Ninety-nine out of every hundred self-made men are at first more or less
sensitive concerning their low birth; the hundredth man who is not is a
man indeed.

Broderick's great rival was Gwin. The men were antipodes in every thing
except that they belonged to the same party. Gwin still lives, the most
colossal figure in the history of California. He looks the man he is. Of
immense frame, ruddy complexion, deep-blue eyes that almost blaze when
he is excited, rugged yet expressive features, a massive bead crowned
with a heavy suit of silver-white hair, he is marked by Nature for
leadership. Common men seem dwarfed in his presence. After he had
dropped out of California politics for awhile, a Sacramento hotel-keeper
expressed what many felt during a legislative session: "I find myself
looking around for Gwin. I miss the chief."

My first acquaintance with Dr. Gwin began with, an incident that
illustrates the man and the times. It was in 1856. The Legislature was
in session at Sacramento, and a United States Senator was to, be
elected. I was making a tentative movement toward starting a Southern
Methodist newspaper, and visited Sacramento on that business. My friend
Major P. L. Solomon was there, and took a friendly interest in my
enterprise. He proposed to introduce me to the leading men of both
parties, and I thankfully availed myself of his courtesy. Among the
first to whom he presented me was a noted politician who, both before
and since, has enjoyed a national notoriety, and who still lives, and is
as, ready as ever to talk or fight. His name I need not give. I
presented to him my mission, and he seemed embarrassed.

"I am with you, of course. My mother was a Methodist, and all my
sympathies are with the Methodist Church. I am a Southern man in all my