by two unequal figures, who held each one an arm, did not look either well or at his ease. After this trial, the members of the Senate, two and two, or one and one, entered the House of Representatives. Nothing can be simpler than the form by which the new President was inducted into his office. Placing his hand upon the Bible he promised to defend the constitution of the United States, called upon God to witness his promise, kissed the book and—that was all.
The President and senators went out as they had entered. Most of the senators went out in pairs, some arm-in-arm; Clay went alone, indifferent, weary, very much alone seemed to me both his expression and bearing; Corvin, the senator from Ohio, of whom I shall presently have more to say, a stout little man, resolute and good-tempered, he also walked alone.
The sitting of Congress is now prorogued for three days, until after the interment of President Taylor. But the contending parties, who now prepare themselves for a new turn in affairs, have not prorogued their operations. They labour incessantly, and have no other feeling or thought than their own interests.
Yesterday, as I returned from the Capitol, I heard one young man say to another, “if he dies, then our party will triumph, and, by God, I know that he will die.”
And now, while these mighty affairs both rest and are agitated, I will tell you a little about my own concerns.
I spent the 4th of July—that great day in the United States—at Mount Vernon, the estate of Washington, with Miss Lynch, Mr. Andrews, and Mr. Corvin, the senator from Ohio. Mr. Corvin is one of this country's “self-made men:” his father was a poor farmer; and the son enjoyed merely a common school education, but has, through his own means, educated and trained himself till he is one of the most celebrated popular orators; and, what is still more, a universally esteemed politician, against whom
