Sir, it is difficult,—it is impossible,—within the limit allowed for remarks upon occasions of this kind, to do justice to a great historical character like Henry Clay. He was one of that class of menwhom Scaliger designates as homines centenarii—men that appear upon the earth but once in a century. His fame is the growth of years, and it would require time to unfold the elements which have combined to impart to it so much of stability and grandeur. Volumes have already been written, and volumes will continue to be written, to record those eminent and distinguished public services which have placed him in the front rank of American statesmen and patriots. The highest talent, stimulated by a fervid and patriotic enthusiasm, has already and will continue to exhaust its powers to portray those striking and generous incidents of his life,—those shining and captivating qualities of his heart, which have made him one of the most beloved, as he was one of the most admired, of men; and yet the subject itself will remain as fresh and exhaustless as if hundreds of the best intellects of the land had not quaffed the inspiration of their genius from the ever-gushing and overflowing fountains of his fame. It could not be that a reputation so grand and colossal as that which attaches to the name of Henry Clay could rest for its base upon any single virtue, however striking; nor upon any single act, no matter how marked or distinguished. Such a reputation as he has left behind him, could only be the result of a long life of illustrious public service. And such in truth it was. For nearly half a century he has been a prominent actor in all the stirring and eventful scenes of American history, fashioning and moulding many of the most important measures of public policy by his bold and sagacious mind, and arresting others by his unconquerable energy and resistless force of eloquence. And however much the members of this body may differ in opinion as to the wisdom of many of his views of national domestic policy, there is not one upon this floor—no, sir, not one in this nation—who will deny to him frankness and directness as a public man; a genius for statesmanship of the highest order; extraordinary capacities for public usefulness, and an ardent and elevated patriotism, without stain and without reproach.
In referring to a career of public service so varied and extended as that of Mr. Clay, and to a character so rich in every great and manly virtue, it is only possible to glance at a few of the most prominent of those points of his personal history, which have given to him so distinguished a place in the affections of his countrymen.
In the whole character of Mr. Clay, in all that attached or belonged to it, you find nothing that is not essentially American. Born in the darkest period of our revolutionary struggle; reared from infancy to manhood among those great minds which gave the first impulse to that mighty movement, he early imbibed and sedulously cherished those great principles of civil and political liberty, which he so brilliantly illustrated in his subsequent life, and which has made his name a watchword of hope and consolation to the oppressed of all the earth. In his intellectual training he was the pure creation of our own republican soil. Few, if any, allusions are to be seen in his speeches or writings to ancient or modern literature, or to thethoughts and ideas of other men. His country, its institutions, its policy, its interests, its destiny, form the exclusive topics of those eloquent harangues, which, while they are destitute of the elaborate finish, have all the ardor and intensity of thought, the earnestness of purpose, the cogency of reasoning, the vehemence of style, and the burning patriotism which mark the productions of the great Athenian orator.
One of the most distinguishing characteristics of Mr. Clay as a public man was his loyalty to truth and to the honest convictions of his own mind. He deceived no man: he would not permit his own heart to be deceived by any of those seductive influences which too often warp the judgment of men in public station. He never paused to consider how far any step which he was about to take would lead to his own personal advancement; he never calculated what he might lose or what he might gain by his advocacy of, or his opposition to, any particular measure. His single inquiry was: Is it right? Is it in accordance with the constitution of the land? Will it redound to the permanent welfare of the country? When satisfied upon these points, his determination was fixed; his purpose was immovable. ‘I would rather be right than be President,’ was the expression of his genuine feelings, and the principle by which he was controlled in his public career—a saying worthy of immortality, and proper to be inscribed upon the heart of every young man in this republic. And yet, sir, with all of that personal and moral intrepidity which so eminently marked the character of Mr. Clay; with his well-known inflexibility of purpose and unyielding resolution, such was the genuine sincerity of his patriotism, and such his thorough comprehension of those principles of compromise, upon which the whole structure of our government was founded, that no one was more prompt to relax the rigor of his policy the moment he perceived that it was calculated to disturb the harmony of the states, or to endanger in any degree the stability of the government. With him the love of this Union was a passion—an absorbing sentiment—which gave color to every act of his public life. It triumphed over party; it triumphed over policy; it subdued the natural fierceness and haughtiness of his temper, and brought him into the most kindly and cordial relations with those who, upon all other questions, were deeply and bitterly opposed to him. It has been asserted, sir, upon high medical authority, and doubtless with truth, that his life was in all probability shortened ten years by the arduous and extraordinary labors which he assumed at the memorable session of 1850. If so, he has added the crowning glory of the MARTYR to the spotless fame of the PATRIOT; and we may well hope that a great national pacification, purchased at such a sacrifice, will long continue to cement the bonds of this now happy and prosperous Union.
Mr. Clay possessed, in an eminent degree, the qualities of a great popular leader; and history, I will assume to say, affords no example in any republic, ancient or modern, of any individual that so fearlesslycarried out the convictions of his own judgment, and so sparingly flattered the prejudices of popular feeling, who, for so long a period, exercised the same controlling influence over the public mind. Earnest in whatever measure he sustained, fearless in attack,—dexterous in defence,—abounding in intellectual resources,—eloquent in debate,—of inflexible purpose, and with a ‘courage never to submit or yield,’ no man ever lived with higher qualifications to rally a desponding party, or to lead an embattled host to victory. That he never attained the highest post of honorable ambition in this country is not to be ascribed to any want of capacity as a popular leader, nor to the absence of those qualities which attract the fidelity and devotion of ‘troops’ of admiring friends. It was the fortune of Napoleon, at a critical period of his destiny, to be brought into collision with the star of Wellington; and it was the fortune of Henry Clay to have encountered, in his political orbit, another great and original mind, gifted with equal power for commanding success, and blessed with more fortunate elements, concurring at the time, of securing popular favor. The struggle was such as might have been anticipated from the collision of two such fierce and powerful rivals. For near a quarter of a century this great republic has been convulsed to its centre by the divisions which have sprung from their respective opinions, policy, and personal destinies; and even now, when they have both been removed to a higher and a better sphere of existence, and when every unkind feeling has been quenched in the triumphs of the grave, this country still feels, and for years will continue to feel, the influence of those agitations to which their powerful and impressive characters gave impulse.
But I must pause. If I were to attempt to present all the aspects in which the character of this illustrious man will challenge the applause of history, I should fatigue the house and violate the just limit allowed for such remarks.
I cannot, however, conclude, sir, without making some more special allusion to Mr. Clay, as a native of that state which I have the honor in part to represent upon this floor. We are all proud, and very properly proud, of the distinguished men to whom our respective states have given birth. It is a just and laudable emulation, and one, in a confederated government like ours, proper to be encouraged. And while men like Mr. Clay very rapidly rise above the confined limits of a state reputation, and acquire a national fame, in which all claim and all have an equal interest, still there is a propriety and fitness in preserving the relation between the individual and his state. Virginia has given birth to a large number of men who have by their distinguished talents and services impressed their names upon the hearts and memories of their countrymen; but certainly, since the colonial era, she has given birth to no man who, in the massive and gigantic proportions of his character, and in the splendor of his native endowments, can be compared to Henry Clay. At an early age, he emigrated from his native state, and found ahome in Kentucky. In a speech which he delivered in the senate of the United States, in February, 1842—and which I well remember—upon the occasion of his resigning his seat in that body, he expressed the wish that, when that event should occur which has now clothed this city in mourning and filled the nation with grief, his ‘earthly remains should be laid under the green sod of Kentucky, with those of her gallant and patriotic sons.’
Sir, however gratifying it might be to us that his remains should be transferred to his native soil, to there mingle with the ashes of Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Lee, and Henry, we cannot complain of the very natural preference which he has himself expressed. If Virginia did give him birth, Kentucky has nourished him in his manhood—has freely lavished upon him her highest honors—has shielded him from harm when the clouds of calumny and detraction gathered heavily and loweringly about him, and she has watched over his fame with the tenderness and zeal of a mother. Sir, it is not to be wondered that he should have expressed the wish he did, to be laid by the side of her gallant and patriotic sons. Happy Kentucky! Happy in having an adopted son so worthy of her highest honors. Happy, in the unshaken fidelity and loyalty with which, for near half a century, those honors have been so steadfastly and gracefully accorded to him.
Sir, whilst Virginia, in the exercise of her own proper judgment, has differed from Mr. Clay in some of his views of national policy, she has never, at any period of his public career, failed to regard him with pride, as one of her most distinguished sons; to honor the purity and the manliness of his character, and to award to him the high credit of an honest and sincere devotion to his country’s welfare. And now, sir, that death has arrested for ever the pulsations of that mighty heart, and sealed in eternal silence those eloquent lips upon whose accents thousands have so often hung in rapture, I shall stand justified in saying, that a wail of lamentation will be heard from her people—her whole people—reverberating through her mountains and valleys, as deep, as genuine, and as sincere as that which, I know, will swell the noble hearts and the heaving bosoms of the people of his own cherished and beloved Kentucky.
Sir, as I walked to the capitol this morning, every object which attracted my eye, admonished me that a nation’s benefactor had departed from amongst us. He is gone! Henry Clay, the idol of his friends, the ornament of the senate chamber, the pride of his country; he whose presence gathered crowds of his admiring fellow-men around him, as if he had been one descended from above, has passed for ever from our view.