more noble or prouder figure. Such a man in private life must be a dominant spirit, and awaken love or hate. In public he expresses himself firmly but in few words, for the principle of freedom.
The senator from New York, Mr. Seward, is a little man, not at all handsome, and with that nasal twang which not unfrequently belongs to the sons of Boston. Seward is from that city. Yet, nevertheless, that voice has uttered, during the present session, some of the greatest and noblest thoughts. He is a stout Anti-Slavery man, and is against any compromise.
“I will labour,” said he, lately, at the close of a speech, “for the support of the Union, not by concessions to slavery, but by the advancement of those laws and institutions which make her a benefactor to the whole human race.” Good and great!
If I now advance from the point where I began, and on the side of the principal entrance, I find, not far from Clay, a Southerner and a champion of slavery, the senator from Georgia, Judge Berrion, a man of talent and wit, and also a kind and god-fearing man, a man of refinement and high breeding, whom it grieved me to see advocating the dark side of the South, on the plea that he must maintain its rights. He stands now in opposition to Clay on the question of California's right to freedom, and the personal hostility between them has gone so far, that Clay gave up his place at our table d'hôte. (Clay has resumed his seat, and Berrion sits at the table.)
In the middle of this camp sits the colossus Daniel Webster, in his arm-chair, with his sallow cheek and brow, and seems to be oppressed with thought, or with the heat, perhaps with both. I call him a colossus, not because I see in him an overpowering intellectual greatness, but on account of his magnificent head and massive appearance, although he is not a large figure,
