I have watched him; I have studied him; I have admired him――and, God forgive me! for he was but a man, ‘of like passions with us’――I fear I have _idolized_ him, until this hour. But he has gone from among men; and it is for US now to awake and apply ourselves, with renewed fervor and increased fidelity, to the welfare of the country HE loved so well and served so truly and so long――the glorious country yet saved to us! Yes, Henry Clay has fallen, at last!――as the ripe oak falls, in the stillness of the forest. But the verdant and gorgeous richness of his glories will only fade and wither from the earth, when his country’s history shall have been forgotten. ‘One generation passeth away and another generation cometh.’ Thus it has been from the beginning, and thus it will be, until time shall be no longer. Yesterday morning, at eleven o’clock, the spirit of Henry Clay――so long the pride and glory of his own country, and the admiration of all the world――was yet with us, though struggling to be free. Ere ‘high noon’ came, it had passed over ‘the dark river,’ through the gate, into the celestial city, inhabited by all the ‘just men made perfect.’ May not our rapt vision contemplate him there, this day, in sweet communion with the dear friends that have gone before him?――with Madison, and Jefferson, and Washington, and Henry, and Franklin――with the eloquent Tully, with the ‘divine Plato,’ with Aaron the Levite, who could ‘speak well’――with all the great and good, since and before the flood! His princely tread has graced these aisles for the last time. These halls will wake no more to the magic music of his voice. Did that tall spirit, in its etherial form, enter the courts of the upper sanctuary, bearing itself comparably with the spirits there, as was his walk among men? Did the mellifluous tones of his greeting there enrapture the hosts of heaven, comparably with his strains ‘to stir men’s blood’ on earth? Then, may we not fancy, when it was announced to the inhabitants of that better country, ‘He comes! he comes!’ there was a rustling of angel-wings――a thrilling joy――_up there_, only to be witnessed once in an earthly age? Adieu!――a last adieu to thee, Henry Clay! The hearts of all thy countrymen are melted, on this day, because of the thought that thou art gone. Could we have held the hand of the ‘insatiate archer,’ thou hadst not died; but thou wouldst have tarried with us, in the full grandeur of thy greatness, until we had no longer need of a country. But we thank our Heavenly Father that thou wast given to us; and that thou didst survive so long. We would cherish thy memory while we live, as our country’s JEWEL――than which none is richer. And we will teach our children the lessons of matchless patriotism thou hast taught us; with the fond hope that our LIBERTY and our UNION may only expire with ‘the last of earth.’ * * * * *