When Congress assembled in December, 1849, statesmen of the old school, who could agree in nothing else, were of one mind in this: the Union was in peril. In the impressive words of Webster, "the imprisoned winds were let loose. The East, the North, and the stormy South combined to throw the whole sea into commotion, to toss its billows to the skies, and disclose its profoundest depths." Clay and Calhoun were equally apprehensive. Yet there were younger men who shared none of these fears. To be sure, the political atmosphere of Washington was electric. The House spent weeks wrangling over the Speakership, so that when the serious work of legislation began, men were overwrought and excitable. California with a free constitution was knocking at the door of the Union. President Taylor gave Congress to understand that at no distant day the people of New Mexico would take similar action. And then, as though he were addressing a body of immortals, he urged Congress to await calmly the action of the people of the Territories. Douglas was among those unimpressionable younger men who would not believe the Union to be in danger. Perhaps by his Southern connections he knew better than most Northern men, the real temper of the South. Perhaps he did not give way to the prevailing hysteria, because he was diverted from the great issues by the pressing, particular interests of his constituents. At all events, he had this advantage over Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, that when he did turn his attention to schemes of compromise, his vision was fresh, keen, and direct. He escaped that subtle distortion of mental perception from which others were likely to suffer because of long-sustained attention. To such, Douglas must have seemed unemotional, unsensitive, and lacking in spiritual fineness.