He could have said no more， had he gone on reviewing every session in the rest of the century. The political dilemma was as clear in 1870 as it was likely to be in 1970 The system of 1789 had broken down， and with it the eighteenth-century fabric of a priori， or moral， principles. Politicians had tacitly given it up. Grant's administration marked the avowal. Nine-tenths of men's political energies must henceforth be wasted on expedients to piece out -- to patch -- or， in vulgar language， to tinker -- the political machine as often as it broke down. Such a system， or want of system， might last centuries， if tempered by an occasional revolution or civil war； but as a machine， it was， or soon would be， the poorest in the world -- the clumsiest -- the most inefficient Here again was an education， but what it was worth he could not guess.
Indeed， when he raised his eyes to the loftiest and most triumphant results of politics -- to Mr. Boutwell， Mr. Conkling or even Mr. Sumner -- he could not honestly say that such an education， even when it carried one up to these unattainable heights， was worth anything. There were men， as yet standing on lower levels -- clever and amusing men like Garfield and Blaine -- who took no little pleasure in making fun of the senatorial demi-gods， and who used language about Grant himself which the North American Review would not have admitted. One asked doubtfully what was likely to become of these men in their turn. What kind of political ambition was to result from this destructive political education？
Yet the sum of political life was， or should have been， the attainment of a working political system. Society needed to reach it. If moral standards broke down， and machinery stopped working， new morals and machinery of some sort had to be invented. An eternity of Grants， or even of Garfields or of Conklings or of Jay Goulds， refused to be conceived as possible.
Practical Americans laughed， and went their way. Society paid them to be practical. Whenever society cared to pay Adams， he too would be practical， take his pay， and hold his tongue； but meanwhile he was driven to associate with Democratic Congressmen and educate them. He served David Wells as an active assistant professor of revenue reform， and turned his rooms into a college. The Administration drove him， and thousands of other young men， into active enmity， not only to Grant， but to the system or want of system， which took possession of the President. Every hope or thought which had brought Adams to Washington proved to be absurd. No one wanted him； no one wanted any of his friends in reform； the blackmailer alone was the normal product of politics as of business.
All this was excessively amusing. Adams never had been so busy， so interested， so much in the thick of the crowd. He knew Congressmen by scores and newspaper-men by the dozen. He wrote for his various organs all sorts of attacks and defences. He enjoyed the life enormously， and found himself as happy as Sam Ward or Sunset Cox； much happier than his friends Fish or J. D. Cox， or Chief Justice Chase or Attorney General Hoar or Charles Sumner. When spring came， he took to the woods， which were best of all， for after the first of April， what Maurice de Gué；rin called "the vast maternity" of nature showed charms more voluptuous than the vast paternity of the United States Senate. Senators were less ornamental than the dogwood or even the judas-tree. They were， as a rule， less good company. Adams astonished himself by remarking what a purified charm was lent to the Capitol by the greatest possible distance， as one caught glimpses of the dome over miles of forest foliage. At such moments he pondered on the distant beauty of St. Peter's and the steps of Ara C渓i.
Yet he shortened his spring， for he needed to get back to London for the season. He had finished his New York "Gold Conspiracy，" which he meant for his friend Henry Reeve and the Edinburgh Review . It was the best piece of work he had done， but this was not his reason for publishing it in England. The Erie scandal had provoked a sort of revolt among respectable New Yorkers， as well as among some who were not so respectable； and the attack on Erie was beginning to promise success. London was a sensitive spot for the Erie management， and it was thought well to strike them there， where they were socially and financially exposed. The tactics suited him in another way， for any expression about America in an English review attracted ten times the attention in America that the same article would attract in the North American . Habitually the American dailies reprinted such articles in full. Adams wanted to escape the terrors of copyright， his highest ambition was to be pirated and advertised free of charge， since in any case， his pay was nothing. Under the excitement of chase he was becoming a pirate himself， and liked it.
