tunate place for such an experiment, simply because of its peculiar local constitution. On the one hand, it was a great responsibility upon a little Windham county town to assume the burden of an odium which far larger places would not have ventured to take up at the time. Towns in other States might shirk responsibility by pleading that such an establishment was the work of a superior power; in a Connecticut town it must be taken as the act and deed of the town itself. On the other hand, the universal feeling in the State, that a town should have the amplest liberty of control in its local affairs, made it easy for the town's controlling influence to get from the general assembly the act recognizing its selectmen's right to decide on this question,—an act whose form was so closely in accord with the general tenor of the Connecticut system that legislators must have felt it difficult to find objections to it, even if they disliked its new principle. Popular passion had thus a strong impelling force and a temptingly clear field before it, and the opportunity thus afforded may do something to explain the whole affair. At least, the second consideration should do something to exonerate the people of the commonwealth at large.

With the exception of these unpleasant features, the political history of the commonwealth has been uneventful, and the only friction yet noticeable is in some points in which the old forms of

local government have seemed to become too narrow for the commonwealth's growth. Most of the dissatisfaction has come from the constitution of the general assembly. The representation of the political units of the State in it has always been somewhat peculiar, owing to the survival of the original elements. The lower house has never been considered a popular body: it is the historical representative of the towns, with all their original feeling of town equality. A majority of the lower house need not represent anything approaching a popular majority. The senate was intended to represent the popular majority, but the twenty-four districts from which its members are selected have offered too tempting a prize for gerrymandering to be resisted. In other States, it is the apportionment of the lower house which is usually subjected to this process; in Connecticut, it is the senate. The party which finds itself in a majority on the popular vote, and yet in a minority in the lower house, is apt to charge injustice there also. And yet the historical student, however much he may regret unequal apportionment in the senate, cannot but regret any attempt to disturb the ancient apportionment in the lower house. It is one of the few remnants of the original constitution of the commonwealth, and speaks too plainly the history of Connecticut to be willingly abandoned.

CHAPTER XIX.

CONNECTICUT IN THE WAR FOR THE UNION.

Now that the heat and passion of the war for the Union have so far died away, it must be admitted that the hasty rush into hostilities was largely due to the prevalent belief in the seceding States that the North and West would not fight. The belief rested on different grounds as to the two sections. The West would not fight because it was in her interest to secure peaceable use of the Mississippi, and thus mutual interest was to guard the South from an enemy for whom it had considerable respect. The manufacturing regions of the North would not fight because they dared not; and if they should attempt to fight, the South would ask no better or safer amusement than a conflict with them. History should have taught all men more wisdom: the Flemish artisan had long ago shown the world how his craft could fight upon occasion, and the Northern mechanics only repeated and emphasized the lesson. The aversion to war as an abstract principle was strongest among such as the typical Connecticut workman. He could see no use in it; it was not in the line

of his training or ambitions; it interfered seriously with all that he longed to do in the world. All this really made him a more dangerous enemy, for when he was forced into warlike occupation he went to work at it with a peculiar determination to finish the matter and get rid of it as soon as possible. But the average Southerner's opinion was undoubtedly voiced by Governor Hammond of South Carolina, when he said that the "manual laborers and operatives of the North" were "essentially slaves," "the mudsills of society," the difference being that "our slaves are hired for life and are well compensated; yours are hired by the day and not cared for." Above others, he would probably have been amused by the notion of an actual regiment of Connecticut mechanics and tin-peddlers as a possible element in the decision of the great question.

It is a fair instance of the commonwealth's indifference to military glory that her militia system was so completely out of gear in 1861 that she was unable to provide even the single regiment of militia assigned to her in the first call of President Lincoln. Up to the last moment her people were intensely busy with the machinery and mechanical industries which had given them so large a place in the material development of the country.

A remarkable feature of the war was the group of "war governors" who directed the energies of their States during the struggle, and stand out

above the mass of those who have occupied the office. To this group Connecticut made a notable contribution in the person of her war governor, William A. Buckingham, of Norwich, one of the class of manufacturers and business men who have so often served the commonwealth. January 17, 1861, he issued his proclamation to the militia of the State, warning them that their services might be needed at any moment, and urging them to be "ready to render such service as any exigency might demand." The ranks of the militia were not filled as they should have been; but the prudent governor, on his personal responsibility, ordered the quartermaster to buy equipments for 5,000 men. They did good service just when they were most needed.

In the spring of 1861, Governor Buckingham was reëlected by a vote of 43,012 to 41,003 for James C. Loomis. April 16, he called for a regiment of volunteers, as there was not even a regiment of organized militia to fill President Lincoln's call on the commonwealth. The step was unauthorized by law, but the governor relied on the general assembly to validate it at the coming session. In this he represented the people exactly, for they had caught fire at the capture of Sumter. More than five times the State's quota volunteered, -fifty-four companies instead of ten. But the curious feature of the case, as illustrating the survival underneath of the primitive constitution