One day I came upon him deep within Marshall's definitions of treason as declared in the trial of Aaron Burr.
“There's the law for you,” he cried, with a note of exultation in his tone, and thrusting the book at me with one hand while with the other he marked the place; “there's the law of treason so laid down that a wayfaring man though a fool should not err therein. I shall get it pat to my tongue; I may yet teach it to our Secessionists with a gibbet.”
I put this down to show the climbing of the General's anger against Calhoun; and how it began to spread and feel about to assail the Vice-President in his acts and plans and sentiments and hopes. It was, as he said aforetime, “We would foil the villain and save our pretty Peg.”
You may rest sure I made no argument against his law studies; indeed, I think treason a crime which the White House can not understand too well nor hate too thoroughly, and I never thought so more than in those far days when the General read Marshall and we carried forward our fight for lovely Peg.
While the General spoke no word of the Eatons and their injuries to Van Buren, the latter for a certainty was not long in town before he thereon held converse with himself. I would be made wise of this by his coming to me—it was our second encounter—and, with a manner suave as cream, asking what to my thought would be a time fitting, and to the lady convenient, for him to call upon our Peg.
“For you must know,” said he, spreading out his smooth hands and regarding the backs of them, being, I think, a trick of his to cover an inability to look one between the eyes, “for you must know, sir, since my wife died, and with no daughter in my house to teach me, my society learning has gone excessively to seed.”
It became my turn to say that society, I was told—for I carried no personal knowledge thereof, having little genius for it—ran now to broken ends and fragments, and would continue so throughout the year. The social season, by word of such experienced parlor scouts as Pigeon-breast, would not begin until New Year's Day.
“However,” said I, in finale, “you may take it from me that the Eatons will be blithe to receive you on any evening you should care to call. There need be no formality; you may pull their latch-string at any hour with every assurance of a welcome.”
“Can not you take me there this evening?” he asked, with a kind of enthusiasm.
“I am only too pleased to be of service.”