HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, JUNE 30, 1852.

THE journal of yesterday having been read, a message was received

from the senate, by Asbury Dickins, Esq., its secretary, communicating

information of the death of Henry Clay, late senator from the state of

Kentucky, and the proceedings of the senate thereon. The resolutions of

the senate having been read,

Mr. ♦BRECKENRIDGE then rose and said: Mr. Speaker, I rise to perform

the melancholy duty of announcing to this body the death of Henry Clay,

late a senator in congress from the commonwealth of Kentucky.

Mr. Clay expired at his lodgings in this city yesterday morning, at

seventeen minutes past eleven o’clock, in the seventy-sixth year of his

age. His noble intellect was unclouded to the last. After protracted

sufferings, he passed away without pain; and so gently did the spirit

leave his frame, that the moment of departure was not observed by the

friends who watched at his bedside. His last hours were cheered by the

presence of an affectionate son; and he died surrounded by friends who,

during his long illness, had done all that affection could suggest to

soothe his sufferings.

Although this sad event has been expected for many weeks, the shock

it produced, and the innumerable tributes of respect to his memory

exhibited on every side, and in every form, prove the depth of the

public sorrow, and the greatness of the public loss.

Imperishably associated as his name has been for fifty years with every

great event affecting the fortunes of our country, it is difficult to

realize that he is indeed gone for ever. It is difficult to feel that

we shall see no more his noble form within these walls――that we shall

hear no more his patriot tones, now rousing his countrymen to vindicate

their rights against a foreign foe, now imploring them to preserve

concord among themselves. We shall see him no more. The memory and the

fruits of his services alone remain to us. Amidst the general gloom,

the Capitol itself looks desolate, as if the genius of the place had

departed. Already the intelligence has reached almost every quarter

of the republic, and a great people mourn with us, to-day, the death

of their most illustrious citizen. Sympathizing, as we do, deeply,

with his family and friends, yet private affliction is absorbed in the

general sorrow. The spectacle of a whole community lamenting the loss

of a great man, is far more touching than any manifestation of private

grief. In speaking of a loss which is national, I will not attempt to

describe the universal burst of grief with which Kentucky will receive

these tidings. The attempt would be vain to depict the gloom that will

cover her people, when they know that the pillar of fire is removed,

which has guided their footsteps for the life of a generation.

It is known to the country, that from the memorable session of

1849–’50, Mr. Clay’s health gradually declined. Although several years

of his senatorial term remained, he did not propose to continue in the

public service longer than the present session. He came to Washington

chiefly to defend, if it should become necessary, the measures of

adjustment, to the adoption of which he so largely contributed; but the

condition of his health did not allow him, at any time, to participate

in the discussions of the senate. Through the winter, he was confined

almost wholly to his room, with slight changes in his condition, but

gradually losing the remnant of his strength. Through the long and

dreary winter, he conversed much and cheerfully with his friends, and

expressed a deep interest in public affairs. Although he did not expect

a restoration to health, he cherished the hope that the mild season of

spring would bring to him strength enough to return to Ashland, and die

in the bosom of his family. But, alas! spring, that brings life to all

nature, brought no life nor hope to him. After the month of March, his

vital powers rapidly wasted, and for weeks he lay patiently awaiting

the stroke of death. But the approach of the destroyer had no terrors

for him. No clouds overhung his future. He met the end with composure,

and his pathway to the grave was brightened by the immortal hopes which

spring from the Christian faith.

Not long before his death, having just returned from Kentucky, I bore

to him a token of affection from his excellent wife. Never can I forget

his appearance, his manner, or his words. After speaking of his family,

his friends, and his country, he changed the conversation to his own

future; and looking on me with his fine eye undimmed, and his voice

full of its original compass and melody, he said, ‘I am not afraid to

die, sir. I have hope, faith, and some confidence. I do not think any

man can be entirely certain in regard to his future state, but I have

an abiding trust in the merits and mediation of our Saviour.’ It will

assuage the grief of his family to know that he looked hopefully beyond

the tomb, and a Christian people will rejoice to hear that such a man,

in his last hours, reposed with simplicity and confidence upon the

promises of the gospel.

It is the custom, on occasions like this, to speak of the parentage

and childhood of the deceased, and to follow him, step by step,

through life. I will not attempt to relate even all the great events

of Mr. Clay’s life, because they are familiar to the whole country, and

it would be needless to enumerate a long list of public services which

form a part of American history.

Beginning life as a friendless boy, with few advantages, save those

conferred by nature, while yet a minor, he left Virginia, the state of

his birth, and commenced the practice of law at Lexington, in Kentucky.

At a bar remarkable for its numbers and talent, Mr. Clay soon rose

to the first rank. At a very early age he was elected from the county

of Fayette to the general assembly of Kentucky, and was the speaker

of that body. Coming into the senate of the United States, for the

first time, in 1806, he entered upon a parliamentary career, the most

brilliant and successful in our annals. From that time he remained

habitually in the public eye. As a senator, as a member of this house

and its speaker, as a representative of his country abroad, and as

a high officer in the executive department of the government, he

was intimately connected for fifty years with every great measure of

American policy. Of the mere party measures of this period, I do not

propose to speak. Many of them have passed away, and are remembered

only as the occasions for the great intellectual efforts which marked

their discussion. Concerning others, opinions are still divided. They

will go into history, with the reasons on either side rendered by the

greatest intellects of the time.

As a leader in a deliberative body, Mr. Clay had no equal in America.

In him, intellect, person, eloquence, and courage, united to form

a character fit to command. He fired with his own enthusiasm, and

controlled by his amazing will, individuals and masses. No reverse

could crush his spirit, nor defeat reduce him to despair. Equally erect

and dauntless in prosperity and adversity, when successful, he moved

to the accomplishment of his purposes with severe resolution; when

defeated, he rallied his broken bands around him, and from his eagle

eye shot along their ranks the contagion of his own courage. Destined

for a leader, he every where asserted his destiny. In his long and

eventful life he came in contact with men of all ranks and professions,

but he never felt that he was in the presence of a man superior

to himself. In the assemblies of the people, at the bar, in the

senate――every where within the circle of his personal presence, he

assumed and maintained a position of preeminence.

But the supremacy of Mr. Clay, as a party leader, was not his only, nor

his highest title to renown. That title is to be found in the purely

patriotic spirit which, on great occasions, always signalized his

conduct. We have had no statesman, who, in periods of real and imminent

public peril, has exhibited a more genuine and enlarged patriotism than

Henry Clay. Whenever a question presented itself actually threatening

the existence of the union, Mr. Clay, rising above the passions of the

hour, always exerted his powers to solve it peacefully and honorably.

Although more liable than most men, from his impetuous and ardent

nature, to feel strongly the passions common to us all, it was his rare

faculty to be able to subdue them in a great crisis, and to hold toward

all sections of the confederacy the language of concord and brotherhood.

Sir, it will be a proud pleasure to every true American heart to

remember the great occasions when Mr. Clay has displayed a sublime

patriotism――when the ill-temper engendered by the times, and the

miserable jealousies of the day, seemed to have been driven from his

bosom by the expulsive power of nobler feelings――when every throb

of his heart was given to his country, every effort of his intellect

dedicated to her service. Who does not remember the three periods when

the American system of government was exposed to its severest trials;

and who does not know that when history shall relate the struggle which

preceded, and the dangers which were averted by the Missouri compromise,

the tariff compromise of 1832, and the adjustment of 1850, the same

pages will record the genius, the eloquence, and the patriotism of

Henry Clay?

Nor was it in Mr. Clay’s nature to lag behind until measures of

adjustment were matured, and then come forward to swell a majority. On

the contrary, like a bold and real statesman, he was ever among the

first to meet the peril, and hazard his fame upon the remedy. It is

fresh in the memory of us all that, when lately the fury of sectional

discord threatened to sever the confederacy, Mr. Clay, though withdrawn

from public life, and oppressed by the burden of years, came back to

the senate――the theatre of his glory――and devoted the remnant of his

strength to the sacred duty of preserving the union of the states.

With characteristic courage he took the lead in proposing a scheme

of settlement. But while he was willing to assume the responsibility

of proposing a plan, he did not, with petty ambition, insist upon its

adoption to the exclusion of other modes; but, taking his own as a

starting point for discussion and practical action, he nobly labored

with his compatriots to change and improve it in such form as to make

it an acceptable adjustment. Throughout the long and arduous struggle,

the love of country expelled from his bosom the spirit of selfishness,

and Mr. Clay proved, for the third time, that though he was ambitious

and loved glory, he had no ambition to mount to fame on the confusions

of his country. And this conviction is lodged in the hearts of the

people; the party measures and the party passions of former times have

not, for several years, interposed between Mr. Clay and the masses

of his countrymen. After 1850, he seemed to feel that his mission was

accomplished; and, during the same period, the regards and affections

of the American people have been attracted to him in a remarkable

degree. For many months, the warmest feelings, the deepest anxieties of

all parties, centered upon the dying statesman; the glory of his great

actions shed a mellow lustre on his declining years; and to fill the

measure of his fame, his countrymen, weaving for him the laurel wreath,

with common hands, did bind it about his venerable brows, and send him,

crowned, to history.

The life of Mr. Clay, sir, is a striking example of the abiding fame

which surely awaits the direct and candid statesman. The entire absence

of equivocation or disguise, in all his acts, was his master-key to

the popular heart; for while the people will forgive the errors of

a bold and open nature, he sins past forgiveness who deliberately

deceives them. Hence Mr. Clay, though often defeated in his measures

of policy, always secured the respect of his opponents without losing

the confidence of his friends. He never paltered in a double sense. The

country was never in doubt as to his opinions or his purposes. In all

the contests of his time, his position on great public questions was as

clear as the sun in a cloudless sky. Sir, standing by the grave of this

great man, and considering these things, how contemptible does appear

the mere legerdemain of politics! What a reproach is his life on that

false policy which would trifle with a great and upright people! If I

were to write his epitaph, I would inscribe, as the highest eulogy, on

the stone which shall mark his resting-place, ‘Here lies a man who was

in the public service for fifty years, and never attempted to deceive

his countrymen.’

While the youth of America should imitate his noble qualities, they

may take courage from his career, and note the high proof it affords

that, under our equal institutions, the avenues to honor are open to

all. Mr. Clay rose by the force of his own genius, unaided by power,

patronage, or wealth. At an age when our young men are usually advanced

to the higher schools of learning, provided only with the rudiments of

an English education, he turned his steps to the west, and amidst the

rude collisions of a border-life, matured a character whose highest

exhibitions were destined to mark eras in his country’s history.

Beginning on the frontiers of American civilization, the orphan boy,

supported only by the consciousness of his own powers, and by the

confidence of the people, surmounted all the barriers of adverse

fortune, and won a glorious name in the annals of his country. Let

the generous youth, fired with honorable ambition, remember that the

American system of government offers on every hand bounties to merit.

If, like Clay, orphanage, obscurity, poverty, shall oppress him; yet if,

like Clay, he feels the Promethean spark within, let him remember that

his country, like a generous mother, extends her arms to welcome and

to cherish every one of her children whose genius and worth may promote

her prosperity or increase her renown.

Mr. Speaker, the signs of woe around us, and the general voice,

announce that another great man has fallen. Our consolation is that

he was not taken in the vigor of his manhood, but sank into the grave

at the close of a long and illustrious career. The great statesmen who

have filled the largest space in the public eye, one by one are passing

away. Of the three great leaders of the senate, one alone remains,

and he must follow soon. We shall witness no more their intellectual

struggles in the American forum; but the monuments of their genius will

be cherished as the common property of the people, and their names will

continue to confer dignity and renown upon their country.

Not less illustrious than the greatest of these will be the name of

Clay――a name pronounced with pride by Americans in every quarter of the

globe; a name to be remembered while history shall record the struggles

of modern Greece for freedom, or the spirit of liberty burn in the

South American bosom; a living and immortal name――a name that would

descend to posterity without the aid of letters, borne by tradition

from generation to generation. Every memorial of such a man will

possess a meaning and a value to his countrymen. His tomb will be a

hallowed spot. Great memories will cluster there, and his countrymen,

as they visit it, may well exclaim――

‘Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines,

Shrines to no creed or code confined;

The Delphian vales, the Palestines,

The Meccas of the mind.’

Mr. Speaker, I offer the following resolutions:

_Resolved_, That the House of Representatives of the United

States has received with the deepest sensibility, intelligence

of the death of Henry Clay.

_Resolved_, That the officers and members of the House of

Representatives will wear the usual badge of mourning for

thirty days, as a testimony of the profound respect this house

entertains for the memory of the deceased.

_Resolved_, That the officers and members of the House of

Representatives, in a body, will attend the funeral of Henry

Clay, on the day appointed for that purpose by the senate of

the United States.

_Resolved_, That the proceedings of this house, in relation to

the death of Henry Clay, be communicated to the family of the

deceased by the clerk.

_Resolved_, That as a further mark of respect for the memory of

the deceased, this house do now adjourn.

* * * * *

Mr. EWING rose, and said: A noble heart has ceased to beat for ever.

A long life of brilliant and self-devoted public service is finished

at last. We now stand at its conclusion, looking back through the

changeful history of that life to its beginning, contemporaneous with

the very birth of the republic, and its varied events mingle, in our

hearts and our memories, with the triumphs and calamities, the weakness

and the power, the adversity and prosperity of a country we love so

much. As we contemplate this sad event, in this place, the shadows of

the past gather over us; the memories of events long gone crowd upon

us, and the shades of departed patriots seem to hover about us, and

wait to receive into their midst the spirit of one who was worthy to

be a cölaborer with them in a common cause, and to share in the rewards

of their virtues. Henceforth he must be to us as one of them.

They say he was ambitious. If so, it was a grievous fault, and

grievously has he answered it. He has found in it naught but

disappointment. It has but served to aggravate the mortification

of his defeats, and furnish an additional lustre to the triumph of

his foes. Those who come after us may――ay, they will――inquire why his

statue stands not among the statues of those whom men thought ablest

and worthiest to govern.

But his ambition was a high and holy feeling, unselfish, magnanimous.

Its aspirations were for his country’s good, and its triumph was his

country’s prosperity. Whether in honour or reproach, in triumph or

defeat, that heart of his never throbbed with one pulsation, save for

her honor and her welfare. Turn to him in that last best deed, and

crowning glory of a life so full of public service and of honor, when

his career of personal ambition was finished for ever. Rejected again

and again by his countrymen; just abandoned by a party which would

scarce have had an existence without his genius, his courage, and his

labors, that great heart, ever firm and defiant to the assaults of

his enemies, but defenceless against the ingratitude of friends,

doubtless wrung with the bitterest mortification of his life――then it

was, and under such circumstances as these, the gathering storm rose

upon his country. All eyes turned to him; all voices called for those

services which, in the hour of prosperity and security, they had so

carelessly rejected. With no misanthropic chagrin; with no morose,

selfish resentment, he forgot all but his country, and that country

endangered. He returns to the scene of his labors and his fame, which

he had thought to have left for ever. A scene――that American senate

chamber――clothed in no gorgeous drapery, shrouded in no superstitious

awe or ancient reverence for hereditary power, but to a reflecting

American mind more full of interest, or dignity, and of grandeur than

any spot on this broad earth, not made holy by religion’s consecrating

seal. See him as he enters there tremblingly, but hopefully, upon the

last, most momentous, perhaps most doubtful conflict of his life. Sir,

many a gay tournament has been more dazzling to the eye of fancy, more

gorgeous and imposing in the display of jewelry and cloth of gold,

in the sound of heralds’ trumpets, in the grand array of princely

beauty and of royal pride. Many a battle-field has trembled beneath a

more ostentatious parade of human power, and its conquerors have been

crowned with laurels, honored with triumphs, and ‘apotheosised’ amid

the demigods of history; but to the thoughtful, hopeful, philanthropic

student of the annals of his race, never was there a conflict in which

such dangers were threatened, such hopes imperiled, or the hero of

which deserved a warmer gratitude, a nobler triumph, or a prouder

monument.

Sir, from that long, anxious, and exhausting conflict, he never rose

again. In that last battle for his country’s honor and his country’s

safety, he received the mortal wound which laid him low, and we now

mourn the death of a martyred patriot.

But never, in all the grand drama which the story of his life arrays,

never has he presented a sublimer or a more touching spectacle than

in those last days of his decline and death. Broken with the storms

of state, wounded and scathed in many a fiery conflict, that aged,

worn, and decayed body, in such mournful contrast with the never-dying

strength of his giant spirit, he seemed a proud and sacred, though a

crumbling monument of past glory. Standing among us, like some ancient

colossal ruin amid the degenerate and more diminutive structures

of modern times, its vast proportions magnified by the contrast, he

reminded us of those days when there were giants in the land, and we

remembered that even then there was none whose prowess could withstand

his arm. To watch him in that slow decline, yielding with dignity,

and as it were inch by inch, to that last enemy, as a hero yields to

a conquering foe, the glorious light of his intellect blazing still

in all its wonted brilliancy, and setting at defiance the clouds that

vainly attempted to obscure it, he was more full of interest than in

the day of his glory and his power. There are some men whose brightest

intellectual emanations rise so little superior to the instincts of

the animal, that we are led fearfully to doubt that cherished truth

of the soul’s immortality, which, even in despair, men press to their

doubting hearts. But it is in the death of such a man as he that we are

reassured by the contemplation, of a kindred, though superior spirit,

of a soul which, immortal, like his fame, knows no old age, no decay,

no death.

The wondrous light of his unmatched intellect may have dazzled a world;

the eloquence of that inspired tongue may have enchanted millions, but

there are few who have sounded the depths of that noble heart. To see

him in sickness and in health, in joy and in sadness, in the silent

watches of the night and in the busy day-time――this it was to know and

love him. To see the impetuous torrent of that resistless will; the

hurricane of those passions hushed in peace, breathe calm and gently as

a summer zephyr; to feel the gentle pressure of that hand in the grasp

of friendship which in the rage of fiery conflict would hurl scorn and

defiance at his foe; to see that eagle eye, which oft would burn with

patriotic ardor, or flash with the lightning of his anger, beam with

the kindliest expressions of tenderness and affection――then it was,

and then alone, we could learn to know and feel that that heart was

warmed by the same sacred fire from above which enkindled the light of

his resplendent intellect. In the death of such a man even patriotism

itself might pause, and for a moment stand aloof while friendship shed

a tear of sorrow upon his bier.

‘His life was gentle; and the elements

So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up

And say to all the world, _This was a man!_’

But who can estimate his country’s loss? What tongue portray the

desolation which in this hour throughout this broad land hangs like

a gloomy pall over his grief-stricken countrymen? How poorly can words

like mine translate the eloquence of a whole people’s grief for a

patriot’s death. For a nation’s loss let a nation mourn. For that

stupendous calamity to our country and mankind, be the heavens hung

with black; let the wailing elements chant his dirge, and the universal

heart of man throb with one common pang of grief and anguish.

* * * * *

Mr. CASKIE said: Mr. Speaker, Unwell as I am, I must try to lay a

single laurel leaf in that open coffin, which is already garlanded

by the eloquent tributes to the illustrious departed, which have been

heard in this now solemn hall; for I come, sir, from the district of

his birth. I represent on this floor that old Hanover so proud of her

Henrys――her Patrick Henry and her Henry Clay. I speak for a people

among whom he has always had as earnest and devoted friends as were

ever the grace and glory of a patriot and statesman.

I shall attempt no sketch of his life. That you have had from other and

abler hands than mine. Till yesterday that life was, of his own free

gift, the property of his country; to-day it belongs to her history. It

is known to all, and will not be forgotten. Constant, stern opponent of

his political school as has been my state, I say for her, that no where

in this broad land are his great qualities more admired, or his death

more mourned, than in Virginia. Well may this be so; for she is his

mother, and he was her son.

Mr. Speaker, when I remember the party strifes in which he was so much

mingled, and through which we all more or less have passed, and then

survey this scene, and think how far, as the lightning has borne the

news that he is gone, half-masted flags are drooping and church-bells

are tolling, and men are sorrowing, I can but feel that it is good

for man to die. For when death enters, O! how the unkindnesses, and

jealousies, and rivalries of life do vanish, and how like incense from

an altar do peace, and friendship, and all the sweet charities of our

nature, rise around the corpse which was once a man! And of a truth,

Mr. Speaker, never was more of veritable noble _manhood_ cased in

mortal mould than was found in him to whose memory this brief and

humble, but true and heartfelt tribute is paid. But his eloquent voice

is hushed, his high heart is stilled. ‘Like a shock of corn fully

ripe, he has been gathered to his fathers.’ With more than three score

years and ten upon him, and honors clustered thick about him, in the

full possession of unclouded intellect, and all the consolations of

Christianity, he has met the fate which is evitable by none. Lamented

by all his countrymen, his name is bright on fame’s immortal roll. He

has finished his course, and he has his crown. What more fruit can life

bear? What can it give that Henry Clay has not gained?

Then, Mr. Speaker, around his tomb should be heard not only the

dirge that wails his loss, but the jubilant anthem which sounds that

on the world’s battle-field another victory has been won――another

_incontestable greatness_ achieved.

* * * * *

Mr. CHANDLER, of Pennsylvania, said: Mr. Speaker, It would seem as

if the solemn invocation of the honorable gentleman from Kentucky

(Mr. EWING) was receiving an early answer, and that the heavens are

hung in black, and the wailing elements are singing the funeral dirge

of Henry Clay. Amid this elemental gloom, and the distress which

pervades the nation at the death of Henry Clay, private grief should

not obtrude itself upon notice, nor personal anguish seek for utterance.

Silence is the best exponent of individual sorrow, and the heart that

knoweth its own bitterness shrinks from an exposition of its affliction.

Could I have consulted my own feelings on the event which occupies

the attention of the house at the present moment, I should even have

forborne attendance here, and in the solitude and silence of my chamber

have mused upon the terrible lesson which has been administered to the

people and the nation. But I represent a constituency who justly pride

themselves upon the unwavering attachment they have ever felt and

manifested to Henry Clay――a constant, pervading, hereditary love. The

son has taken up the father’s affection, and amid all the professions

of political attachments to others, whom the accidents of party have

made prominent, and the success of party has made powerful, true to his

own instincts, and true to the sanctified legacy of his father, he has

placed the name of Henry Clay forward and preëminent as the exponent

of what is greatest in statesmanship and purest in patriotism. And

even, sir, when party fealty caused other attachments to be avowed

for party uses, the preference was limited to the occupancy of office,

and superiority admitted for Clay in all that is reckoned above party

estimation.

Nor ought I to forbear to add that, as the senior member of the

delegation which represents my commonwealth, I am requested to utter

the sentiments of the people of Pennsylvania at large, who yield to

no portion of this great Union in their appreciation of the talents,

their reverence for the lofty patriotism, their admiration of the

statesmanship, and hereafter their love of the memory of Henry Clay.

I cannot, therefore, be silent on this occasion without injustice

to the affections of my constituency, even though I painfully feel

how inadequate to the reverence and love my people have toward that

statesman must be all that I have to utter on this mournful occasion.

I know not, Mr. Chairman, where now the nation is to find the men

she needs in peril; either other calls than those of politics are

holding in abeyance the talents which the nation may need, or else a

generation is to pass undistinguished by the greatness of our statesmen.

Of the noble minds that have swayed the senate, one yet survives in

the maturity of powerful intellect, carefully disciplined and nobly

exercised. May He who has thus far blessed our nation, spare to her

and the world that of which the world must always envy our country the

possession! But my business is with the dead.

The biography of Henry Clay, from his childhood upward, is too

familiar to every American for me to trespass on the time of this

house by a reference directly thereto; and the honorable gentlemen who

have preceded me have, with affectionate hand and appropriate delicacy,

swept away the dust which nearly fourscore years have scattered over

a part of the record, and have made our pride greater in his life,

and our grief more poignant at his death, by showing some of those

passages which attract respect to our republican institutions, of which

Mr. Clay’s whole life was the able support and the most successful

illustration.

It would, then, be a work of supererogation for me to renew that

effort, though inquiry into the life and conduct of Henry Clay would

present new themes for private eulogy, new grounds for public gratitude.

How rare is it, Mr. Speaker, that the great man, living, can with

confidence rely on extensive personal friendship, or dying, think to

awaken a sentiment of regret beyond that which includes the public loss

or the disappointment of individual hopes. Yet, sir, the message which

yesterday went forth from this city that Henry Clay was dead, brought

sorrow――personal, private, special sorrow――to the hearts of thousands;

each of whom felt that from his own love for, his long attachment to,

his disinterested hopes in Henry Clay, he had a particular sorrow to

cherish and express, which weighed upon his heart, separate from the

sense of national loss.

No man, Mr. Speaker, in our nation had the art so to identify himself

with public measures of the most momentous character, and to maintain

at the same time almost universal affection, like that great statesman.

His business, from his boyhood, was with national concerns, and

he dealt with them as with familiar things. And yet his sympathies

were with individual interests, enterprises, affections, joys, and

sorrows; and while every patriot bowed in humble deference to his lofty

attainments and heartfelt gratitude for his national services, almost

every man in this vast republic knew that the great statesman was, in

feeling and experience, identified with his own position. Hence the

universal love of the people; hence their enthusiasm in all times for

his fame. Hence, sir, their present grief.

Many other public men of our country have distinguished themselves and

brought honor to the nation by superiority in some particular branch

of public service, but it seems to have been the gift of Mr. Clay to

have acquired peculiar eminence in every path of duty he was called

to tread. In the earnestness of debate, which great public interests

and distinguished opposing talents excited in this house, he had no

superior in energy, force, or effect. Yet, as the presiding officer,

by blandness of language and firmness of purpose, he soothed and made

orderly; and thus, by official dignity, he commanded the respect which

energy had secured to him on the floor.

Wherever official or social duties demanded an exercise of his power,

there was a preëminence which seemed prescriptively his own. In the

lofty debate of the senate and the stirring harangues to popular

assemblages, he was the orator of the nation and of the people; and the

sincerity of purpose and the unity of design evinced in all he said or

did, fixed in the public mind a confidence strong and expansive as the

affections he had won.

Year after year, sir, has Henry Clay been achieving the work of the

mission with which he was intrusted; and it was only when the warmest

wishes of his warmest friends were disappointed, that he entered on the

fruition of a patriot’s highest hopes, and stood in the full enjoyment

of that admiration and confidence which nothing but the antagonism of

party relations could have divided.

How rich that enjoyment must have been it is only for us to imagine.

How eminently deserved it was we and the world can attest.

The love and the devotion of his political friends were cheering and

grateful to his heart, and were acknowledged in all his life――were

recognized even to his death.

The contest in the senate chamber or the forum were rewarded with

success achieved, and the great victor could enjoy the ovation which

partial friendship or the gratitude of the benefit prepared. But

the triumph of his life was no party achievement. It was not in the

applause which admiring friends and defeated antagonists offered to

his measureless success, that he found the reward of his labors, and

comprehended the extent of his mission.

It was only when friends and antagonists paused in their contests

appalled at the public difficulties and national dangers which had been

accumulating, unseen and unregarded; it was only when the nation itself

felt the danger, and acknowledged the inefficacy of party action as a

remedy, that Henry Clay calculated the full extent of his powers, and

enjoyed the reward of their saving exercise. Then, sir, you saw, and

I saw, party designations dropped, and party allegiance disavowed, and

anxious patriots, of all localities and name, turn toward the country’s

benefactor as the man for the terrible exigencies of the hour; and the

sick chamber of Henry Clay became the Delphos whence were given out

the oracles that presented the means and the measures of our Union’s

safety. There, sir, and not in the high places of the country, were the

labors and sacrifices of half a century to be rewarded and closed. With

his right yet in that senate which he had entered the youngest, and

lingered still the eldest member, he felt that his work was done, and

the object of his life accomplished. Every cloud that had dimmed the

noonday lustre had been dissipated; and the retiring orb, which sunk

from the sight of the nation in fullness and in beauty, will yet pour

up the horizon a posthumous glory that shall tell of the splendor and

greatness of the luminary that has passed away.

* * * * *

Mr. BAYLY, of Virginia.――Mr. Speaker: Although I have been all my

life a political opponent of Mr. Clay, yet from my boyhood I have been

upon terms of personal friendship with him. More than twenty years

ago, I was introduced to him by my father, who was his personal friend.

From that time to this, there has existed between us as great personal

intimacy as the disparity in our years and our political difference

would justify. After I became a member of this house, and upon his

return to the senate, subsequent to his resignation in 1842, the

warm regard upon his part for the daughter of a devoted friend of

forty years’ standing, made him a constant visitor at my house, and

frequently a guest at my table. These circumstances make it proper

that, upon this occasion, I should pay this last tribute to his memory.

I not only knew him well as a statesman, but I knew him better in most

unreserved social intercourse. The most happy circumstance, as I esteem

it, of my political life has been, that I have thus known each of our

great congressional triumvirate.

I, sir, never knew a man of higher qualities than Mr. Clay. His very

faults originated in high qualities. With as great self-possession,

with greater self-reliance than any man I ever knew, he possessed moral

and physical courage to as high a degree as any man who ever lived.

Confident in his own judgment, never doubting as to his own course,

fearing no obstacle that might lie in his way, it was almost impossible

that he should not have been imperious in his character. Never doubting

himself as to what, in his opinion, duty and patriotism required at his

hands, it was natural that he should sometimes have been impatient with

those more doubting and timid than himself. His were qualities to have

made a great general, as they were qualities that did make him a great

statesman, and these qualities were so obvious, that during the darkest

period of our late war with Great Britain, Mr. Madison had determined,

at one time, to make him general-in-chief of the American army.

Sir, it is but a short time since the American congress buried the

first one that went to the grave of that great triumvirate. We are

now called upon to bury another. The third, thank God! still lives,

and long may he live to enlighten his countrymen by his wisdom, and

set them the example of his exalted patriotism. Sir, in the lives and

characters of these great men, there is much resembling those of the

great triumvirate of the British Parliament. It differs principally in

this: Burke preceded Fox and Pitt to the tomb. Webster survives Clay

and Calhoun. When Fox and Pitt died, they left no peer behind them.

Webster still lives, now that Calhoun and Clay are dead, the unrivalled

statesman of his country. Like Fox and Pitt, Clay and Calhoun lived in

troubled times. Like Fox and Pitt, they were each of them the leader of

rival parties. Like Fox and Pitt they were idolized by their respective

friends. Like Fox and Pitt, they died about the same time, and in the

public service; and, as has been said of Fox and Pitt, Clay and Calhoun

died with ‘their harness upon them.’ Like Fox and Pitt――

‘With more than mortal powers endow’d,

How high they soared above the crowd!

Theirs was no common party race,

Jostling by dark intrigue for place――

Like fabled gods their mighty war

Shook realms and nations in its jar.

Beneath each banner proud to stand

Look’d up the noblest of the land.

* * * * *

Here let their discord with them die.

Speak not for those a separate doom;

Whom fate made brothers in the tomb;

But search the land of living men,

Where wilt thou find their like again!’

* * * * *

Mr. VENABLE said: Mr. Speaker, I trust that I shall be pardoned for

adding a few words upon this sad occasion. The life of the illustrious

statesman, which has just terminated, is so interwoven with our history,

and the lustre of his great name so profusely shed over its pages, that

simple admiration of his high qualities might well be my excuse. But it

is a sacred privilege to draw near; to contemplate the end of the great

and the good. It is profitable as well as purifying to look upon and

realize the office of death in removing all that can excite jealousy or

produce distrust, and to gaze upon the virtues which, like jewels, have

survived his powers of destruction. The light which radiates from the

life of a great and patriotic statesman is often dimmed by the mists

which party conflicts throw around it. But the blast which strikes

him down purifies the atmosphere which surrounded him in life, and it

shines forth in bright examples and well-earned renown. It is then that

we witness the sincere acknowledgment of gratitude by a people, who,

having enjoyed the benefits arising from the services of an eminent

statesman, embalm his name in their memory and hearts. We should

cherish such recollections, as well from patriotism as self-respect.

Ours, sir, is now the duty, in the midst of sadness, in this high place,

in the face of our republic, and before the world, to pay this tribute

by acknowledging the merits of our colleague, whose name has ornamented

the journals of congress for near half a century. Few, very few, have

ever combined the high intellectual powers and distinguished gifts of

this illustrious senator. Cast in the finest mould by nature, he more

than fulfilled the anticipations which were indulged by those who

looked to a distinguished career as the certain result of that zealous

pursuit of fame and usefulness upon which he entered in early life. Of

the incidents of that life it is unnecessary for me to speak――they are

as familiar as household words, and must be equally familiar to those

who come after us. But it is useful to refresh memory, by recurrence

to some of the events which marked his career. We know, sir, that there

is much that is in common in the histories of distinguished men. The

elements which constitute greatness are the same in all times; hence

those who have been the admiration of their generations present in

their lives much which, although really great, ceases to be remarkable,

because illustrated by such numerous examples――

‘But there are deeds which should not pass away,

And names that must not wither.’

Of such deeds the life of Henry Clay affords many and bright examples.

His own name, and those with whom he associated, shall live with a

freshness which time cannot impair, and shine with a brightness which

passing years cannot dim. His advent into public life was as remarkable

for the circumstances as it was brilliant in its effect. It was at

a time when genius and learning, statesmanship and eloquence, made

the American Congress the most august body in the world. He was the

contemporary of a race of statesmen, some of whom――then administering

the government, and others retiring and retired from office――presented

an array of ability unsurpassed in our history. The elder Adams,

Jefferson, Madison, Gallatin, Clinton, and Monroe, stood before the

republic in the maturity of their fame; while Calhoun, John Quincy

Adams, Lowndes, Randolph, Crawford, Gaston, and Cheves, with a host of

others, rose a bright galaxy upon our horizon. He who won his spurs in

such a field earned his knighthood. Distinction amid such competition

was true renown――

‘The fame which a man wins for himself is best――

That he may call his own.’

It was such a fame that he made for himself in that most eventful

era in our history. To me, sir, the recollection of that day, and the

events which distinguish it, is filled with an overpowering interest.

I never can forget my enthusiastic admiration of the boldness, the

eloquence, and the patriotism of Henry Clay during the war of 1812.

In the bright array of talent which adorned the congress of the United

States; in the conflict growing out of the political events of that

time; in the struggles of party, and amid the gloom and disasters which

depressed the spirits of most men, and well nigh paralyzed the energies

of the administration, his cheerful face, high bearing, commanding

eloquence and iron will, gave strength and consistency to those

elements which finally gave not only success but glory to the country.

When dark clouds hovered over us, and there was little to save from

despair, the country looked with hope to Clay and Calhoun, to Lowndes,

and Crawford, and Cheves, and looked not in vain. The unbending will,

the unshaken nerve, and the burning eloquence of Henry Clay, did as

much to command confidence and sustain hope as even the news of our

first victory after a succession of defeats. Those great names are now

canonized in history; he, too, has passed to join them on its pages.

Associated in his long political life with the illustrious Calhoun, he

survived him but two years. Many of us heard his eloquent tribute to

his memory in the senate chamber on the annunciation of his death. And

we this day unite in a similar manifestation of reverential regard to

him whose voice shall never more charm the ear, whose burning thoughts,

borne on that medium, shall no more move the hearts of listening

assemblies.

In the midst of the highest specimens of our race, he was always

an equal; _he was a man among men_. Bold, skillful, and determined,

he gave character to the party which acknowledged him as a leader;

impressed his opinions upon their minds, and an attachment to

himself upon their hearts. No man, sir, can do this without being

eminently great. Whoever attains this position must first overcome the

aspirations of antagonist ambition, quiet the clamors of rivalry, hold

in check the murmurs of jealousy, and overcome the instincts of vanity

and self-love in the masses thus subdued to his control. But few men

ever attain it. Very rare are the examples of those whose plastic touch

forms the minds and directs the purposes of a great political party.

This infallible indication of superiority belonged to Mr. Clay. He has

exercised that control during a long life; and now through our broad

land the tidings of his death, borne with electric speed, have opened

the fountains of sorrow. Every city, town, village, and hamlet will

be clothed with mourning; along our extended coast, the commercial and

military marine, with flags drooping at half-mast, own the bereavement;

state-houses draped in black proclaim the extinguishment of one of the

great lights of senates; and minute-guns sound his requiem.

Sir, during the last five years I have seen the venerable John

Quincy Adams, John C. Calhoun, and Henry Clay pass from among us, the

legislators of our country. The race of giants who ‘were on the earth

in those days’ is well-nigh gone. Despite their skill, their genius,

their might, they have sunk under the stroke of time. They were our

admiration and our glory; a few linger with us, the monuments of former

greatness, the beacon-lights of a past age. The death of Henry Clay

cannot fail to suggest melancholy associations to each member of this

house. These walls have rëechoed the silvery tones of his bewitching

voice; listening assemblies have hung upon his lips. The chair which

you fill has been graced by his presence, while his commanding person

and unequalled parliamentary attainments inspired all with deference

and respect. Chosen by acclamation because of his high qualifications,

he sustained himself before the house and the country. In his supremacy

with his party, and the uninterrupted confidence which he enjoyed to

the day of his death, he seems to have almost discredited the truth of

those lines of the poet Laberius――

‘Non passunt primi esse omnes omni in tempore,

Summum ad gradum cum claritatis veneris,

Consistes ægre, et citius, quam ascendas, cades.’

If not at all times first, he stood equal with the foremost, and a

brilliant, rapid rise knew no decline in the confidence of those whose

just appreciation of his merits had confirmed his title to renown.

The citizens of other countries will deplore his death; the struggling

patriots who on our own continent were cheered by his sympathies,

and who must have perceived his influence in the recognition of their

independence by this government, have taught their children to venerate

his name. He won the civic crown, and the demonstrations of this hour

own the worth of civil services.

It was with great satisfaction that I heard my friend from Kentucky,

[Mr. Breckenridge,] the immediate representative of Mr. Clay, detail

a conversation which disclosed the feelings of that eminent man in

relation to his Christian hope. These, Mr. Speaker, are rich memorials,

precious reminiscences. A Christian statesman is the glory of his age,

and his memory will be glorious in after times; it reflects a light

coming from a source which clouds cannot dim nor shadows obscure.

It was my privilege, also, a short time since, to converse with this

distinguished statesman on the subject of his hopes in a future state.

Feeling a deep interest, I asked him frankly what were his hopes in the

world to which he was evidently hastening. ‘I am pleased,’ said he, ‘my

friend, that you have introduced the subject. Conscious that I must die

very soon, I love to meditate upon the most important of all interests.

I love to converse and to hear conversations about them. The vanity of

the world, and its insufficiency to satisfy the soul of man, has long

been a settled conviction of my mind. Man’s inability to secure by his

own merits the approbation of God, I feel to be true. I trust in the

atonement of the Saviour of men as the ground of my acceptance and

my hope of salvation. My faith is feeble, but I hope in His mercy

and trust in his promises.’ To such declarations I listened with the

deepest interest, as I did on another occasion, when he said: ‘I am

willing to abide the will of Heaven, and ready to die when that will

shall determine it.’

He is gone, sir, professing the humble hope of a Christian. That hope,

alone, sir, can sustain you, or any of us. There is one lonely and

crushed heart that has bowed before this afflictive event. Far away,

at Ashland, a widowed wife, prevented by feeble health from attending

his bedside and soothing his painful hours, she has thought even the

electric speed of the intelligence daily transmitted of his condition

too slow for her aching, anxious bosom. She will find consolation in

his Christian submission, and will draw all of comfort that such a case

admits from the assurance that nothing was neglected by the kindness

of friends which could supply her place. May the guardianship of the

widow’s God be her protection, and His consolations her support!

‘All cannot be at all times first

To reach the topmost step of glory; to stand there,

More hard. Even swifter than we mount, we fall.’

* * * * *

Mr. HAVEN said: Mr. Speaker, Representing a constituency distinguished

for the constancy of its devotion to the political principles of

Mr. Clay, and for its unwavering attachment to his fortunes and his

person――sympathizing deeply with those whose more intimate personal

relations with him have made them feel most profoundly this general

bereavement――I desire to say a few words of him, since he has fallen

amongst us and been taken to his rest.

After the finished eulogies which have been so eloquently pronounced

by the honorable gentlemen who have preceded me, I will avoid a course

of remark which might otherwise be deemed a repetition, and refer to

the bearing of some of the acts of the deceased upon the interests and

destinies of my own state. The influence of his public life, and of

his _purely American character_, the benefits of his wise forecast, and

the results of his efforts for wholesome and rational progress, are no

where more strongly exhibited than in the state of New York.

Our appreciation of his anxiety for the general diffusion of

knowledge and education, is manifested in our twelve thousand public

libraries, our equal number of common schools, and a large number of

higher institutions of learning, all of which draw portions of their

support from the share of the proceeds of the public lands, which his

wise policy gave to our state. Our whole people are thus constantly

reminded of their great obligations to the statesman whose death now

afflicts the nation with sorrow. Our extensive public works, attest

our conviction of the utility and importance of the system of internal

improvements he so ably advocated; and their value and productiveness,

afford a most striking evidence of the soundness and wisdom of

his policy. Nor has his influence been less sensibly felt in our

agriculture, commerce, and manufactures. Every department of human

industry acknowledges his fostering care; and the people of New York

are, in no small measure, indebted to his statesmanship for the wealth,

comfort, contentment, and happiness so widely and generally diffused

throughout the state.

Well may New York cherish his memory and acknowledge with gratitude

the benefits that his life has conferred. That memory will be cherished

throughout the republic.

When internal discord and sectional strife have threatened the

integrity of the Union, his just weight of character, his large

experience, his powers of conciliation and acknowledged patriotism,

have enabled him to pacify the angry passions of his countrymen, and

to raise the bow of promise and of hope upon the clouds which have

darkened the political horizon.

He has passed from amongst us, ripe in wisdom and pure in

character――full of years and full of honors――he has breathed his last

amidst the blessings of a united and grateful nation.

He was, in my judgment, particularly fortunate in the time of his death.

He lived to see his country, guided by his wisdom, come once again

unhurt out of trying sectional difficulties and domestic strife; and

he has closed his eyes in death upon that country, whilst it is in

the enjoyment of profound peace, busy with industry, and blessed with

unequalled prosperity.

It can fall to the lot of but few to die amidst so warm a gratitude

flowing from the hearts of their countrymen; and none can leave a

brighter example or a more enduring fame.

* * * * *

Mr. BROOKS, of New York, said: Mr. Speaker, I rise to add my humble

tribute to the memory of a great and good man, now to be gathered to

his fathers. I speak for, and from, a community in whose heart is

enshrined the name of him whom we mourn; who, however much Virginia,

the land of his birth, or Kentucky, the land of his adoption, may love

him, is, if possible, loved where I live yet more. If idolatry had been

Christian, or allowable even, he would have been our idol. But as it is,

for a quarter of a century now, his bust, his portrait, or some medal,

has been one of our household gods, gracing not alone the saloons and

the halls of wealth, but the humblest room or workshop of almost every

mechanic or laborer. Proud monuments of his policy as a statesman, as

my colleague has justly said, are all about us; and we owe to him, in a

good degree, our growth, our greatness, our prosperity and happiness as

a people.

The great field of Henry Clay, Mr. Speaker, has been here, on the

floor of this house, and in the other wing of the capitol. He had held

other posts of higher nominal distinction, but they are all eclipsed

by the brilliancy of his career as a congressman. What of glory he has

acquired, or what most endear him to his countrymen, have been won here,

amid these pillars, under these domes of the capitol.

‘Si quæris monumentum, circumspice.’

The mind of Mr. Clay has been the governing mind of the country,

more or less, ever since he has been on the stage of public action.

In a minority or majority――more, perhaps, even in a minority than in a

majority――he seems to have had some commission, divine as it were, to

persuade, to convince, to govern other men. His patriotism, his grand

conceptions, have created measures which the secret fascination of his

manners in-doors, or his irresistible eloquence without, have enabled

him almost always to frame into laws. Adverse administrations have

yielded to him, or been borne down by him, or he has taken them captive

as a leader, and carried the country and congress with him. This power

he has wielded now for nearly half a century, with nothing but reason

and eloquence to back him. And yet when he came here, years ago, he

came from a then frontier state of this Union, heralded by no loud

trumpet of fame, nay, quite unknown! unfortified even by any position,

social or pecuniary;――to quote his own words, ‘my only heritage has

been infancy, indigence, and ignorance.’

In these days, Mr. Speaker, when mere civil qualifications for high

public places――when long civil training and practical statesmanship

are held subordinate――a most discouraging prospect would be rising

up before our young men, were it not for some such names as Lowndes,

Crawford, Clinton, Gaston, Calhoun, Clay, and the like, scattered along

the pages of our history, as stars or constellations along a cloudless

sky. They shine forth, and show us, that if the chief magistracy

cannot be won by such qualifications, a memory among men can be――a hold

upon posterity, as firm, as lustrous――nay, more imperishable. In the

Capitolium of Rome there are long rows of marble slabs, on which are

recorded the names of the Roman consuls; but the eye wanders over this

wilderness of letters but to light up and kindle upon some Cato or

Cicero. To win such fame, thus unsullied, as Mr. Clay has won, is worth

any man’s ambition. And how was it won? By courting the shifting gales

of popularity? No, never! By truckling to the schemes, the arts, and

seductions of the demagogue? Never, never! His hardest battles as a

public man――his greatest, most illustrious achievements――have been

against, at first, an adverse public opinion. To gain an imperishable

name, he has often braved the perishable popularity of the moment.

That sort of courage which, in a public man, I deem the highest of

all courage――that sort of courage most necessary under our form of

government to guide as well as to save a state――Mr. Clay was possessed

of more than any public man I ever knew. Physical courage, valuable,

indispensable though it be, we share but with the brute; but moral

courage, to dare to do right amid all temptations to do wrong, is, as

it seems to me, the very highest species, the noblest heroism, under

institutions like ours. ‘I had rather be right than be President,’ was

Mr. Clay’s sublime reply when pressed to refrain from some measure that

would mar his popularity. These lofty words were the clue of his whole

character――the secret of his hold upon the heads as well as hearts of

the American people; nay, the key of his immortality.

Another of the keys, Mr. Speaker, of his universal reputation was

his intense nationality. When taunted but recently, almost within our

hearing, as it were, on the floor of the senate by a southern senator,

as being a southern man unfaithful to the south――his indignant but

patriotic exclamation was, ‘I know no _south_, no north, no east, no

west.’ The country, the _whole_ country, loved, reverenced, adored such

a man. The soil of Virginia may be his birth-place, the sod of Kentucky

will cover his grave――what was mortal they claim――but the spirit, the

soul, the genius of the mighty man, the immortal part, these belong to

his country and to his God.

* * * * *

Mr. FAULKNER, of Virginia, said: Representing, in part, the state

which gave birth to that distinguished man whose death has just been

announced upon this floor, and having for many years held toward him

the most cordial relations of friendship, personal and political,

I feel that I should fail to discharge an appropriate duty, if I

permitted this occasion to pass by without some expression of the

feeling which such an event is so well calculated to elicit. Sir, this

intelligence does not fall upon our ears unexpectedly. For months the

public mind has been prepared for the great national loss which we now

deplore; and yet, as familiar as the daily and hourly reports have made

us with his hopeless condition and gradual decline, and although

‘Like a shadow thrown

Softly and sweetly from a passing cloud,

Death fell upon him,’

it is impossible that a light of such surpassing splendor should be,

as it is now, for ever extinguished from our view, without producing

a shock, deeply and painfully felt, to the utmost limits of this great

republic. Sir, we all feel that a mighty intellect has passed from

among us; but, happily for this country, happily for mankind, not

until it had accomplished to some extent the exalted mission for which

it had been sent upon this earth; not until it had reached the full

maturity of its usefulness and power; not until it had shed a bright

and radiant lustre over our national renown; not until time had enabled

it to bequeath the rich treasures of its thought and experience for the

guidance and instruction of the present and of succeeding generations.

Sir, it is difficult,――it is impossible,――within the limit allowed

for remarks upon occasions of this kind, to do justice to a great

historical character like Henry Clay. He was one of that class of men

whom Scaliger designates as _homines centenarii_――men that appear upon

the earth but once in a century. His fame is the growth of years, and

it would require time to unfold the elements which have combined to

impart to it so much of stability and grandeur. Volumes have already

been written, and volumes will continue to be written, to record those

eminent and distinguished public services which have placed him in

the front rank of American statesmen and patriots. The highest talent,

stimulated by a fervid and patriotic enthusiasm, has already and will

continue to exhaust its powers to portray those striking and generous

incidents of his life,――those shining and captivating qualities of his

heart, which have made him one of the most beloved, as he was one of

the most admired, of men; and yet the subject itself will remain as

fresh and exhaustless as if hundreds of the best intellects of the land

had not quaffed the inspiration of their genius from the ever-gushing

and overflowing fountains of his fame. It could not be that a

reputation so grand and colossal as that which attaches to the

name of Henry Clay could rest for its base upon any single virtue,

however striking; nor upon any single act, no matter how marked or

distinguished. Such a reputation as he has left behind him, could only

be the result of a long life of illustrious public service. And such in

truth it was. For nearly half a century he has been a prominent actor

in all the stirring and eventful scenes of American history, fashioning

and moulding many of the most important measures of public policy by

his bold and sagacious mind, and arresting others by his unconquerable

energy and resistless force of eloquence. And however much the members

of this body may differ in opinion as to the wisdom of many of his

views of national domestic policy, there is not one upon this floor――no,

sir, not one in this nation――who will deny to him frankness and

directness as a public man; a genius for statesmanship of the highest

order; extraordinary capacities for public usefulness, and an ardent

and elevated patriotism, without stain and without reproach.

In referring to a career of public service so varied and extended as

that of Mr. Clay, and to a character so rich in every great and manly

virtue, it is only possible to glance at a few of the most prominent

of those points of his personal history, which have given to him so

distinguished a place in the affections of his countrymen.

In the whole character of Mr. Clay, in all that attached or belonged

to it, you find nothing that is not essentially American. Born in the

darkest period of our revolutionary struggle; reared from infancy to

manhood among those great minds which gave the first impulse to that

mighty movement, he early imbibed and sedulously cherished those great

principles of civil and political liberty, which he so brilliantly

illustrated in his subsequent life, and which has made his name a

watchword of hope and consolation to the oppressed of all the earth.

In his intellectual training he was the pure creation of our own

republican soil. Few, if any, allusions are to be seen in his speeches

or writings to ancient or modern literature, or to the thoughts and

ideas of other men. His country, its institutions, its policy, its

interests, its destiny, form the exclusive topics of those eloquent

harangues, which, while they are destitute of the elaborate finish,

have all the ardor and intensity of thought, the earnestness of purpose,

the cogency of reasoning, the vehemence of style, and the burning

patriotism which mark the productions of the great Athenian orator.

One of the most distinguishing characteristics of Mr. Clay as a

public man was his loyalty to truth and to the honest convictions of

his own mind. He deceived no man: he would not permit his own heart to

be deceived by any of those seductive influences which too often warp

the judgment of men in public station. He never paused to consider how

far any step which he was about to take would lead to his own personal

advancement; he never calculated what he might lose or what he might

gain by his advocacy of, or his opposition to, any particular measure.

His single inquiry was: Is it right? Is it in accordance with the

constitution of the land? Will it redound to the permanent welfare

of the country? When satisfied upon these points, his determination

was fixed; his purpose was immovable. ‘I would rather be right than

be President,’ was the expression of his genuine feelings, and the

principle by which he was controlled in his public career――a saying

worthy of immortality, and proper to be inscribed upon the heart

of every young man in this republic. And yet, sir, with all of

that personal and moral intrepidity which so eminently marked the

character of Mr. Clay; with his well-known inflexibility of purpose and

unyielding resolution, such was the genuine sincerity of his patriotism,

and such his thorough comprehension of those principles of compromise,

upon which the whole structure of our government was founded, that

no one was more prompt to relax the rigor of his policy the moment he

perceived that it was calculated to disturb the harmony of the states,

or to endanger in any degree the stability of the government. With him

the love of this Union was a passion――an absorbing sentiment――which

gave color to every act of his public life. It triumphed over party;

it triumphed over policy; it subdued the natural fierceness and

haughtiness of his temper, and brought him into the most kindly and

cordial relations with those who, upon all other questions, were deeply

and bitterly opposed to him. It has been asserted, sir, upon high

medical authority, and doubtless with truth, that his life was in all

probability shortened ten years by the arduous and extraordinary labors

which he assumed at the memorable session of 1850. If so, he has added

the crowning glory of the MARTYR to the spotless fame of the PATRIOT;

and we may well hope that a great national pacification, purchased at

such a sacrifice, will long continue to cement the bonds of this now

happy and prosperous Union.

Mr. Clay possessed, in an eminent degree, the qualities of a

great popular leader; and history, I will assume to say, affords

no example in any republic, ancient or modern, of any individual

that so fearlessly carried out the convictions of his own judgment,

and so sparingly flattered the prejudices of popular feeling, who,

for so long a period, exercised the same controlling influence

over the public mind. Earnest in whatever measure he sustained,

fearless in attack,――dexterous in defence,――abounding in intellectual

resources,――eloquent in debate,――of inflexible purpose, and with a

‘courage never to submit or yield,’ no man ever lived with higher

qualifications to rally a desponding party, or to lead an embattled

host to victory. That he never attained the highest post of honorable

ambition in this country is not to be ascribed to any want of capacity

as a popular leader, nor to the absence of those qualities which

attract the fidelity and devotion of ‘troops’ of admiring friends.

It was the fortune of Napoleon, at a critical period of his destiny,

to be brought into collision with the star of Wellington; and it was

the fortune of Henry Clay to have encountered, in his political orbit,

another great and original mind, gifted with equal power for commanding

success, and blessed with more fortunate elements, concurring at the

time, of securing popular favor. The struggle was such as might have

been anticipated from the collision of two such fierce and powerful

rivals. For near a quarter of a century this great republic has been

convulsed to its centre by the divisions which have sprung from their

respective opinions, policy, and personal destinies; and even now,

when they have both been removed to a higher and a better sphere of

existence, and when every unkind feeling has been quenched in the

triumphs of the grave, this country still feels, and for years will

continue to feel, the influence of those agitations to which their

powerful and impressive characters gave impulse.

But I must pause. If I were to attempt to present all the aspects in

which the character of this illustrious man will challenge the applause

of history, I should fatigue the house and violate the just limit

allowed for such remarks.

I cannot, however, conclude, sir, without making some more special

allusion to Mr. Clay, as a native of that state which I have the

honor in part to represent upon this floor. We are all proud, and very

properly proud, of the distinguished men to whom our respective states

have given birth. It is a just and laudable emulation, and one, in a

confederated government like ours, proper to be encouraged. And while

men like Mr. Clay very rapidly rise above the confined limits of a

state reputation, and acquire a national fame, in which all claim and

all have an equal interest, still there is a propriety and fitness

in preserving the relation between the individual and his state.

Virginia has given birth to a large number of men who have by their

distinguished talents and services impressed their names upon the

hearts and memories of their countrymen; but certainly, since the

colonial era, she has given birth to no man who, in the massive and

gigantic proportions of his character, and in the splendor of his

native endowments, can be compared to Henry Clay. At an early age,

he emigrated from his native state, and found a home in Kentucky. In

a speech which he delivered in the senate of the United States, in

February, 1842――and which I well remember――upon the occasion of his

resigning his seat in that body, he expressed the wish that, when that

event should occur which has now clothed this city in mourning and

filled the nation with grief, his ‘earthly remains should be laid under

the green sod of Kentucky, with those of her gallant and patriotic

sons.’

Sir, however gratifying it might be to us that his remains should

be transferred to his native soil, to there mingle with the ashes of

Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Lee, and Henry, we cannot complain of

the very natural preference which he has himself expressed. If Virginia

did give him birth, Kentucky has nourished him in his manhood――has

freely lavished upon him her highest honors――has shielded him from

harm when the clouds of calumny and detraction gathered heavily and

loweringly about him, and she has watched over his fame with the

tenderness and zeal of a mother. Sir, it is not to be wondered that he

should have expressed the wish he did, to be laid by the side of her

gallant and patriotic sons. Happy Kentucky! Happy in having an adopted

son so worthy of her highest honors. Happy, in the unshaken fidelity

and loyalty with which, for near half a century, those honors have been

so steadfastly and gracefully accorded to him.

Sir, whilst Virginia, in the exercise of her own proper judgment, has

differed from Mr. Clay in some of his views of national policy, she has

never, at any period of his public career, failed to regard him with

pride, as one of her most distinguished sons; to honor the purity and

the manliness of his character, and to award to him the high credit of

an honest and sincere devotion to his country’s welfare. And now, sir,

that death has arrested for ever the pulsations of that mighty heart,

and sealed in eternal silence those eloquent lips upon whose accents

thousands have so often hung in rapture, I shall stand justified in

saying, that a wail of lamentation will be heard from her people――her

whole people――reverberating through her mountains and valleys, as deep,

as genuine, and as sincere as that which, I know, will swell the noble

hearts and the heaving bosoms of the people of his own cherished and

beloved Kentucky.

Sir, as I walked to the capitol this morning, every object which

attracted my eye, admonished me that a nation’s benefactor had departed

from amongst us. He is gone! Henry Clay, the idol of his friends, the

ornament of the senate chamber, the pride of his country; he whose

presence gathered crowds of his admiring fellow-men around him, as if

he had been one descended from above, has passed for ever from our view.

‘His soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, has gone

To that REFULGENT world, where it shall swim

In liquid light, and float on seas of bliss.’

But the memory of his virtues and of his services will be gratefully

embalmed in the hearts of his countrymen, and generations yet unborn

will be taught to lisp with reverence and enthusiasm the name of Henry

Clay.

* * * * *

Mr. PARKER, of Indiana, said: Mr. Speaker, This is a solemn――a

consecrated hour. And I would not detain the members of the house from

indulging in the silence of their own feelings, so grateful to hearts

chastened as ours. But I cannot restrain an expression from a bosom

pained with its fullness.

When my young thoughts first took cognizance of the fact that I have a

country, my eye was attracted by the magnificent proportions of Henry

Clay. The idea absorbed me then, that he was, above all other men, the

embodiment of my country’s genius.

I have watched him; I have studied him; I have admired him――and, God

forgive me! for he was but a man, ‘of like passions with us’――I fear

I have _idolized_ him, until this hour. But he has gone from among men;

and it is for US now to awake and apply ourselves, with renewed fervor

and increased fidelity, to the welfare of the country HE loved so well

and served so truly and so long――the glorious country yet saved to us!

Yes, Henry Clay has fallen, at last!――as the ripe oak falls, in the

stillness of the forest. But the verdant and gorgeous richness of his

glories will only fade and wither from the earth, when his country’s

history shall have been forgotten. ‘One generation passeth away and

another generation cometh.’ Thus it has been from the beginning, and

thus it will be, until time shall be no longer.

Yesterday morning, at eleven o’clock, the spirit of Henry Clay――so

long the pride and glory of his own country, and the admiration of all

the world――was yet with us, though struggling to be free. Ere ‘high

noon’ came, it had passed over ‘the dark river,’ through the gate, into

the celestial city, inhabited by all the ‘just men made perfect.’ May

not our rapt vision contemplate him there, this day, in sweet communion

with the dear friends that have gone before him?――with Madison, and

Jefferson, and Washington, and Henry, and Franklin――with the eloquent

Tully, with the ‘divine Plato,’ with Aaron the Levite, who could ‘speak

well’――with all the great and good, since and before the flood! His

princely tread has graced these aisles for the last time. These halls

will wake no more to the magic music of his voice. Did that tall spirit,

in its etherial form, enter the courts of the upper sanctuary, bearing

itself comparably with the spirits there, as was his walk among men?

Did the mellifluous tones of his greeting there enrapture the hosts

of heaven, comparably with his strains ‘to stir men’s blood’ on earth?

Then, may we not fancy, when it was announced to the inhabitants of

that better country, ‘He comes! he comes!’ there was a rustling of

angel-wings――a thrilling joy――_up there_, only to be witnessed once in

an earthly age? Adieu!――a last adieu to thee, Henry Clay! The hearts of

all thy countrymen are melted, on this day, because of the thought that

thou art gone. Could we have held the hand of the ‘insatiate archer,’

thou hadst not died; but thou wouldst have tarried with us, in the full

grandeur of thy greatness, until we had no longer need of a country.

But we thank our Heavenly Father that thou wast given to us; and that

thou didst survive so long. We would cherish thy memory while we live,

as our country’s JEWEL――than which none is richer. And we will teach

our children the lessons of matchless patriotism thou hast taught us;

with the fond hope that our LIBERTY and our UNION may only expire with

‘the last of earth.’

* * * * *

Mr. GENTRY said: Mr. Speaker, I do not rise to pronounce an eulogy on

the life and character and public services of the illustrious orator

and statesman whose death this nation deplores. Suitably to perform

that task, a higher eloquence than I possess might essay in vain. The

gushing tears of the nation, the deep grief which oppresses the hearts

of more than twenty millions of people, constitute a more eloquent

eulogium upon the life and character and patriot services of Henry Clay,

than the power of language can express. In no part of our country is

that character more admired, or those public services more appreciated,

than in the state which I have the honor, in part, to represent. I

claim for the people of that state a full participation in the general

woe which the sad announcement of to-day will every where inspire.

* * * * *

Mr. BOWIE said: Mr. Speaker, I rise not to utter the measured phrases

of premeditated woe, but to speak as my constituency would, if they

stood around the grave now opening to receive the mortal remains, not

of a statesman only, but of a beloved friend. If there is a state in

this Union, other than Kentucky, which sends up a wail of more bitter

and sincere sorrow than another, that state is Maryland.

In her midst, the departed statesman was a frequent and a welcome

guest. At many a board, and many a fireside, his noble form was the

light of the eyes, the idol of the heart. Throughout her borders, in

cottage, hamlet, and city, his name is a household word, his thoughts

are familiar sentences. Though not permitted to be the first at his

cradle, Maryland would be the last at his tomb.

Through all the phases of political fortune, amid all the storms which

darkened his career, Maryland cherished him in her inmost heart, as

the most gifted, patriotic, and eloquent of men. To this hour, prayers

ascend from many domestic altars, evening and morning, for his temporal

comfort and eternal welfare. In the language of inspiration, Maryland

would exclaim, ‘There is a prince and a great man fallen, this day, in

Israel.’ Daughters of America! weep for him ‘who hath clothed you in

scarlet and fine linen.’――The husbandman at his plough, the artisan at

the anvil, and the seaman on the mast, will pause and drop a tear when

he hears Clay is no more.

The advocate of freedom in both hemispheres, he will be lamented

alike on the shores of the Hellespont and the banks of the Mississippi

and Orinoco. The freed men of Liberia, learning and practising the art

of self-government, and civilizing Africa, have lost in him a patron

and protector, a father and a friend. America mourns the eclipse of a

luminary, which enlightened and illuminated the continent; the United

States, a counsellor of deepest wisdom and purest purpose; mankind, the

advocate of human rights and constitutional liberty.

* * * * *

Mr. WALSH said: Mr. Speaker, The illustrious man whose death we this

day mourn, was so long my political leader――so long almost the object

of my personal idolatry――that I cannot allow that he shall go down to

the grave, without a word at least of affectionate remembrance――without

a tribute to a memory which will exact tribute as long as a heart shall

be found to beat within the bosom of civilized man, and human agency

shall be adequate in any _form_ to give them an expression; and even,

sir, if I had no heartfelt sigh to pour out here――if I had no tear for

that coffin’s lid, I should do injustice to those whose representative

in part I am, if I did not in this _presence_, and at this time, raise

the voice to swell the accents of the profoundest public sorrow.

The state of Maryland has always vied with Kentucky in love and

adoration of his name. Her people have gathered around him with all

the fervour of a first affection, and with more than its _duration_.

Troops of friends have ever clustered about his pathway with a personal

devotion which each man of them regarded as the highest individual

honor――friends, sir, to whose firesides the tidings of his death will

go with all the withering influences which are felt when household ties

are severed.

I wish, sir, I could offer now a proper memorial for such a subject

and such an affection. But as I strive to utter it, I feel the

disheartening influence of the well-known truth, that in view of

death all minds sink into triteness. It would seem, indeed, sir,

that the great leveller of our race would vindicate his _title_ to

be so considered, by making all men think alike in regard to his

visitation――‘the thousand thoughts that begin and end in one’――the

_desolation_ here――the eternal hope _hereafter_――are influences felt

alike by the lowest intellect and the loftiest genius.

Mr. Speaker, a statesman for more than fifty years in the councils

of his country, whose peculiar charge it was to see that the republic

suffered no detriment――a patriot for all times, all circumstances, and

all emergencies――has passed away from the trials and triumphs of the

world, and gone to his reward. Sad as are the emotions which such an

event would ordinarily excite, their intensity is heightened by the

matters so fresh within the memories of us all:

‘Oh! think how to his latest day,

When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey,

With Palinurus’ unalter’d mood,

Firm at his dangerous post he stood;

Each call for needful rest repell’d,

With dying hand the rudder held;

Then while on Freedom’s thousand plains,

One unpolluted church remains,

Whose peaceful bells ne’er sent around

The bloody tocsin’s maddening sound,

But still, upon the hallow’d day,

Convoke the swains to praise and pray,

While peace and civil peace are dear,

Greet his cold marble with a tear――

He who preserved them――CLAY lies here.’

In a character, Mr. Speaker, so illustrious and beautiful, it is

difficult to select any point for particular notice, from those which

go to make up its noble proportions; but we may now, around his honored

grave, call to grateful recollection that invincible spirit which no

personal sorrow could sully, and no disaster could overcome. Be assured,

sir, that he has in this regard left a legacy to the young men of the

republic, almost as sacred and as dear as that liberty of which his

life was a blessed illustration.

We can all remember, sir, when adverse political results disheartened

his friends, and made them feel even as men without hope, that his own

clarion voice was still heard in the purpose and the pursuit of right,

as bold and as eloquent as when it first proclaimed the freedom of the

seas, and its talismanic tones struck off the badges of bondage from

the lands of the Incas, and the plains of Marathon.

Mr. Speaker, in the exultation of the statesman he did not forget the

duties of the man. He was an affectionate adviser on all points wherein

inexperienced youth might require counsel. He was a disinterested

sympathizer in personal sorrows that called for consolation. He was

ever upright and honorable in all the duties incident to his relations

in life.

To an existence so lovely, Heaven in its mercy granted a fitting and

appropriate close. It was the prayer, Mr. Speaker, of a distinguished

citizen, who died some years since in the metropolis, even while

his spirit was fluttering for its final flight, that he might depart

gracefully. It may not be presumptuous to say, that what was in that

instance the aspiration of a chivalric _gentleman_, was in this the

realization of the dying _Christian_, in which was blended all that

human dignity could require, with all that divine grace had conferred;

in which the firmness of the man was only transcended by the fervor of

the penitent.

A short period before his death he remarked to one by his bedside,

‘that he was fearful he was becoming selfish, as his thoughts were

entirely withdrawn from the world and centred upon eternity.’ This,

sir, was but the purification of his noble spirit from all the dross of

earth――a happy illustration of what the religious muse has so sweetly

sung:

‘No sin to stain――no lure to stay

The soul, as home she springs;

Thy sunshine on her joyful way,

Thy freedom in her wings.’

Mr. Speaker, the solemnities of this hour may soon be forgotten. We may

come back from the new-made grave only still to show that we consider

‘eternity the bubble, life and time the enduring substance.’ We may not

pause long enough by the brink to ask which of us revelers of to-day

shall next be at rest. But be assured, sir, that upon the records of

mortality will never be inscribed a name more illustrious than that of

the statesman, patriot, and friend whom the nation mourns.

* * * * *

The question was then put on the adoption of the resolutions

proposed by Mr. ♦Breckenridge, and they were unanimously adopted.

The Strong Staff Broken and the Beautiful Rod;