Such as was George Washington at Mount Vernon, retired from the scenes of public excitement and service, such is Henry Clay at Ashland. I had seen Calhoun at Washington in the early spring of 1846, calm amidst the strife and hurry of political warfare; I saw Henry Clay in the May following, in Kentucky, serene in “the mild majesty of private life.” Side by side these illustrious Americans had, for many years, proceeded in their separate courses; their ages not far dissimilar; their characters strongly contrasted; their politics invariably opposed, their various powers equally, though with different views, ardently devoted to the service of their country. Each spoke of the other with high esteem, and each inquired with earnest solicitude if health and cheerfulness were still the portion of his admired rival. Many sympathies, indeed, had bound them together; each had rejoiced with the same triumph in the happiness of the Republic; each had partaken of the same exalted anguish in her difBculties. Clay and Calhoun are the MASTER SPIRITS of America.

Mr. Clay is the most popular man in the United States; his very name is a spell, and no sooner is it heard than all mankind rise up to praise it; nor all mankind only—but all womankind; for, as in England, ladies par métier are Conservatives, so they are in America, for the same reasons, doubtless, generally attached to the Whig standard; a lovely and graceful ornament, the ladies of America are the chaplet of roses in which is wreathed the name of Henry Clay.