Mr. Cox was one of the most genial and delightful of associates. With him and Vance, Knott, and Randolph Tucker as companions for the social hour, the night would flee away like a shadow. His wit was of the rarest order. He would have been on terms of recognized kinship with Sydney Smith and Charles Lamb. He once said of a vinegar-visaged member that the only regret he had on earth was that there were no more commandments to keep; what few there were he kept so easily. As illustrating his readiness and elasticity, whatever the emergency, two instances, out of the many that crowd upon memory, will be given. During an all-night session of the House, amid great confusion, the roll-call was ordered. The first name, "Mr. Archer," was called, and the response "Aye" was given. The clerk, failing to hear the response, immediately repeated, "Mr. Archer," to which the latter, in tones heard above the din of many voices, again answered "Aye." Instantly Mr. Cox exclaimed: "Insatiate Archer, would not one suffice?"
A new member from a district far to the westward entered the House. His advoirdupois was in keeping with the vast territorial area he represented. As a wit, he was without a rival in his section. The admiration of his constituents over the marvellous attainments of the new member, scarcely exceeded his own. Only the opportunity was wanting when the star of the gentleman from New York should go down and his own be in the ascendant. The opportunity at length came. Mr. Cox was the victim of the hour; the recipient of many compliments much more fervid than kind. The seven vials of wrath were opened upon him. A vast storehouse of wit, ancient and modern, was literally exhausted for the occasion. Even the diminutive size of the New York member was mentioned in terms of disparagement. The speech caused much merriment in the House during its delivery, and its author with an air of self-satisfaction rarely witnessed even in that body, resumed his seat. Mr. Cox at once took the floor. No attempt will be made to do justice to his speech. The manner, the tone of voice, which caused an uproar upon the floor and in the galleries, can never find their way into print. Referring to the ill-mannered allusion to his size, he said "that his constituents preferred a representative with brains, rather than one whose only claims to distinction consisted in an abnormal abdominal development." In tragic tones he then pronounced a funeral eulogy over his assailant, and suggested, as a fitting inscription for his tombstone, the pathetic words of Byron,
"'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!"
Soon after the nomination of Tilden for President, Mr. Cox was invited to attend a political meeting at the State capital, and address the Democracy of Vermont. When the scarcity of Democrats in the Green Mountain State is taken into account, the significance of Mr. Cox's reply will readily appear. His telegram was to the effect that pressing engagements prevented his attending, but "if the Democracy of Vermont will drop into my library any afternoon, about four o'clock, I will address them with great pleasure."
In attempting to write something of a member so long and so favorably known to the House as the Hon. J. Proctor Knott of Kentucky, I am reminded of the opening sentences of the touching tribute of Judge Baldwin to an honored associate:
"I nib my pen and impart to it a fine hair stroke in order that I may give the more delicate touch which can alone show forth the character of this distinguished gentleman. If I hold the pen in hand in idle reverie, it is because my mind rests lovingly upon a picture I feel incapable of transcribing with fidelity to the original; and therefore I pause a moment to look once more at the original, before it is obscured by the rude counterpart."
It was worth while to have known Proctor Knott, to have been his cotemporary in public life, the sharer of his confidence, the guest at his hearthstone. In the highest sense of the expression, he was a gentleman of the old school. To him there was rare meaning in the words, "Old wood to burn! Old wine to drink! Old friends to trust!"
He was as familiar with the Bible, with Shakespeare, and Burns, as though he had written them. His quotations, whether in private conversation, or in public speech, were always timely. There was little in the way of the best literature, ancient or modern, that he had not read. As was truly said of the gifted Prentiss:
"His imagination was colored and imbued with the light of the shadowy past. He lingered spell-bound among the scenes of mediaeval chivalry. His spirit had dwelt until almost naturalized in the mystic dreamland of the Paladins, Crusaders, and Knights Templars; with Monmouth and Percy, with Bois-Guilbert and Ivanhoe and the bold McGregor; with the Cavaliers of Rupert, and the iron enthusiasts of Fairfax."
He was the inveterate hater of shams of all kinds, and of mere pretenders of every description. He ever avoided the short cuts, and kept steadily along in the old way. His heroes, like those of Dickens, were taken from the common walk; the men he had met in the road and at the hustings, at whose firesides he had passed many hours. Whatever concerned them, whatever involved in any manner their welfare, was of deep interest to him. If he had chosen his own epitaph it might have read: