CHAPTER VI.

MR. CLAY'S WIT AND OTHER BRILLIANT QUALITIES.

Ir is said, that the effect of wit is the unexpected discovery of a likeness in things unlike. Of course, wit itself is the faculty of making and presenting this discovery. The more unlike the subjects or things are, and the more forced and unnatural the resemblance, so much greater is the wit and its effects. It can not be wit, unless the likeness and unlikeness are observed simultaneously. It is a quick comparison of the two, which tickles the imagination, and produces the effect. Wit has an infinite variety of forms, and scarcely less numberless degrees of power :-at one time bursting the ribs with laughter, at another exciting less boisterous merriment, and sometimes producing only agreeable sensations. All sprightly and playful minds are more or less endowed with this faculty, and the general capability of appreciating it, supposes it is common to the race, though dormant in most minds, till roused by the more gifted to passive demonstrations. All can laugh, but it is not every one that can make others laugh. If wit commonly proves nothing in itself, it is yet a potent agent in quickening the mind to useful exercise. But in some cases, it proves much, and is not unfrequently the only and most effective mode of argument. The reasoning is not in its own display, but in the action of other minds excited by its promptings. It is at times conclusive, when the best reasoning would be all lost. It takes unreasonable and perverse minds by surprise, without leaving a chance of resistance or escape. All see and feel, that it is a conquest.

The sallies of this description, which constitute one of the prominent traits of Mr. Clay's character, are not adduced here, as being all of that precise denomination, commonly called wit, as above described. They result, however, from various applications of the same faculty. Sometimes they assume the more grave character of sarcasm, irony, and satire; at others, they ap

pear in the form of withering rebuke, or annihilating severity. Mr. Clay's wit is chastened and refined, and pleases and delights, more often than it astonishes. In his speeches and conversation, it is always ready to be employed, when discretion dictates. It is sometimes captivating, dazzling; at others, it mingles with the heavy artillery of argument, imparting to it a vividness and power irresistible. When sharpness or hard blows are not required, its illuminations, whether in debate or in the social circle, are almost constantly flashing out, like the sports of summer-evening lightning, which brings no thunder or storm. Its attractions claim and secure attention, and are not less instructive, than charming.

Tradition alleges, that Mr. Clay, in the early history of his professional career, was engaged for a client, who was extremely slow in paying his debts, and that a witness on the stand, who knew his habits, was hardly pressed by the opposite counsel, to answer on this point, so as to bring out the truth. Unwilling to injure his neighbor, more than was necessary, he said, "He is slow." Still pressed to say more, he still answered, "He is slow" -"and sure," said Mr. Clay, putting the words in his mouth. "Yes, sir," said the witness, taken by surprise. Of course, the witness could not afterward contradict himself, and Mr. Clay's client had the benefit of his evidence, according to the usual acceptation of the terms, "slow and sure;" though in fact, the man was sure not to pay. It was not quite fair, manifestly. But it may easily be conceived, that, to a mind like Mr. Clay's, the temptation was strong, for the mere sport of it, without intending unfairness, and that a moment's reflection would have repressed so mischievous a pun, in such circumstances.

The culprit, Willis, whom Mr. Clay had defended successfully from the charge of murder, as narrated in another chapter, was far from being a good citizen afterward, and would get drunk. Mr. Clay happened to meet him in this condition one day, when Willis cried out, "Here comes Mr. Clay, who saved my life.". "Ah, Willis, poor fellow," said Mr. Clay, "I fear I have saved too many like you, who ought to be hanged."

When Mr. Clay was a member of the Kentucky legislature, in 1805, while advocating the removal of the seat of government, then and still at Frankfort, he made a ludicrous comparison of the geography of the place to an inverted hat, "the body of which," he said, "was Frankfort, nature's penitentiary. Who

that got in, could get out? And if any one would have a just idea of its miserable tenants, look at those persons in the gallery!" pointing in that direction, with a sweep of his hand, that took. them all in. Every eye was instantly turned, as challenged, to behold as ragged and forlorn a set of poor fellows, as could be found in the darkest dens of a city, scampering off in the utmost consternation, to escape the notice, which had been thus turned upon them. The whole house burst into a laugh, and immediately came to the conclusion, to scamper away from Frankfort, taking the seat of government with them. But, it would seem, they have never been able to get out of the hat. Nor could a lover of nature conceive why they should desire it. The surrounding heights, cut through by the beautiful river, Kentucky, are the just admiration of all strangers. Wit, however, is a dangerous weapon, and it was a long time before Mr. Clay himself could get out of the hat-not till, many years afterward, he had made a speech there, at a public dinner, put the hat right side up, and shown it was very beautiful.

A year or two after this, he made his first speech in the senate of the United States, on internal improvement, which did not exactly suit a certain member, who, being much Mr. Clay's senior, thought he could prove his opponent guilty of the crime of being a young man, and with affected airs of superior wisdom, fell on him with that intent, advising him to modesty corresponding with his years. In Mr. Clay's reply, he was tempted to quote the following lines:

"Thus have I seen a magpie in the street,

A chattering bird we often meet,

With head awry, and cunning eye,

Peep knowingly into a marrow-bone."

The application of the manners of this sagacious bird, to those of the reverend senator, was too forcibly just, not to be felt even by himself, and it was a long time before he was disposed to display them again before the senate. Of course, he was wise enough afterward, to let the young man have his own way.

In the spring of 1815, after the signing of the treaty of Chent, Mr. Clay met the celebrated Madame de Stael in Paris, who told him, that she had been doing battle for the Americans in London, during the war. Mr. Clay replied, that "the Americans had heard of her good offices, and were not ungrateful for them." Madame de Stael also informed him, that the British, while the VOL. I.—7

war was pending, talked of sending out the duke of Wellington to command their forces against the Americans. "I am very sorry, madam," said Mr. Clay, "that they did not send his grace." The lady, a little suprised, asked, "And why, sir?”—“ Because, madam, if he had beaten us, we should only have been in the condition of all Europe, without disgrace. But, if we had been so fortunate as to beat the duke, we should have added greatly to the renown of our arms." The next time they met, was at Madame de Stael's own house, when the duke was a guest. Like mischief-loving, privileged woman, after having made the duke and Mr. Clay acquainted, and on the instant, Madame de Stael rehearsed to the duke the conversation above recited. The duke, looking alternately at Mr. Clay and Madame de Stael, and addressing himself to both, as the occasion demanded, very gallantly said, "If I had been sent on that errand, and been so fortunate as to be successful against so gallant a foe as the Americans, I should have regarded it as the proudest feather in my cap."

Not long after this, Mr. Clay was dining at Lord Castlereagh's, in London, with the other American commissioners of Ghent, the British commissioners, and some of the British ministers, when London was filled with rejoicings for the victory of Waterloo. Nothing was yet heard of the whereabout of Napoleon; but it was suggested at table, that he might perhaps flee to America for an asylum. "Will he not give you some trouble, if he goes there?" said Lord Liverpool to Mr. Clay. "Not the least, iny

lord," said Mr. Clay. "We shall be very glad to see him, will entertain him with all due rites of hospitality, and soon make him a good democrat."

Henry Goulbourn, Esq., one of the British commissioners at Ghent, sent to Mr. Clay, at Brussels, a London paper, containing the British official account of the capture of the city of Washington, destruction of the capitol and other public buildings, with an apology for this disagreeable intelligence, presuming that the latest news from the United States would notwithstanding, be acceptable. Mr.Clay returned his compliments to Mr. Goulbourn, with a Paris paper, containing the first intelligence of the destruction of the British fleet on Lake Champlain, also apologizing for the disagreeable part of the news, but presumed he would like the latest.

After Mr. Clay's return from Ghent, a public dinner was given him by his fellow-citizens of Lexington, when, of course, "the negotiators of Ghent." were toasted, in whose behalf Mr. Clay

made a pertinent speech. But when the last toast was read-"Our guest, HENRY CLAY-We welcome his return to that country, whose rights and interests he has so ably maintained, at home and abroad," his feelings were deeply affected, and he could but with difficulty make the following brief reply, which ends, as will be seen, with no vain attempt at playfulness :

་

"My friends, I must again thank you, for your kind and affectionate attention. My reception has been more like that of a brother, than a common friend or acquaintance, and I am utterly incapable of finding words to express my gratitude. My situation is like that of a Swedish gentleman, at a dinner given in England by the Society of Friends of Foreigners in Distress. A toast having been given, complimentary to his country, it was expected, as is usual on such occasions, that he would rise and address the company. The gentleman, not understanding the English language, rose, under great embarrassment, and said, 'Sir, I wish you to consider me a foreigner in distress.' I wish you, gentlemen, to consider me a friend in distress."

When the odious compensation bill was to be encountered, in the congressional canvass of 1816, Mr. Clay met an old, and once an ardent political friend, a Kentucky hunter, who expressed. dissatisfaction at his vote on the abovenamed bill. "Have you a good rifle, my friend?" asked Mr. Clay. "Yes."-" Did it ever flash ?”—“It did once.". "And did you throw it away?". "No, I picked the flint, tried it again, and it was true."-"Have I ever flashed, except this once you complain of?”—“ No.” "And will you throw me away ?"-" No, no," said the hunter, with much emotion, grasping Mr. Clay's hand, "never. I will pick the flint, and try it again." Mr. Clay passed on, met another hunter with his rifle in hand, which he called "Old Bess," and solicited his vote. "Are you a good shot?" asked the hunter." Mr. Clay, supposing his friend spoke figuratively, promptly replied, "Try me, and see."-" Very well, here's Old Bess, try her once." Mr. Clay had never shot a rifle in his life. But there was no retreat. The mark was set up, the distance taken, and by mere chance, Mr. Clay made a hit in the centre. The hunter and his friends insisted on his trying once more, as that might be accident. "Beat that, and I will," said Mr. Clay, and they let him off as a good shot, and engaged to vote for him. These are instances of boldness, rather than of wit, showing promptitude, readiness, and decision. Nevertheless, there is always an affinity between these vigilant and active faculties. They