"Clem," said Old Master, pausing and resting his hand upon a pile of books that lay on Bob's table, "it is well enough to praise your friend, for he is no doubt droll and amusing, but when you come to call him a great statesman, you do injustice to the memory of Clay and Webster, of Jefferson and Benton." Mr. Clem laughed. "Guilford," said he, "you are misled just as the majority of men suffer themselves to be misled. A man brays with the solemnity of an ass and you think he is great. Over a vital question he utters a senseless stupidity and you think he has said a wise thing. You don't know that humor is the cream that rises to the surface of life's wisdom. Lincoln tells a story and throws a bright light on a truth; he does not invest a subject with a gloom so thick that no eye can penetrate it. He makes all things plain, and the province of greatness is not to enshroud but to simplify. But that's neither here nor there; he's going to be elected." "But can't you understand that the country will not accept him, sir?" "Not accept him? The people will accept whom the people elect." "But the South will not accept an abolitionist." "Then the South will have to make the most of it. Of what good will be her protest? You don't mean that she will secede from the Union?" "Oh, I hope not," said Old Master. "Surely not," he added. "We cannot afford to throw away the traditions of our fathers." It was a sore subject to me, and I was glad when they dropped it. I hardly knew why, but my flesh always began to creep when abolition was ventured upon; there was a shudder in it, a threat of trouble, trial and blood. Bob had shown no interest in the talk; he had sat in a deep muse, his hands listless in his lap, his eyes turned upward; but how handsome was his face, his expression sweetened with success. That day he had been lifted high and given a glimpse, yes a full sight of the heaven his heart so fondly craved; he was to be great and he knew it as he sat there dreaming. Old Master turned to go, and his son came down from the purple clouds. They looked at each other for a moment. "Bob." "Yes, sir." "You have made me the proudest man in the State; you have done what Patrick Henry fired me with an ambition to do. It was denied me, and now I am rejoiced to see it fulfilled in you. The blood of old Kentucky shook your hand to-night. Now give it to me, sir." Young master arose and they shook hands with solemn ceremony, Bob turning his eyes away. "Your eye, sir," said the old man, and the young man looked into his father's eyes; and they read each other sternly, and with never a sign of flinching, so completely had each mastered himself. "Father, if I have ability it is indeed the fulfillment of your own ambition, for I felt it as a child, so strongly apart from my own forces that I knew the current must come from you. I have been told by old men that I am a second edition of yourself and--"