I, with a hundred others, was narrowly watching the General, and, well as I knew him, I wondered at the calmness wherewith he maintained himself. This man who had a genius for anger, who went head-free into each debate, who offered you his last thoughts in an unrestricted stream of talk, would now be as impassive as marble. The General, throughout these wordy treasons of speech and toast, showed cold and stern and master of a dignity that became both himself and the exalted character of his station. The hour was hurrying towards the late. Calhoun glanced across at the General; there was a questioning uneasiness in his look. Evidently the urgent moment was at hand. Calhoun offered a slip of paper to Lee, presiding, and whispered a word. “The Vice-President proposes a toast,” cried Lee. There fell a stillness, laughter died and talk was hushed. The Chairman read: “'_The Federal Union. Next to our liberty, the most dear. May we all remember that it can only be preserved by respecting the rights of the States, and distributing equally the benefits and the burden of the Union_.'” That stillness of death continued, marked and profound. Folk strained and craned at both the General and Calhoun as do ones who would observe the effect of a shot. There were eyes replete of interrogation, and if one must have it truly told, defiance, to be peculiarly turned upon the General. For his part, the General never wore a loftier look. He scribbled a quick line and gave it to the Chairman. “The President offers a toast.” Then solemnly, as one who feels its import: '”_The Federal Union: It must be Preserved_.'” The General's glance was on Calhoun, as pointed as a sword. His eye was fierce with a sort of gray fury like the eye of some fighting eagle. Calhoun for a moment gave him look for look; then his glance fell, his face whitened, he would seem to shrink and sear and wither before the man of fire. It was as though he saw the future's danger, or felt some gallows prophecy thereof. In the end he sat like one under a blackness of shadow. The General it was who broke the spell. Pushing back, he arose, and bowing to the Chairman who still sat with that toast of menace in his hand he began moving towards the door. His head was lifted, and he bore himself as should one who flings a gauntlet to the world. Openly, obviously, defiantly, he set his heel on Secession's head in the midst of Secession's champions. Pausing, the General swept those present, letting his look of challenge rest on each one in his turn. It was as though he questioned them: “Where, now, is your courage?” There was none to retort to him. Folk scented peril on him as cattle smell in the wind the unborn storm.