manner. I was also astonished in the evening, when in company, not to find that my feeling with regard to Senator B.'s conduct was general.
“I am much mistaken, Miss ,” said Senator H. to a young lady, a literary lioness now in Washington, “if you were not cordially delighted by Benton's treatment of Clay.”
“Yes,” replied she, “I enjoyed it heart and soul; it was a regular treat to me!”
What taste!
Clay has not, however, always shown in the Senate the same moderation and superiority in political quarrels, and not very long since, in a contest with Benton, he indulged in a coarseness something like his own; but that was merely for a moment. That violence which with Clay is paroxysm, is natural to Benton; the former is excited, the latter falls into it from an almost incredible arrogance. Clay is surprised into it; Benton has it always at hand.
To-day, when, later than usual, I entered the Senate, Clay was speaking; he was not expected to speak to-day but something which had occurred during the discussion had excited him, and I now saw him in one of those moments, when his impassioned ardour carried along with it, or controlled, the surrounding multitude He stood with his hands closed, and his upturned countenance directed to heaven, and with a voice, the pathos and melody of which I now for the first time properly estimated, declared the purity of his intentions, and that he desired nothing but the well being of his country. “What is there to tempt me?” asked he. “At my age a man stands nearer to heaven than earth, and is too near leaving the latter for him to be seeking reward there. The approval of my conscience is the only thing which can sustain me through the conflict.”
