The "Union League" grows fast, as the "Golden Circle" extends. All over California, resolute men swear to stand by the flag. Stanford and Low are earning their governorships. From pulpit and rostrum the cry of secession is raised by Dr. Scott and the legal meteor Edmund Randolph, now sickening to his death. Randolph, though a son of Virginia, with, first, loyal impulses, sent despatches to President Lincoln that California was to be turned over to the South. He disclosed that Jefferson Davis had already sent Sidney Johnston a Major-General's commission. Though he finally follows the course of his native State, Randolph rendered priceless service to the Union cause in the West. General Edward V. Sumner is already secretly hurrying westward. He is met at Panama by the Unionist messengers. They turn back with him. In every city and county the Unionists and Southerners watch each other. While Johnston's resignation flies eastward, Sumner is steaming up the Mexican coast, unknown to the conspirators. In the days of March and April, 1861, one excited man could have plunged the Pacific Coast into civil warfare. All unconscious of the deadly gun bellowing treason on April 12th at Charleston, as the first shell burst over Sumter, the situation remained one of anxious tension in California. The telegraph is not yet finished. On April 19th, General Sumner arrived unexpectedly. He was informed of local matters by the loyalists. General Sidney Johnston, astonished and surprised, turned over his command at once. Without treasonable attempt, he left the Golden Gate. When relieved, he was no longer in the service. Speeding over the Colorado deserts to Texas, the high-minded veteran rode out to don the new gray uniform, and to die in the arms of an almost decisive victory at Shiloh. Well might the South call that royal old soldier to lead its hosts. Another half hour of Albert Sidney Johnston at Shiloh, and the history of the United States might have been changed by his unconquered sword. Lofty in his aims, adored by his subordinates, he was a modern Marshal Ney. The Southern cypress took its darkest tinge around his untimely grave. Sidney Johnston had all the sterling qualities of Lee, and even a rarer magnetism of character. Honor placed one fadeless wreath upon his tomb. He would not play the ignoble part of a Twiggs or a Lynde. He offered a stainless sword to the Bonnie Blue Flag. The gravity of his farewell, the purity of his private character, the affection of his personal friends, are tributes to the great soldier. He nearly crushed the Union army in his tiger-like assault at Shiloh. By universal consent, the ablest soldier of the "old army," he was sacrificed to the waywardness of fate. Turns of Fortune's wheel.