But it ran, in this case, pure and unbroken in the heart of the survivor, through a long and varied life. It became a grief that could not be spoken of; to which only the most distant allusion could be made; a sacred, unceasing sorrow, buried deep in the breast of a man who was formed for domestic joys; hidden beneath manners that were most engaging, beneath strong social tendencies, and a chivalrous old-fashioned deference to women of all ages and all claims. His peculiar and reverential demeanor towards the sex, never varied by rank, or station, or individual attractions, was doubtless in a large degree caused by the tender memory of what he had found, or fancied, in her whom he had lost in his early days by such a cruel fate. If her death had not prevented their marriage, it is probable that a purely professional and domestic life would have filled up the measure alike of his happiness and his ambition. It is certain that this occurrence prevented him from ever marrying, and impelled him again into public life, after he had once resolved to quit it. Soon after this catastrophe, he was offered a nomination to a seat in Congress. He did not suppose that he could be elected, and did not much desire to be. But he was strongly urged to accept the candidacy, and finally consented, chiefly because he needed an innocent excitement that would sometimes distract him from the grief that was destined never to leave him.[5] Great and uninterrupted, however, as was his political and social success, he lived and died a widowed and a childless man. Fortunately for him, a sister’s child, left an orphan at an early age, whom he educated with the wisest care, filled to him the place of a daughter as nearly and tenderly as such a relative could supply that want, adorning with womanly accomplishments and virtues the high public stations to which he was eventually called. ----- Footnote 1: Under the date of September 13, 1813, Mr. Buchanan’s father writes to him: “Yesterday the fast day was kept here pretty unanimously. Mr. Elliot gave us an excellent sermon, and spoke of the war as a judgment, and the greatest calamity that could befall a people. He showed it to be worse than the famine or the pestilence. In the two latter cases, he said God acted as the immediate agent: in that of war he acted by subordinate agents; therefore the calamity was the greater.” This was the tone of many Federalist sermons. Footnote 2: