greatness hovered about his pillow in the midnight hours, and beckoned him onward in the glare of day. That he should thus be known by the people of the seaboard filled his soul with pride and his heart with hope. He forgot the bitter words he had spoken in honest wrath against what he believed to be the misdeeds of the administration of Andrew Jackson. Like one camping in the peaceful forest, unmindful of the stern and silent foe upon his trail, he rested in a contentment that was undisturbed by doubt. He looked forward to reëlection the next year, or to a gift from the people of even greater power. There is no sign of his honest nature being spoiled by so much attention. He was never blind to the possibility of deception in the adulation of the public, but the loud cheers of the men of the Quaker City rang true in his ears, and he believed them as sincere as himself. In the evening Davy visited the Walnut Street Theatre, where he saw Jim Crow――“as good a nigger,” he says, “as if he was clean black, except the bandy legs.” After the theatre, Davy said that he thought his own people found quite as much pleasure in their own simple recreations as did the city folks in their more expensive and showy ones, and against anything the city could show he would put the fun of the all-night country dance. “It would do you good to see our boys and girls dancing,” said he. “None of your straddling and mincing and sadying, but a regular sifter, cut-the-buckle, chicken-flutter set-to.” It is well, sometimes, to get another view of ourselves from such a standpoint as Davy’s. The Philadelphia people, especially the politicians of the Whig party, outdid themselves in entertaining the hero of the hour. The next morning he was presented with a forty-dollar seal for his watch-chain. The design showed a “match race,” as he styles it, with two horses at full speed, and with the motto, “Go Ahead!” He thought it the finest seal he had ever seen, and says that after his return to Washington in June, the members of Congress almost wore it out in making impressions to send all over the country.