AS IRRELEVANT as it might seem to the crass realities of antebellum
politics, the role of the statesman was an eminently practical one for
its Whig adherents. The statesman, after all, governed his public conduct
by an "ethic of responsibility." ¹ His table of virtues did not consist of
Platonic absolutes, to be implemented without concern for their worldly
consequences; his zeal for "improvement" was tempered by a scru-
pulous regard for time-honored traditions, usages, and institutions. In
times of trouble, he did not resort to chimerical "experiments" or easy
expedients, surrendering the "calm and dispassionate conclusions of
wisdom and experience to the sudden outbreaks of popular feeling." ²
Neither, however, did the statesman disregard the will of the electorate.
Rather, it was "his duty to bow in obedience to the sober judgment of the
people, after reason and reflection have regained their dominion." ³

But for all their professions of statesmanship, the Whigs always had
great difficulty in reconciling principle with practicality, reality with the
ideal. They might claim to venerate established institutions, but there
was a "peculiar institution" which was morally repellent to most
northern members of the party. ⁴ The southern Whigs knew that, given
the intensity of antislavery sentiment among the Whigs of the North,
their northern colleagues could not appear to be unduly solicitous of
special southern concerns. Accordingly, the southern Whigs did every-
thing in their power to exclude slavery from the forums of national
debate. Yet, as Whigs, they were obliged to uphold programs which had
long been branded with the taint of "Federalism" in the South. Hence,
when questions relating to slavery did come under the purview of the
nation, they demanded that their counterparts in the North act like

-189-