Republicans, who had carried on the war, devolved the task of
"reconstruction." Before they had made much progress in it, they came
within an ace of being consigned to private life,--Clay himself having
as narrow an escape as any of them. And here we may note one point of
superiority of the American government over others. In other countries
it can sometimes be the interest of politicians to foment and declare
war. A war strengthens a tottering dynasty, an imperial _parvenu_, an
odious tyrant, a feeble ministry; and the glory won in battle on land
and sea redounds to the credit of government, without raising up
competitors for its high places. But let American politicians take
note. It is never _their_ interest to bring on a war; because a war is
certain to generate a host of popular heroes to outshine them and push
them from their places. It may sometimes be their duty to advocate
war, but it is never their interest. At this moment we see both
parties striving which shall present to the people the most attractive
list of military candidates; and when a busy ward politician seeks his
reward in custom-house or department, he finds a dozen lame soldiers
competing for the place; one of whom gets it,--as he ought. What city
has presented Mr. Stanton with a house, or Mr. Welles with fifty
thousand dollars' worth of government bonds? Calhoun precipitated the
country into a war with Mexico; but what did he gain by it but new
bitterness of disappointment, while the winner of three little battles
was elected President? Henry Clay was the animating soul of the war of
1812, and we honor him for it; but while Jackson, Brown, Scott, Perry,
and Decatur came out of that war the idols of the nation, Clay was
promptly notified that _his_ footing in the public councils, _his_
hold of the public favor, was by no means stable.
His offence was that he voted for the compensation bill of 1816, which
merely changed the pay of members of Congress from the pittance of six
dollars a day to the pittance of fifteen hundred dollars a year. He
who before was lord paramount in Kentucky saved his seat only by
prodigious efforts on the stump, and by exerting all the magic of his
presence in the canvass.
No one ever bore cutting disappointment with an airier grace than this
high-spirited thorough-bred; but he evidently felt this apparent
injustice. Some years later, when it was proposed in Congress to
pension Commodore Perry's mother, Mr. Clay, in a speech of five
minutes, totally extinguished the proposition. Pointing to the vast
rewards bestowed upon such successful soldiers as Marlborough,
Napoleon, and Wellington, he said, with thrilling effect:
"How different is the fate of the statesman! In his quiet
and less brilliant career, after having advanced, by the
wisdom of his measures, the national prosperity to the
highest point of elevation, and after having sacrificed his
fortune, his time, and perhaps his health, in the public
service, what, too often, are the rewards that await him?
Who thinks of _his_ family, impoverished by the devotion of
his attention to his country, instead of their advancement?
Who proposes to pension him,--much less his _mother_?"
He spoke the more feelingly, because he, who could have earned more
than the President's income by the practice of his profession, was
often pinched for money, and was once obliged to leave Congress for
the sole purpose of taking care of his shattered fortune. He felt the
importance of this subject in a national point of view. He wrote in
1817 to a friend:
"Short as has been my service in the public councils, I have
seen some of the most valuable members quitting the body
from their inability to sustain the weight of these
sacrifices. And in process of time, I apprehend, this
mischief will be more and more felt. Even now there are few,
if any, instances of members dedicating their lives to the
duties of legislation. Members stay a year or two; curiosity
is satisfied; the novelty wears off; expensive habits are
brought or acquired; their affairs at home are neglected;
their fortunes are wasting away; and they are compelled to
retire."
The eight years of Mr. Monroe's administration--from 1817 to
1825--were the most brilliant period of Henry Clay's career. His
position as Speaker of the House of Representatives would naturally
have excluded him from leadership; but the House was as fond of
hearing him speak as he could be of speaking, and opportunities were
continually furnished him by going into Committee of the Whole. In a
certain sense he was in opposition to the administration. When one
party has so frequently and decidedly beaten the party opposed to it,
that the defeated party goes out of existence, the conquering party
soon divides. The triumphant Republicans of 1816 obeyed this law of
their position;--one wing of the party, under Mr. Monroe, being
reluctant to depart from the old Jeffersonian policy; the other wing,
under Henry Clay, being inclined to go very far in internal
improvements and a protective tariff. Mr. Clay now appears as the
great champion of what he proudly styled the American System. He
departed farther and farther from the simple doctrines of the earlier
Democrats. Before the war, he had opposed a national bank; now he
advocated the establishment of one, and handsomely acknowledged the
change of opinion. Before the war, he proposed only such a tariff as
would render America independent of foreign nations in articles of the
first necessity; now he contemplated the establishment of a great
manufacturing system, which should attract from Europe skilful
workmen, and supply the people with everything they consumed, even to
jewelry and silver-ware. Such success had he with his American System,
that, before many years rolled away, we see the rival wings of the
Republican party striving which could concede most to the
manufacturers in the way of an increased tariff. Every four years,
when a President was to be elected, there was an inevitable revision
of the tariff, each faction outbidding the other in conciliating the
manufacturing interest; until at length the near discharge of the
national debt suddenly threw into politics a prospective
surplus,---one of twelve millions a year,--which came near crushing
the American System, and gave Mr. Calhoun his pretext for
nullification.
At present, with such a debt as we have, the tariff is no longer a
question with us. The government must have its million a day; and as
no tax is less offensive to the people than a duty on imported
commodities, we seem compelled to a practically protective system for
many years to come. But, of all men, a citizen of the United States
should be the very last to accept the protective system as final; for
when he looks abroad over the great assemblage of sovereignties which
he calls the United States, and asks himself the reason of their rapid
and uniform prosperity for the last eighty years, what answer can he
give but this?--_There is free trade among them_. And if he extends
his survey over the whole earth, he can scarcely avoid the conclusion
that free trade among all nations would be as advantageous to all
nations as it is to the thirty-seven States of the American Union. But
nations are not governed by theories and theorists, but by
circumstances and politicians. The most perfect theory must sometimes
give way to exceptional fact. We find, accordingly, Mr. Mill, the
great English champion of free trade, fully sustaining Henry Clay's
moderate tariff of 1816, but sustaining it only as a temporary
measure. The paragraph of Mr. Mill's Political Economy which touches
this subject seems to us to express so exactly the true policy of the
United States with regard to the tariff, that we will take the liberty
of quoting it.
"The only case in which, on mere principles of political
economy, protecting duties can be defensible, is when they
are imposed temporarily, (especially in a young and rising
nation,) in hopes of naturalizing a foreign industry, in
itself perfectly suitable to the circumstances of the
country. The superiority of one country over another in a
branch of production often arises only from having begun it
sooner. There may be no inherent advantage on one part, or
disadvantage on the other, but only a present superiority of
acquired skill and experience. A country which has this
skill and experience yet to acquire may, in other respects,
be better adapted to the production than those which were
earlier in the field; and, besides, it is a just remark of
Mr. Rae, that nothing has a greater tendency to promote
improvement in any branch of production, than its trial
under a new set of conditions. But it cannot be expected
that individuals should, at their own risk, or rather to
their certain loss, introduce a new manufacture, and bear
the burden of carrying it on, until the producers have been
educated up to the level of those with whom the processes
are traditional. A protecting duty, continued for a
reasonable time, will sometimes be the least inconvenient
mode in which the nation can tax itself for the support of
such an experiment. But the protection should be confined to
cases in which there is good ground of assurance that the
industry which it fosters will after a time be able to
dispense with it; nor should the domestic producers ever be
allowed to expect that it will be continued to them beyond
the time necessary for a fair trial of what they are capable
of accomplishing."[1]
In the quiet of his library at Ashland, Mr. Clay, we believe, would,
at any period of his public life, have assented to the doctrines of
this passage. But at Washington he was a party leader and an orator.
Having set the ball in motion, he could not stop it; nor does he
appear to have felt the necessity of stopping it, until, in 1831, he
was suddenly confronted by three Gorgons at once,--a coming Surplus, a
President that vetoed internal improvements, and an ambitious Calhoun,
resolved on using the surplus either as a stepping-stone to the
Presidency or a wedge with which to split the Union. The time to have
put down the brakes was in 1828, when the national debt was within
seven years of being paid off; but precisely _then_ it was that both
divisions of the Democratic party---one under Mr. Van Buren, the other
under Mr. Clay--were running a kind of tariff race, neck and neck, in
which Van Buren won. Mr. Clay, it is true, was not in Congress
then,--he was Secretary of State; but he was the soul of his party,
and his voice was the voice of a master. In all his letters and
speeches there is not a word to show that he then anticipated the
surplus, or the embarrassments to which it gave rise; though he could
not have forgotten that a very trifling surplus was one of the chief
anxieties of Mr. Jefferson's administration. Mr. Clay's error, we
think, arose from his not perceiving clearly that a protective tariff,
though justifiable sometimes, is always in itself an evil, and is
never to be accepted as the permanent policy of any country; and that,
being an evil, it must be reduced to the minimum that will answer the
temporary purpose.
In estimating Henry Clay, we are always to remember that he was an
orator. He had a genius for oratory. There is, we believe, no example
of a man endowed with a genius for oratory who also possessed an
understanding of the first order. Mr. Clay's oratory was vivified by a
good heart and a genuine love of country; and on occasions which
required only a good heart, patriotic feeling, and an eloquent tongue,
he served his country well. But as a party leader he had sometimes to
deal with matters which demanded a radical and far-seeing intellect;
and then, perhaps, he failed to guide his followers aright. At
Washington, during the thirteen years of his Speakership, he led the
gay life of a popular hero and drawing-room favorite; and his position
was supposed to compel him to entertain much company. As a young
lawyer in Kentucky, he was addicted to playing those games of mere
chance which alone at that day were styled gambling. He played high
and often, as was the custom then all over the world. It was his
boast, even in those wild days, that he never played at home, and
never had a pack of cards in his house; but when the lawyers and
judges were assembled during court sessions, there was much high play
among them at the tavern after the day's work was done. In 1806, when
Mr. Clay was elected to the Senate, he resolved to gamble no
more,--that is, to play at hazard and "brag" no more,--and he kept his
resolution. Whist, being a game depending partly on skill, was not
included in this resolution; and whist was thenceforth a very favorite
game with him, and he greatly excelled in it. It was said of him, as
it was of Charles James Fox, that, at any moment of a hand, he could
name all the cards that remained to be played. He discountenanced high
stakes; and we believe he never, after 1806, played for more than five
dollars "a corner." These, we know, were the stakes at Ghent, where he
played whist for many months with the British Commissioners during the
negotiations for peace in 1815. We mention his whist-playing only as
part of the evidence that he was a gay, pleasant, easy man of the
world,--not a student, not a thinker, not a philosopher. Often, in
reading over his speeches of this period, we are ready to exclaim,
"Ah! Mr. Clay, if you had played whist a little less, and studied
history and statesmanship a great deal more, you would have avoided
some errors!" A trifling anecdote related by Mr. Colton lets us into
the Speaker's way of life. "How can you preside over that House
to-day?" asked a friend, as he set Mr. Clay down at his own door,
_after sunrise_, from a party. "Come up, and you shall see how I will
throw the reins over their necks," replied the Speaker, as he stepped
from the carriage.[2]
But when noble feeling and a gifted tongue sufficed for the occasion,
how grandly sometimes he acquitted himself in those brilliant years,
when, descending from the Speaker's lofty seat, he held the House and
the crowded galleries spellbound by his magnificent oratory! His
speech of 1818, for example, favoring the recognition of the South
American republics, was almost as wise as it was eloquent; for,
although the provinces of South America are still far from being what
we could wish them to be, yet it is certain that no single step of
progress was possible for them until their connection with Spain was
severed. Cuba, today, proves Mr. Clay's position. The amiable and
intelligent Creoles of that beautiful island are nearly ready for the
abolition of slavery and for regulated freedom; but they lie
languishing under the hated incubus of Spanish rule, and dare not risk
a war of independence, outnumbered as they are by untamed or
half-tamed Africans. Mr. Clay's speeches in behalf of the young
republics of South America were read by Bolivar at the head of his
troops, and justly rendered his name dear to the struggling patriots.
He had a clear conviction, like his master, Thomas Jefferson, that the
interests of the United States lie chiefly _in America_, not Europe;
and it was a favorite dream of his to see the Western Continent
occupied by flourishing republics, independent, but closely allied,--a
genuine Holy Alliance.
The supreme effort of Mr. Clay's Congressional life was in connection
with the Missouri Compromise of 1821. He did not originate the plan of
compromise, but it was certainly his influence and tact which caused
the plan to prevail. Fortunately, he had been absent from Congress
during some of the earlier attempts to admit Missouri; and thus he
arrived in Washington in January, 1821, calm, uncommitted, and welcome
to both parties. Fierce debate had wrought up the minds of members to
that point where useful discussion ceases to be possible. Almost every
man had given personal offence and taken personal offence; the two
sides seemed reduced to the most hopeless incompatibility; and the
affair was at a dead lock. No matter what the subject of debate,
Missouri was sure, in some way, to get involved in it; and the mere
mention of the name was like a spark upon loose gunpowder. In
February, for example, the House had to go through the ceremony of
counting the votes for President of the United States,--a mere
ceremony, since Mr. Monroe had been re-elected almost unanimously, and
the votes of Missouri were of no importance. The tellers, to avoid
giving cause of contention, announced that Mr. Monroe had received two
hundred and thirty-one votes, including those of Missouri, and two
hundred and twenty-eight if they were excluded. At this announcement
members sprang to their feet, and such a scene of confusion arose that
no man could make himself heard. After a long struggle with the riot,
the Speaker declared the House adjourned.
For six weeks Mr. Clay exerted his eloquence, his arts of
pacification, and all the might of his personality, to bring members
to their senses. He even had a long conference with his ancient foe,
John Randolph. He threw himself into this work with such ardor, and
labored at it so continuously, day and night, that, when the final
triumph was won, he declared that, if Missouri had been kept out of
the Union two weeks longer, he should have been a dead man.
Thirty-four years after these events Mr. S.G. Goodrich wrote:
"I was in the House of Representatives but a single hour.
While I was present there was no direct discussion of the
agitating subject which already filled everybody's mind, but
still the excitement flared out occasionally in incidental
allusions to it, like puffs of smoke and jets of flame which
issue from a house that is on fire within. I recollect that
Clay made a brief speech, thrilling the House by a single
passage, in which he spoke of '_poor, unheard Missouri_' she
being then without a representative in Congress. His tall,
tossing form, his long, sweeping gestures, and, above all,
his musical yet thrilling tones, made an impression upon me
which I can never forget."
Mr. Clay, at length, had completed his preparations. He moved for a
committee of the House to confer with a committee of the Senate. He
himself wrote out the list of members whom he desired should be
elected, and they were elected. At the last conference of the joint
committees, which was held on a Sunday, Mr. Clay insisted that their
report, to have the requisite effect upon Congress and the country,
must be unanimous; and unanimous it was. Both Houses, with a
surprising approach to unanimity, adopted the compromise proposed; and
thus was again postponed the bloody arbitrament to which the
irrepressible controversy has since been submitted.
Clay's masterly conduct on this occasion added his name to the long
list of gentlemen who were mentioned for the succession to Mr. Monroe
in 1825. If the city of Washington had been the United States, if the
House of Representatives had possessed the right to elect a President,
Henry Clay might have been its choice. During the thirteen years of
his Speakership not one of his decisions had been reversed; and he had
presided over the turbulent and restive House with that perfect
blending of courtesy and firmness which at once restrains and charms.
The debates just before the war, during the war, and after the war,
had been violent and acrimonious; but he had kept his own temper, and
compelled the House to observe an approach to decorum. On one occasion
he came into such sharp collision with the excitable Randolph, that
the dispute was transferred to the newspapers, and narrowly escaped
degenerating from a war of "cards" to a conflict with pistols. But the
Speaker triumphed; the House and the country sustained him. On
occasions of ceremony the Speaker enchanted every beholder by the
superb dignity of his bearing, the fitness of his words, and the
tranquil depth of his tones. What could be more eloquent, more
appropriate, than the Speaker's address of welcome to Lafayette, when
the guest of the nation was conducted to the floor of the House of
Representatives? The House and the galleries were proud of the Speaker
that day. No one who never heard this captivator of hearts can form
the slightest conception of the penetrating effect of the closing
sentences, though they were spoken only in the tone of conversation.
"The vain wish has been sometimes indulged, that Providence
would allow the patriot, after death, to return to his
country, and to contemplate the intermediate changes which
had taken place; to view the forests felled, the cities
built, the mountains levelled, the canals cut, the highways
constructed, the progress of the arts, the advancement of
learning, and the increase of population. General, your
present visit to the United States is a realization of the
consoling object of that wish. You are in the midst of
posterity. Everywhere you must have been struck with the
great changes, physical and moral, which have occurred since
you left us. Even this very city, bearing a venerated name,
alike endeared to you and to us, has since emerged from the
forest which then covered its site. In one respect you
behold us unaltered, and this is in the sentiment of
continued devotion to liberty, and of ardent affection and
profound gratitude to your departed friend, the father of
his country, and to you, and to your illustrious associates
in the field and in the cabinet, for the multiplied
blessings which surround us, and for the very privilege of
addressing you which I now exercise. This sentiment, now
fondly cherished by more than ten millions of people, will
be transmitted with unabated vigor down the tide of time,
through the countless millions who are destined to inhabit
this continent, to the latest posterity."
The appropriateness of these sentiments to the occasion and to the man
is evident to every one who remembers that Lafayette's love of George
Washington was a Frenchman's romantic passion. Nor, indeed, did he
need to have a sensitive French heart to be moved to tears by such
words and such a welcome.
From 1822 to 1848, a period of twenty-six years, Henry Clay lived the
strange life of a candidate for the Presidency. It was enough to ruin
any man, body and soul. To live always in the gaze of millions; to be
the object of eulogy the most extravagant and incessant from one half
of the newspapers, and of vituperation still more preposterous from
the other half; to be surrounded by flatterers interested and
disinterested, and to be confronted by another body intent on
misrepresenting every act and word; to have to stop and consider the
effect of every utterance, public and private, upon the next
"campaign"; not to be able to stir abroad without having to harangue a
deputation of political friends, and stand to be kissed by ladies and
pump-handled by men, and hide the enormous bore of it beneath a fixed
smile till the very muscles of the face are rigid; to receive by every
mail letters enough for a large town; to have your life written
several times a year; to be obliged continually to refute calumnies
and "define your position"; to live under a horrid necessity to be
pointedly civil to all the world; to find your most casual remarks and
most private conversations getting distorted in print,--this, and more
than this, it was to be a candidate for the Presidency. The most
wonderful thing that we have to say of Henry Clay is, that, such were
his native sincerity and healthfulness of mind, he came out of this
fiery trial still a patriot and a man of honor. We believe it was a
weakness in him, as it is in any man, to set his heart upon living
four years in the White House; but we can most confidently say, that,
having entered the game, he played it fairly, and bore his repeated
disappointments with genuine, high-bred composure. The closest
scrutiny into the life of this man still permits us to believe that,
when he said, "I would rather be right than be President," he spoke
the real sentiments of his heart; and that, when he said to one of his
political opponents, "Tell General Jackson that, if he will sign my
Land Bill, I will pledge myself to retire from public life and never
to re-enter it," he meant what he said, and would have stood to it. It
is our privilege to believe this of Henry Clay; nor do we think that
there was ever anything morbidly excessive in his desire for the
Presidency. He was the head and choice of a great political party; in
the principles of that party he fully believed; and we think he did
truly desire an election to the Presidency more from conviction than
ambition. This may not have been the case in 1824, but we believe it
was in 1832 and in 1844.