Mr. Reed stood alone. He was unlike other men, a fact which probably caused him little regret. Self-reliant, aggressive, of will indomitable, he was a political storm centre during his entire public career. His friends were devoted to him, and he was never forgotten by his enemies. Whoever was brought into close contact with him, usually carried away an impression by which to remember him. Upon one occasion, in the House, when in sharp debate with Mr. Springer, the latter quoted the familiar saying of Henry Clay, "Sir, I would rather be right than be President." Mr. Reed, in a tone far from reassuring, retorted, "The gentleman from Illinois _will never be either!"_ The retort courteous, however, was not always from the lips of the Speaker. Mr. Springer, having at one time repeatedly attempted, but in vain, to secure the floor, at length demanded by what right he was denied recognition. The Speaker intimated that such ruling was in accord with the high prerogative of the Chair. To which Springer replied: "Oh, it is excellent To have a giant strength; but 't is tyrannous To use it like a giant." Of immense physical proportions, towering above his fellows, with voice by no means melodious, a manner far from conciliatory, a capacity for sarcastic utterance that vividly recalled the days of John Randolph and Tristram Burgess, and, withal, one of the ablest men of his generation, Mr. Reed was in very truth a picturesque figure in the House of Representatives. He apparently acted upon the supposition of the philosopher Hobbes that war is the natural state of man. The kindly admonition, "Mend your ways a little Lest they may mar your fortunes," if ever given him, was unheeded. In very truth, "He stood, As if a man were author of himself, And knew no other kin." No man in his day was more talked of or written about. At one time his star was in the ascendent, and he seemed to be on the highroad to the Presidency. His great ambition, however, was thwarted by those of his own political household. At the close of a turbulent session, while he was in the Chair, the usual resolution of thanks to the Speaker "for the able, fair, and courteous manner in which he had presided" was bitterly antagonized, and finally adopted only by a strictly party vote. It was an event with a single antecedent in our history, that of seventy-odd years ago, when the Whig minority in the House opposed the usual vote of thanks to Speaker Polk upon his retirement from the Chair. In the latter case, the cry of persecution that was instantly raised had much to do with Mr. Polk's almost immediate election to the Governorship of his State, and his subsequent elevation to the Presidency. The parallel incident in Mr. Reed's career, however, failed to prove "the prologue to the swelling act."