crowd, apparently anxious to escape. Some of his friends tried to hold him, saying: “Why, Mr. Marshall, where are you going? You must reply to Mr. Clay. You can easily answer all he has said.” “Of course, I can answer every point,” said Marshall, “but you must excuse me, gentlemen; I cannot go up there and do it just now, after his speech.”
There was a manly, fearless frankness in the avowal of his opinions, and a knightly spirit in his defense of them, as well as in his attacks on his opponents. He was indeed, on the political field, the preux chevalier, marshaling his hosts, sounding his bugle blasts, and plunging first into the fight; and with proud admiration his followers called him “the gallant Harry of the West.”
No less brilliant and attractive was he in his social intercourse with men; thoroughly human in his whole being; full of high spirits; fond of enjoying life and of seeing others happy; generous and hearty in his sympathies; always courteous, sometimes studiously and elaborately so, perhaps beyond what the occasion seemed to call for, but never wounding the most sensitive by demonstrative condescension, because there was a truly kind heart behind his courtesy; possessing a natural charm of conversation and manner so captivating that neither scholar nor backwoodsman could withstand its fascination; making friends wherever he appeared, and holding them — and surely to no public man did friends ever cling with more affec-
