It is the pride of the whole loyal people that the humblest citizen with something important to say may have audience with the nation's chief official. President John Tyler was no exception, and when notified of Whitman's wishes by Secretary of War Porter, he arranged to give him audience without delay. The President was, every day and hour, importuned to meet men, who came to beg for office or honors or emoluments of some kind, but as he learned from Secretary Porter, this man from Oregon was not of that kind he was curiously anxious to meet him. As we have stated, we make no effort to report speeches. It is well known that "the Silent Man" when aroused was strong and eloquent. Upon that long journey, with the weight and importance of his mission pressing upon him, my readers can well believe that Whitman's words were strong and true and impressive. As he told it to his friends, he dwelt upon the marvelous fertility of the soil, and the great crops of grain and fruits his fields and gardens and orchards had produced for six years; how stock ranged the pastures, fat the year round, without protection or feed from barns. He told of the magnificent forests, not equaled in other portions of the world, of the undoubted mineral riches in mountains, of the pure water in springs, flowing rivers navigable for the greatest ships, and of the inviting, balmy, healthful climate. Who could describe better than Whitman the grandeur of the Oregon country, destined, as he hoped, "for millions of American people!" It was then that the keen Webster made the remark, but "Doctor, how can you ever make a wagon-road for American immigration to Oregon?" and received the prompt reply, "There, Mr. Secretary, you have been deceived and misinformed. There is a wagon-road to Oregon now, and I made it and took a wagon over it six years ago, and it is there to-day!" That is the triumph of the old wagon turned into a cart with its front wheels lashed to its sides. The patient, good little wife, in the years before, was sorrowing over the labors of her husband in his hard work, and mourned through many pages of her diary, as we have seen, over the folly of hauling along "the old wagon." She was not permitted to look into the future and hear how the Indian boys' "Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety" would strike dumb the nation's greatest orator. Nor is it at all likely that Whitman himself ever dreamed of such results. He simply obeyed a silent voice within, as was his rule of life, and old "Click," amid trials and perils never half told, rolled on, and made history.