Clay was a slimly built man who always appeared for action clad in a solemn suit of black, with a claw-hammer coat, a stiff silk stock, and a huge white “choker” with pointed ears. His face was spare and his forehead high, his cheekbones were prominent, the nose between them was slender and forceful, and the mouth wide, thin-lipped, and straight-cut. His lank hair, naturally of a tawny hue, became early streaked with gray and was worn long enough to fringe his coat collar. He was approachable in manner, had a most genial smile, and was ready with a pleasant response to every greeting, its effect being intensified by its musical clarity of enunciation. He was distinctly fond of society and especially enjoyed a game of cards. Although his wife accompanied him to Washington, she appeared little with him in public. She was a good woman with few gifts, but a devoted mother, and her chief joy in life was to sew for her six children. Wherever he went, Mr. Clay was always surrounded by a circle of adoring women, who hung upon every word of the many he uttered as he talked in desultory style with his back against a sofa-cushion. He followed a free fashion of his time in taking toll from the lips of all the young and pretty maidens he met. The first time he saw Dolly Madison, her youthful face and dainty dress misled him into saluting her in this fashion. On discovering his mistake, “Ah, madam,” he pleaded gallantly, “had I known you for whom you are, the coin would have been larger!” I may add in passing that the American navy owes its monitor type of fighting-craft largely to Henry Clay. Theodore Timby, who invented the revolving turret which Ericsson used during the Civil War, came to Washington bearing a letter of introduction to Clay, who became interested in the idea and helped him get the patent without which it might have been lost to the world. Webster was cast in quite a different mold from Clay. He was godlike where Clay was human; his eloquence overwhelmed his hearers where Clay’s fascinated them. He had a big head, a big frame, a big voice, a big presence. Emerson speaks of his “awful charm.” Some one who heard him condemn the dishonest gains of a certain financial institution, says that the word “disgorge,” as he uttered it, “seemed to weigh about twelve pounds.” Once Mrs. Webster brought their little son to hear his father deliver an oration. Daniel began a sentence in his thunder-tone: “Will any man dare say--” and the audience were waiting breathless to hear what was coming next, when a wee, piping voice responded from the gallery: “Oh, no, no, Papa!”