University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

On the subsequent morning the Senate assembled
at eleven. With great difficulty Howard
procured a seat. An immense crowd had thronged
to hear the debate; to witness the struggle upon
an arena where, in the full and fierce conflict of
intellect and genius, met the men in whose hands
reposed the destinies of the republic. B—, the
great opponent of Mr. Leslie, was present; and a
sudden sensation ran round the room as Mr. Leslie
himself entered and took his seat. Among the
multitudes of auditors, a majority were ladies.
The section allotted to them is on the same floor
with the speakers; and the fair daughters of Columbia
were accommodated with seats by the
politeness of the learned senators, to the utter discomfiture
of whole benches of dandies and others
of the male kind, who, by a more early attendance,

had fancied themselves secure. After much pressure
and toiling, much rustling of silk, nodding of
feathers, and glancing of jewels, the mass at length
settled into unmoving silence, each one convinced
that, however abominably uncomfortable the situation
he occupied, it was useless to strive after a
better. A speaker rose. Heads were turned—
necks stretched—mouths (women's and all) closed
—to hear Mr. R— address the Senate. Few in
our country have ever excited such universal and
irrepressible curiosity as this extraordinary man.
He could never even pass along the street without
attracting all eyes. It has been said that, “While
he was a bitter opponent, he was an unserviceable
friend;” and that “with all his brilliant talents, he
never made a proselyte or gained a vote;” yet his
appearance in the halls of legislation ever created
a murmur of interest. And as his tall and gaunt
form rose, it seemed to strike his opponents with
a feeling of dismay, as if some being of a different
nature had alighted on the earth to take part in the
battle. On this day he divided the floor with two
other speakers, Mr. Leslie and his great opponent
Mr. B—. The former possessed a heavy and
vehement power, which struck down opposition
with the deliberate strength and self-possession of
a giant; and from the lips of the latter flowed
persuasion in an ever-deepening stream, bearing
the soul onward as if through fairy-land. But
the favourite weapon of Mr. R— was sarcasm.
He differed from Mr. Leslie as Saladin did from
Richard: the British monarch cleaving a helmet
with his ponderous blade, while his agile rival
severed a piece of silk with his sabre. Nobody
could hear the Virginian orator without being
fascinated. His voice was of a feminine sweetness
and pliancy, singularly expressive as he warmed
in debate. His speech was full of classical and
poetical imagery; but, in consequence of his numerous
and curious digressions, it was, at times,
difficult to determine what was the subject of his
discourse. Every bosom, however, seemed alive
to the impressions of wonder and delight which he
created. Howard, if not instructed, was at least
charmed. The orator's exquisite and original wit
—his strange sweet flow of poetic thought and musical
language—the matchless beauty of many passages—his
keen hints and hits—his critiques on
matters in general; and, more than all, his biting,
withering, and relentless satire, can never be forgotten
by those familiar with him as a speaker.
That strange and lofty form—the oft-extended long
finger of that skeleton hand—the snakish intensity
of those piercing black eyes—the fiendishness of
his sneer—the winning softness of his smile—the
silver melody of his high voice!—they had much
to regret who were prevented from hearing him,
by the pressure of the crowd, on that memorable
day. As he seated himself, Mr. Leslie arose with
all the talent of his predecessor, but much more
carefully directed. His sole object at first was to
convince the reason. He had the argumentative
power of the practised lawyer. He deliberately
related his opinions, demonstrated them with the
force of a problem; and only gradually, as he proceeded,
rose into a more elevated strain, and at
length burst forth into enthusiasm that fired every
soul. His subject led him to touch upon the nature
and permanency of the Union. He deepened
into feeling and poetry; splendid passages flashed
from him with fiery vehemence, stricken fiercely
out by conflict with men who arraigned his political
opinions, shocked his associations of country,
and approached, with the brand lighted and raised,
to fire the temple of American glory. Nothing
could be more dazzling than his deep and strong
pictures. They should be hung up before every
eye. He was triumphant and irresistible. He
bore down all before him: not only the heart of
his auditors, but of all the country, of every lover
of freedom and humanity throughout the globe,
seemed swelling in his bosom and thundering
from his lips. One might have imagined that the
spirits of Washington and Hamilton, of Jefferson
and Franklin, of a whole crowd of departed heroes
and statesmen of the republic, were leaning
from the walls and cheering him on. For several
hours he calmly and forcibly assailed the bill introduced
by Mr. B—, which had occasioned so
much excitement in the public mind. It was seen
by the friends of the measure that he was no common
assailant. His powerful and heavy appeals
were deeply felt in the quarter where they were
directed; like the blows of a battle-axe wielded
by the arm of a giant, while the gates shook and
the fortress trembled to its base. He resembled
the black knight at the storming of Front de
Bœuf's castle, whose ponderous and fatal strokes
were heard above all the din of the battle. At
length he rested—the work seemed done; when
his mortal opponent, Mr. B—, sprang suddenly
on the floor with an eagerness which showed very
plainly that it was not done. The auditors who
had been sitting, standing, stretching—some hanging
by a toe to a chair, some leaning on a shoulder
against a pillar, squeezing, squeezed, and distorted
into all sorts of unnatural and distressing
attitudes and situations—prepared to go. At the
sight of Mr. B—'s tall, peculiar, and commanding
person, at the sound of his low deep voice, at
the thoughts of his known genius, and the anticipation
of the reply which appeared to have been
some time burning in his bosom, the motion of the
crowd was checked. The relaxed toe was again
braced—the relieved shoulder again put in requisition—the
fatigued ear once more erect—the fair
neck stretched—the seal of silence again set upon
the pretty mouths. Every thing again was still
and unmoving. His qualifications were numerous,
and of nearly the highest kind, both physical and
mental. A fountain of fervid feeling at his heart
enabled him to inspire, to enchant—threw his
hearers off their guard by sudden and passionate
appeals to the poetry of their natures—an ever-ready
and lavish flow of words furnished a vehicle
which never failed. He had all the poetry of
thought, aided by all the art and melody of language.
His sentences fell on the ear and the
heart, at once gratifying the intellect and rousing
the soul; and often, after a burst of eloquence,
which rolled over the heads of the crowd, leaving
a deep silence like that which succeeds thunder,
his voice was lulled to a low sweet tone, his vehement
manner was softened, and his words

A deep and powerful voice was one of Mr.
B—'s peculiarities. It was at times what opera-goers
call a sweet bass, and was heard distinctly
in every modulation. Indeed, in any stranger it
would have been by itself all-sufficient to arrest
every ear. His pronunciation was also of a singular
kind, and will never be forgotten by those in
whose minds it was associated with his eloquence.
His face and head were more peculiar than all.
No one would call them handsome. Did they belong
to anybody else—to a lower intellect—to an
obscurer man—they might induce the opposite

term. But he who has stood all day on one leg to
listen, who has felt his seducing poetry steal into
the soul, and his voice bursting on his ear like a
war-trumpet, till the blood now mounted to the
temple, then left the cheek colourless, till the flesh
crept upon his shoulder, and the heart leaped in
his bosom, will never hear a pronunciation, or see
a head or a face, or an expression like B—'s,
without peculiar pleasure. His countenance was
rugged and rough-hewn. None of the smoothness
of youth, and health, and simple content was there;
on the contrary, it was marked with time, thought,
and care. He resembled one of Milton's great
orators—

While they under his influence confessed he was
not handsome, they at the same time felt that the
beauty of Apollo would detract from his identity,
and diminish the interest with which he was then
regarded. There were times when the expression
of his face was nearly savage. His eyes glared
and flashed, and his glances fell on his opponent
with the fierceness of a tiger.

But with all his power he failed. The bill, so
heavily opposed by Mr. Leslie, it was understood,
as subsequently proved the case, would not pass.
That day elevated Mordaunt Leslie yet higher in
the public opinion; advanced him yet nearer the
ultimate object of his ambition. As Howard passed
home from the inspiring conflict, he heard from
many a lip words of praise and prophecy linked
with the name of the father of his affianced bride.
They roused in his young imagination many a
dream of honour and happiness.