During Mr. Clay’s absence from congress, which, as has been before stated, was occasioned to furnish him an opportunity to repair pecuniary losses, he was appointed, in connection with Mr. Bibb, to attend the Virginia legislature, for the purpose of adjusting certain Kentuckian land claims. The land laws of Kentucky were a source of great perplexity and litigation, subjecting those who had settled there prior to her separation from Virginia, to great inconvenience and loss. In his appeal to the general assembly of Virginia, Mr. Clay manifested unusual anxiety to protect the interests of the occupants of the soil, in the state from which he was a delegate, and succeeded in awakening a corresponding feeling of sympathy in the hearts of those whom he addressed. He drew a vivid picture of the privations and hardships which the settler had to encounter, placed him before them in the attitude of bidding adieu to the ‘tombs and temples of his fathers,’ then followed him to the wilderness, and traced his toilsome progress, step by step, until he brought him to the period when he began to reap the reward of his labors. He exhibited him sitting at twilight in the door of his comfortable tenement, looking out upon his broad enclosures, the happy partner of his cares by his side, and his dear little ones enjoying their innocent pastimes around him, and almost made them see the heavings of his grateful heart, and the moistening of his eye, as he surveyed the abundance of domestic bliss, and peace, and plenty, which his industrious hand had gathered about him. This, said Mr. Clay, is the bright side of the picture; now let us look at the dark; and then, in his solemn, impressive, and inimitably graphic manner, with a quivering lip, and a hand tremulous with emotion, he pointed to the same group, yet he painted no happy look, he caused no shout of sportive joy to ascend, but he rendered audible the deep sigh, the suffocating sob, and piercing groan; he made almost visible the furrowed brow of toil-worn manhood wet with the dew of despair, a broken-hearted wife drowned in grief, surrounded by sorrowing childhood,all fixing a last look upon a home dear to them as their lives, as they were about to depart to rear a new abode in the uninviting wilderness. This is no picture of a heated imagination, said Mr. Clay, it is suggested by scenes of almost every day occurrence, and it is to prevent their occurrence that prompts us to attempt the adjustment of these conflicting ‘land claims.’ Equity, humanity, and benevolence, all urge this; they all mingle their voices of mercy, and beseech that when the settler has by his honest and industrious efforts acquired the comforts and blessings of social and domestic life, he shall be permitted to enjoy them, and not be in danger of being dispossessed by a prior claim to his domain, and of which he was ignorant. In one of his most pathetic strains, he attempted to quote the affecting lines of sir Walter Scott:
‘Lives there a heart so cold and dead,
That never to itself hath said—
This is my own, my native land!’
He commenced, but could not finish them; some words had escaped his memory, but without the least hesitation he pressed his hand upon his forehead a moment, in recalling them. All believed that this momentary hesitation was caused by the recollections of other years, which were swelling in his heart and checking utterance, and when he withdrew his hand from his brow and cast his tearful eyes over the assembly, and in his impassioned manner repeated the lines, there was one general gushing of tears, as if all hearts had been melted beneath his look and tone.
In the course of the year, Mr. Clay, in behalf of Kentucky, and B. W. Leigh, Esq., in behalf of Virginia, met at Ashland, and concluded a convention, which was ratified by the legislature of Kentucky, and by the house of delegates of Virginia, but was rejected in her senate, by a small majority.
Mr. Clay had now, during his three years absence from congress, realized his wishes in repairing his pecuniary losses, and at the earnest and repeated requests of his fellow citizens, accepted a renomination, and was again elected without opposition a member of the house of representatives.
In consequence of intense application to his professional duties, Mr. Clay’s health had become materially impaired; indeed his life was despaired of. During the summer of 1823, he had visited, without receiving much benefit, the Olympian Springs, in Kentucky, and submitted to a thorough course of medicine, but all remedial means failed to arrest what appeared to be a gradual decline, which was conducting him apparently rapidly to the period of his dissolution. He began to think seriously, as a last resort, on going south to spend the ensuing winter, but it was requisite for him to be in Washington in November, and his own feelings inclined him to be there at the commencement of the session, incase it were practicable. He finally, after consulting with his friends, abandoned the prescriptions of his physicians, procured a light carriage and a good saddle-horse, and riding, driving, and walking, leisurely made his way to the seat of government. When he reached Washington, he was nearly well.
At the opening of the eighteenth congress, on the first Monday of December, 1823, Mr. Clay was elected speaker to the house, over Mr. Barbour, of Virginia, the late speaker, by a vote of one hundred and thirty-nine to forty-two. Shortly after his election, the following beautiful jeu d’esprit appeared in the National Intelligencer.
“As near the Potomac’s broad stream, t’other day,