The years from Reconstruction to the Spanish-American War, the so-called Gilded Age, were a golden age of political partisanship. Crossover voting was rare; independents were scorned. To a degree unmatched since, party loyalty was a test of manhood; partisan allegiance represented a means of self-identification. To be a Republican or to be a Democrat-these were not lightly-made decisions but were shaped by self-interest, ethnicity, and, above all, history, most notably the polarizing trauma of the Civil War. Such passionately-held partisanship did not guarantee party unity. Quite the contrary; the very importance of parties as institutions intensified the internal struggle to control the party's machinery and shape its program. Yet, at the same time, the political imperatives of an era characterized by high voter turnout, straight ticket voting, and close national elections dictated a strategy of mobilizing one's own adherents rather than persuading the unpersuaded. Since one disgruntled faction could deprive the national ticket of victory by sitting on its hands, party managers were compelled to devote the bulk of their energies to securing party unity and enthusiasm. In the voluminous correspondence of James A. Garfield during the presidential campaign of 1880, for example, there is scarcely any mention of the Democrats, but considerable attention is paid to