"I should be exceedingly jealous, were it not that he made exactly the same impression upon me, a few evenings before you joined me here. It was at Miss T——'s wedding. Of course, I had a card of invitation to the reception, after the ceremony, but, disliking crowds as I do, and as you were not here, I decided not to go.—The truth is, Colonel, [turning to me] we backwoodsmen are a little shy of these grand state occasions of ceremony and parade."—
"Backwoodsmen, as you are pleased to term them, sometimes confer far more honor upon such occasions than they upon him," returned I.
"You are very polite, sir. Well, as I was saying, in the morning I met the bride's father, who was one of my early college friends, in the street, and he urged me, with such old-fashioned, hearty cordiality to come, that I began to think the homely charm of hospitality might not be wholly lacking, even at a fashionable entertainment, in this most fashionable city. So the upshot of the matter was my going, though with some misgivings about my court-costume, as my guardian-angel had deserted me." Really, boys, I wish you could have seen the chivalrous courtesy that lighted the fine eye and shone over the manner of the speaker, as, with these last words, he bowed to the fair companion of his life for something like half a century.
"You forget, my dear," rejoined the lady, as a soft smile, and a softer blush stole over her still beautiful face, "that Mrs. M—— wrote me you were quite the lion of the occasion, and that half the young ladies present, including the bride herself, were"—
"My dear! I cry you mercy!—Bless my soul!—an old fellow like me!"——
"But K——, my dear friend," I exclaimed, "don't be personal"——
"Lunettes, you were always, and still are, irresistible with the ladies, but—you are an exception."
"I protest!" cried Mrs. K——, joining in our laughter, "Mr. Clay, to his latest day, was in high favor with ladies, young and old—there was no withstanding the charm of his manner. At Washington, one winter that I spent there, wherever I met him, he was encircled by the fairest and most distinguished of our sex, all seeming to vie with each other for his attentions—and this was not because of his political rank, for others in high position did not share his popularity;—it was his grace, his courtesy, his je ne sais quoi, as the French say."
"Mr. Clay was as remarkable for quiet self-possession and tact, in social as in public life," said I. "When I had the honor to be his colleague, I often had occasion to observe and admire both. I remember once being a good deal amused by a little scene between him and a Miss ——, then a reigning belle at Washington, and a great favorite of Mr. Clay's. Returning late one night from the Capitol, excessively fatigued by a long and exciting debate, in which he had borne an active part, he dropped into the ladies' parlor of our hotel, on his way up stairs, hoping, I dare say, Mrs. K., to enjoy the soothing influence of gentler smiles and tones than those he had left. The room was almost deserted, but, ensconced in one corner of a long, old-fashioned sofa, sat Miss ——, reading. His keen eye detected his fair friend in a moment, and his lagging step quickened as he approached her. A younger and handsomer man might well have envied the warm welcome he received. After sitting a moment beside the lady, Mr. Clay said, abruptly:—