Although baffled, and in a measure defeated, by the despotism of one man, still Mr. Clay did not slacken his exertions to render relief to his suffering and distracted country. He was at the head of two important committees, and performed an amount of labor truly surprising. He had the gratification of witnessing the repeal of the abominable sub-treasury scheme, the passage of the bankrupt law, and his land bill. An attempt to adjust the tariff was made, which occasioned another veto from the president. This was directed mainly against the distribution clause, which was finally surrendered to accommodate the views of the president. The tariff bill at length became a law. On the thirty-first of March, 1842, Mr. Clay executed his long and fondly cherished design of retiring to the quiet of private life. He resigned his seat in the senate, and presented to that body the credentials of Mr. Crittenden, his friend, and successor. The scene which ensued when he tendered his resignation, was indescribably thrilling. It was not unlike that, when the father of his country, surrounded by his companions in arms, pronounced his farewell address, as they were about to disband and enter upon the possession and enjoyment of that independence which their invincible arms had won. Had the guardian genius of congress and the nation been about to take his departure, and giving his parting admonitions, deeper feeling could hardly have been nianifested, than when Mr. Clay rose to address, on this occasion, his congressional compeers. An individual witnessing the breathless silence that pervaded the densely crowded senate chamber, and the tears flowing freely and copiously from the eyes of all, would have said, that wherever else Mr. Clay might have enemies, he had none in that assembly. In those who were politically opposed, and in those who were personally hostile to him, the movings of the best principles of our being were not subjected to the cruel control of selfishness or envy, but permitted to respond to the voice of nature, calling them in her most enticing tones to unite with his devoted friends, in bearing appropriate testimony to his public worth. The former no less than the latter, manifested the most sincere regret at the prospect of his departure. All felt that a master spirit was bidding them adieu-that the pride and ornament of the senate and the glory of the nation was being removed, and all grieved in view of the void that would be made. spoke as it might be expected the patriot warrior of a thousand victorious battles would speak, standing on the field where they were fought the living, burning, sublime sentiments of patriotism His feelings often overpowered him. His vo'ce, naturally musical, seemed the very refinement of sweetness and pathos, whose honied accents sank into the hearts of his hearers, like heaven's benediction. When Mr. Clay closed, the inost intense He emotion agitated the senate. Mr. Preston rose, and remarked, in view of it, that he presumed there would be little disposition to transact business; that the event that had just occurred, was an epoch in the legislative history of the nation, and that therefore he would move that the senate adjourn. The motion was adopted unanimously. His resignation as senator did not by any means close his intercourse with his fellow-countrymen. He still labored for his country; and by letters from his residence in Kentucky, and by speeches delivered there and elsewhere, frequently sent forth his opinions on the various topics of the day. The Whig party had long regarded him as their most prominent candidate for the chief magistracy, and he was nominated by acclamation in the convention of 1844, when Justice to Henry Clay,' was the watchword of the contest. He was defeated, however, by the late James K. Polk, who unexpectedly received the democratic nomination, and remained in retirement until after the election of General Taylor to the Presidency. In compliance with the earnest wishes of his political friends he consented to resume his seat in the senate, and in 1849 was again elected to that honorable position During the exciting session of 1849-50, all his energies were devoted to securing the passage of the series of measures known as the 'Compromise Acts,' and, there is no doubt that his incessant and intense labors upon the multifarious schemes which engrossed the attention of congress, occasioned serious debility and hastened his death. When, in the winter of 1850-51, it became but too evident that his disease was gaining the mastery over him, he visited New Orleans and Havana, in the hope that travel and relaxation, united with the effects of change of climate, would renovate his physical system. No permanant advantage, however, resulted from this experiment, and he was again induced, by a consciousness of his failing health, to resign his seat in the senate the resignation to take effect on the 6th of September, 1852. But he was not destined to see that day. He became gradually weaker and weaker, and was confined to his room in Washington for several weeks, where he breathed his last on the morning of the 29th of June, 1852, at seventeen minutes past eleven o'clock. No one was present at the time, except his son, Thomas Hart Clay, and governor Jones, of Tennessee. His last moments were calm and quiet, and he seemed in full possession of all his faculties, apparently suffering but little. He did not speak for many hours before his dissolution, but his countenance indicated a happy resignation and full knowledge of his condition. He had long previously made every preparation for death, giving his son full instructions as to the disposition of his body and the settlement of his worldly affairs. Perhaps the death of no individual since that of the revered Washington ever spread such a universal gloom over the country. In all the principal cities of the Union, funeral honors were paid to his memory, which were heartfelt and sincere, and evinced a pervading feeling in the public mind that a great benefactor and friend was no more. In the Senate and House of Representatives, as will be seen by the subjoined proceedings, every one seemed anxious to testify his respect for the memory of the great man who had so long figured in our national councils. Political differences were forgotten, and all parties united in rendering homage to his transcendent worth and in mourning his irreparable loss. A committee was appointed to attend his remains to Kentucky, where they now repose. We shall not attempt an analysis of his mind, conscious of our inability to do it justice. Its powers were so numerous and so great, as to make the task no light one. Its most prominent attribute was patriotism. This was the sun of its lofty faculties, which revolved about it in the order of satellites. Every thing was subordinate to, or absorbed by it. This was seen in every part of his career, towering magnificently upwards, like a mighty mountain, to bathe its head in everlasting sunshine, and formed its loveliest and most attractive feature. With Mr. Clay, patriotism was no unmeaning word. He made it the grand test of both principle and measure, and the main-spring of action. His devotion to it was most remarkable; so exclusive, as to lead him to sacrifice every other consideration upon its altar. On one occasion, acting under its influence, he said to Mr. Grundy, 'Tell general Jackson, that if he will sign that bill (the land bill), I will pledge myself to retire from congress, and never enter public life again;' of such vital importance did he consider that bill to the welfare of his beloved country. One cannot avoid breaking out in exclamations of admiration, and reverence, even, in view of such self-immolating political purity, as this sincere declaration evinces. My country, my country, seems to have been the constant apex of his thoughts and wishes. This attribute gave to his commanding eloquence its invincible power, and was the rocky pedestal on which he reared the temple of his immortal fame. Political consistency was another prominent characteristic of Mr. Clay. This, like a line of light, is traceable through all his public life. The soundness of his judgment was worthy of note, by which he was enabled to predict, with almost prophetic accuracy, the effect of the adoption of certain measures. As a writer, Mr. Clay's style was nervous, perspicuous, and concise, evincing the freshness and beauty of originality, usually moving on in a deep and quiet current, but at times rushing like the mountain torrent, overthrowing all obstacles. He was peculiarly qualified for the regions of argument and close investigation, yet he could soar into that of imagination, and whenever he did, it was the flight of the eagle towards heaven. His power of illustration was felicitous, demonstrating an intimate acquaintance with the secret springs of the soul, and a sagacious knowledge of its mysterous movements. His conversational faculties were striking, and exceedingly versatile, enabling him to accommodate himself to the capacities of all, to the humblest, as well as to the loftiest intellect. It was remarked of Mr. Burke, by Dr. John son, that if a tempest, or any other occurrence, should cause him to take shelter under the roof of a peasant, he would find sufficient topics to employ his conversational powers, and would so employ them as to leave indelibly impressed upon the mind of its lowly occupant, the belief, that he was listening to no ordinary man. This would be emphatically true of Mr, Clay, who possessed, in an eminent degree, the faculty attributed to Mr. Burke. It was the exercise of this, that so endeared him to those who were privileged to come within the sphere of its influence, which invested his domestic and social relations with their greatest charms. In private life, Mr. Clay exhibited the noblest characteristics of human nature, which may be expressed by one word-openheartedness. He was kind and liberal to a fault. Says one who was intimate with him, 'his door and his purse were alike open to the friendless stranger and the unfortunate neighbor. Frank, open, and above the meanness of deception himself, and consequently never searching for duplicity and treachery in those around him, he more than once suffered from the vile ingratitude of men who have been cherished by his bounty and upheld by his influence. The curse of aristocracy never chilled the warm flow of his natural feelings. His heart continued as warm, his hand as free, and his smile as familiar as they were when, without friends and without influence, he first responded to the hearty welcome of the Kentuckian. His feelings never changed with his fortunes.'. Mr. Clay was admirably qualified for the interchange of social and friendly feelings, in which he indulged most judiciously. His convivial interviews were enlivened by enjoyments of a marked intellectual character. His readiness at repartee, and aptitude for reply, were conspicuous features in his character. No emergency, however sudden or unexpected, found him unprepared, or disarmed him. He perceived the bearing of remarks, with the quickness of intuition, however vague or ambiguous they might be, and, with the suddenness of thought, framed and uttered a suitable reply. Perhaps we cannot better close this imperfect memoir than by appending the following eloquent tribute from the pen of GEORGE D. PRENTICE, Esq. It originally appeared in the Southern Ladies' Book, for June, 1853, and has been extensively republished in other periodicals-an evidence of its claim to preservation in a less perishable form. HENRY CLAY. WITH Voice and mien of stern control And words of fire burst from his soul And gloom and ruin darkly frowned Where fell his bolts of wrath and scorn. But he is gone-the free, the bold- And mute his voice of conscious might. The impulse that his spirit gave To human thought's wild, stormy sea, Will heave and thrill through every wave Of that great deep eternally; And the all-circling atmosphere, With which is blent his breath of flame, Will sound, with cadence deep and clear, In storm and calm, his voice and name. His words that like a bugle blast Erst rang along the Grecian shore, Unnumbered pilgrims o'er the wave, Will come to kneel beside his grave, In which his mouldering form is laid, Who now, in danger's fearful hour, When all around is wild and dark, We bow, and ask that thou wilt be |