The next great struggle was in 1833, when nullification first reared its hideous head. At that epoch, the south, and especially South Carolina, observing that our capital had been too deeply invested in manufactures to be withdrawn, changed their policy, and sought to reap a double harvest,--both of the manufacturing system they had introduced, and of the free trade system they had abandoned. She therefore set about to strangle that offspring of protection to which she had given birth. Even in Virginia, Mr. Madison’s coat had become an unconstitutional coat, and the idea of American woollens so wrought upon Mr. John Randolph’s gentle affections, that he said he would go a mile out of his way to kick a sheep. The South Carolina resistance was beginning to assume a military form. Then occurred a most admirable opportunity to test the strength of our government,--to learn and know whether the pillars of this Union are made of granite or of pipe-stems. We had a clear case of right. In the chair of state was a man of Roman will, who would have rejoiced in the opportunity to _see that the republic received no detriment._ He contemned the nonsense as much as he despised the fraud, of the cry that the Union was in danger. If it was in any danger, he would have saved it in such a way that it would not need saving again every twelvemonth. But the chance was lost. A compromise was brought forward, by which South Carolina consented to a sort of armed truce, on her part, provided the tariff, though not given up, should be tapered down almost to nothing. Though, on many accounts, I have a high respect for the author of that compromise, yet I regard it as the most unfortunate act ever done,--the most fatal precedent ever set by this government. It taught the south the efficacy of clamoring; it taught them that there are cases where a Bombastes Furioso is as powerful as a Julius Cæsar; and it taught them also, notwithstanding all appearances of solidity and firmness, of what a delicate nervous tissue a money-bag consists.