And names that must not wither.’
Of such deeds the life of Henry Clay affords many and bright examples. His own name, and those with whom he associated, shall live with a freshness which time cannot impair, and shine with a brightness which passing years cannot dim. His advent into public life was as remarkable for the circumstances as it was brilliant in its effect. It was at a time when genius and learning, statesmanship and eloquence, made the American Congress the most august body in the world. He was the contemporary of a race of statesmen, some of whom—then administering the government, and others retiring and retired from office—presented an array of ability unsurpassed in our history. The elder Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Gallatin, Clinton, and Monroe, stood before the republic in the maturity of their fame; while Calhoun, John Quincy Adams, Lowndes, Randolph, Crawford, Gaston, and Cheves, with a host of others, rose a bright galaxy upon our horizon. He who won his spurs in such a field earned his knighthood. Distinction amid such competition was true renown—
‘The fame which a man wins for himself is best—
That he may call his own.’
It was such a fame that he made for himself in that most eventful era in our history. To me, sir, the recollection of that day, and the events which distinguish it, is filled with an overpowering interest. I never can forget my enthusiastic admiration of the boldness, the eloquence, and the patriotism of Henry Clay during the war of 1812. In the bright array of talent which adorned the congress of the United States; in the conflict growing out of the political events of that time; in the struggles of party, and amid the gloom and disasters which depressed the spirits of most men, and well nigh paralyzed the energies of the administration, his cheerful face, high bearing, commanding eloquence and iron will, gave strength and consistency to those elements which finally gave not only success but glory to the country. When dark clouds hovered over us, and there was little to save from despair, the country looked with hope to Clay and Calhoun, to Lowndes, and Crawford, and Cheves, and looked not in vain. The unbending will, the unshaken nerve, and the burning eloquence of Henry Clay, did as much to command confidence and sustain hope as even the news of our first victory after a succession of defeats. Those great names are now canonized in history; he, too, has passed to join them on its pages. Associated in his long political life with the illustrious Calhoun, he survived him but two years. Many of us heard his eloquent tribute to his memory in the senate chamber on the annunciation of his death. And we this day unite in a similar manifestation of reverential regard to him whose voice shall never more charm the ear, whose burning thoughts, borne on that medium, shall no more move the hearts of listening assemblies.
In the midst of the highest specimens of our race, he was always an equal; he was a man among men. Bold, skillful, and determined, he gave character to the party which acknowledged him as a leader; impressed his opinions upon their minds, and an attachment to himself upon their hearts. No man, sir, can do this without being eminently great. Whoever attains this position must first overcome the aspirations of antagonist ambition, quiet the clamors of rivalry, hold in check the murmurs of jealousy, and overcome the instincts of vanity and self-love in the masses thus subdued to his control. But few men ever attain it. Very rare are the examples of those whose plastic touch forms the minds and directs the purposes of a great political party. This infallible indication of superiority belonged to Mr. Clay. He has exercised that control during a long life; and now through our broad land the tidings of his death, borne with electric speed, have opened the fountains of sorrow. Every city, town, village, and hamlet will be clothed with mourning; along our extended coast, the commercial and military marine, with flags drooping at half-mast, own the bereavement; state-houses draped in black proclaim the extinguishment of one of the great lights of senates; and minute-guns sound his requiem.
Sir, during the last five years I have seen the venerable JohnQuincy Adams, John C. Calhoun, and Henry Clay pass from among us, the legislators of our country. The race of giants who ‘were on the earth in those days’ is well-nigh gone. Despite their skill, their genius, their might, they have sunk under the stroke of time. They were our admiration and our glory; a few linger with us, the monuments of former greatness, the beacon-lights of a past age. The death of Henry Clay cannot fail to suggest melancholy associations to each member of this house. These walls have rëechoed the silvery tones of his bewitching voice; listening assemblies have hung upon his lips. The chair which you fill has been graced by his presence, while his commanding person and unequalled parliamentary attainments inspired all with deference and respect. Chosen by acclamation because of his high qualifications, he sustained himself before the house and the country. In his supremacy with his party, and the uninterrupted confidence which he enjoyed to the day of his death, he seems to have almost discredited the truth of those lines of the poet Laberius—
‘Non passunt primi esse omnes omni in tempore,
Summum ad gradum cum claritatis veneris,
Consistes ægre, et citius, quam ascendas, cades.’