When a member of Congress, Lincoln went to Lexington, Kentucky, to hear
Henry Clay speak. The Westerner, a Kentuckian by birth, and destined
to reach the great goal Clay had so often sought, wanted to meet the
“Millboy of the Slashes.” The address was a tame affair, as was the
personal greeting when Lincoln made himself known. Clay was courteous,
but cold. He may never have heard of the man, then in his presence, who
was to secure, without solicitation, the prize which he for many years
had unsuccessfully sought. Lincoln was disenchanted; his ideal was
shattered. One reason why Clay had not realized his ambition had become
apparent.
Clay was cool and dignified; Lincoln was cordial and hearty. Clay’s hand
was bloodless and frosty, with no vigorous grip in it; Lincoln’s was
warm, and its clasp was expressive of kindliness and sympathy.