Mr. Clay advocated every measure he proposed, not as a mere partisan, but as a statesman who clearly saw its first and ultimate bearings on national politics. His is a mind of vast conceptions, which, if it had not at one time speculated too much in elections,—I allude to the trick he played at the election of Mr. John Quincy Adams,—might have long ago enabled him to fill the station to which his unfortunate ambition a little too early aspired.
From Mr. Clay I called upon Mr. Thomas H. Benton, the democratic senator from Missouri. This gentleman is altogether in a false position; for he is, in my opinion, as much over-rated by his friends as he is under-rated by his enemies. I was the bearer of a letter to him by one of his most intimate friends, and a person of high standing and much influence in the country; and yet the reception I met with was cold and ceremonious,—his manners forced, and almost ludicrously dignified. The truth is, Mr. Benton behaves on most occasions like a man who has not yet found his level in society; being continually on his guard lest he might not be done justice to, and afraid lest his unrestrained familiar manners might derogate from the estimation in which he is held by the public. The first impression that he makes upon a stranger I should judge to be decidedly unfavourable, though he greatly improves upon acquaintance, and, as he drops his dignity, shows his truly estimable points of character. As Mr. Benton’s democracy is probably proof against the seductions of Europe,—a thing I would not assert of one American out of ten,—I would recommend to him a trip to Paris,—not to London,—in order that he might learn to carry himself with a little more ease. It would vastly improve his manners and general appearance, and perhaps make him find favour even with female philosophers.[22]
Mr. Benton is perhaps the most unfortunate speaker in the Senate; not, indeed, as regards the substance of his discourses, most of which are clever and full of information; but with regard to his disjointed, broken, sometimes loud, and again sometimes scarcely audible, delivery. This is undoubtedly the reason why his speeches are so much under-rated, though they contain more solid matter of statistics and history than can be found in the perhaps more eloquent efforts of his colleagues. Mr. Benton is a most uncommonly laborious man, and is constantly collecting facts, not only in America but also in Europe, in support of his political doctrines; though his partiality for France, and his eternal and irksome comparisons between the republic under the consulate of Bonaparte and the confederation of the United States, rather injure than establish his theories with a considerable portion of the American public. Another fault with which Mr. Benton has been reproached consists in his indelicate allusions to his personal prowess. Every one knows that Mr. Benton is as brave as Cæsar; but it is not necessary that he himself should refer to it. An appeal to arms in a deliberative assembly is always vulgar, if not absolutely savage; and ought to be avoided in the most studious manner, not only by every man of religion and principle, but also by every gentleman of good taste. There is, as yet, too much bullyism in the legislative assemblies of America; many worthy representatives forgetting that it is easier to fight for, than to establish by argument, the correctness of a political principle. On the whole, Mr. Benton is a clever politician, an industrious collector of statistics, and, with the exception of his delivery, a most skilful debater in Congress. He has, during a certain period, been almost the only and valiant defender of General Jackson’s policy in the Senate; and has, by his perseverance, honesty, and good faith, become universally popular among the labouring classes, whose interests he has during his whole life constantly and successfully advocated.
My next visit was to Mr. Salis Wright, senator from the State of New York, the avowed democratic champion of that State, and indeed a man of the most extraordinary talents. He is one of those men whose urbanity and frankness the Americans indicate by saying, “he has not a bit of starch in him.” Mr. Wright is a statesman, not a mere politician; and will, if his talents be properly placed before the public, play an important part in the history of his country. He and Mr. Calhoun are almost the only two senators free from the “Congressional” sin of making everlasting speeches. He is always concise, rigorously logical, and, what is very rare in an American politician, singularly free from personal abuse. His mind is of that rigid composition which does not allow him to depart, for one instant, from the point under consideration; and hence, instead of indulging himself in irrelevant rhapsodies, sneers, and side-thrusts at the character of his antagonists, he confines himself strictly to his argument; a method which, if it were imitated by every senator, would enable them to transact the same business in about the one-seventh part of the time now needed, saving annually a sum of not less than a million of dollars.
Mr. Wright’s delivery is rapid, but distinct; proving that every thought is digested and arranged, and flowing from a well-stored mind. In his private life he is not a fashionable, but a plain, unassuming, modest gentleman; who, notwithstanding his own brevity, possesses that most extraordinary talent of powerful minds—of listening patiently to the tedious prosings of others. I saw him, in his own room, listen to an endless recital of an Indian campaign given by an officer in the army, without even once heaving a sigh, though the thermometer ranged at 96°; his room being one of the closest in the whole city of Washington. At last, having listened to the hero for more than an hour, he told him patiently that he found his story exceedingly entertaining; but, having a few words to say to one of his friends waiting in the parlour, he should be obliged to leave him for a few moments, in order to afterwards hear the conclusion of so interesting a narrative. I must yet observe that Mr. Wright is seldom seen at the crack parties in Washington, and is, therefore, not in the way of being much noticed by foreign tourists.
My next call was on my old acquaintance, Mr. Buchanan, senator from Pennsylvania. This is a gentleman of plain common sense, agreeable and dignified manners, and the most resolved unchangeable disposition. As a speaker, he does not attempt to soar on the wings of genius; but his arguments being always founded on experience and practical good sense, and his unimpeachable honesty being proverbial, he is always sure of producing effect. Mr. Buchanan never had the character of an office-seeker, though he has always been one of the most strenuous defenders of General Jackson’s policy; and is even now rarely seen at the White-house or the levees of the cabinet ministers. And yet in his externals he is the most courtier-like senator in Congress; his dress and manners being always what a master of ceremonies at any European court could wish them to be in order to usher him into the presence of his royal master. In addition to this, Mr. Buchanan is a bachelor, and not yet past the age at which bachelors cease to be interesting; which accounts sufficiently for his being universally beloved, even by those who are opposed to him in politics. Indeed, I heard it positively asserted, more than four years ago, that he was “too much of a gentleman,” and “had remained too long in the Senate,” to continue much longer an advocate of democracy. This was evidently among the on dits, which, as far as regards the conclusion, had not the least foundation in it. Mr. Buchanan is, at this moment, as sound a democrat as ever; proving the vanity and falsehood of Cowper’s assertion, that
“——the age of virtuous liberty is past,
And we are deep in that of cold pretence;
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere,
And we too wise to trust them.”
On my return to the inn I found a numerous assemblage of gentlemen waiting on the piazza for the ringing of the dinner-bell; which, at Gadsby’s owing to the vast extent of the premises, is affixed to a small steeple on the top of the house, in order that it may warn not only the gentlemen who may be engaged in politics in their rooms, but also those who may be lounging anywhere within a quarter of a mile from the place of feeding. During the time the table was setting, the dining-room itself was carefully locked, in order “to prevent impatient people from spoiling the looks of it” before it was quite ready. While thus in expectation of the things that were to come, I asked the bar-keeper how many senators and representatives had taken rooms in the house; as, from the number of gentlemen present, it was quite evident his inn was full.
“Only two, sir,” replied he.
“And what is the reason you have so few?”