Ah, it is at times like these that
the petty distinctions of mere party disappear. We see only the great,
the grand, the noble features of the departed statesman; and we do not
even beg permission to bow at his feet and mingle our tears with those
who have ever been his political adherents--we do [not] beg this
permission, we claim it as a right, though we feel it as a privilege.
Henry Clay belonged to his country--to the world; mere party cannot claim
men like him. His career has been national, his fame has filled the
earth, his memory will endure to the last syllable of recorded time.
"Henry Clay is dead! He breathed his last on yesterday, at twenty minutes
after eleven, in his chamber at Washington. To those who followed his
lead in public affairs, it more appropriately belongs to pronounce his
eulogy and pay specific honors to the memory of the illustrious dead. But
all Americans may show the grief which his death inspires, for his
character and fame are national property. As on a question of liberty he
knew no North, no South, no East, no West, but only the Union which held
them all in its sacred circle, so now his countrymen will know no grief
that is not as wide-spread as the bounds of the confederacy.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191