everywhere. The morning of the fourth day came, and he was to appear
before an audience familiar with his fame, but one that had never
heard him speak; an audience critical in the last degree, he desired
to succeed, for more was depending than he had ever before had cause
to stake upon such an occasion. Many felt a fear that he would be
unprepared. I mingled in the expecting crowd: I saw ladies who had
never honored the stump with their presence struggling for seats,
counselors, statesmen, and professional men, the elite of a great
city, were gathered together. An hour before I had seen Prentiss,
still apparently ignorant of his engagement.

The time of trial came, and the remarkable man presented himself,
the very picture of buoyant health, of unbroken rest. All this had
been done _by the unyielding resolve of his will_--his triumph was
complete; high-wrought expectations were more than realized, prejudice
was demolished, professional jealousy silenced, and he descended from
the rostrum, freely accorded his proper place among the orators and
statesmen of the "Southern Metropolis."

Mr. Clay visited the South in the fall of '44, and, as he was
then candidate for the Presidency, he attracted in New Orleans, if
possible, more than usual notice. His hotel was the St. Charles;
toward noon he reached that magnificent palace. The streets presented
a vast ocean of heads, and every building commanding a view was
literally covered with human beings. The great "Statesman of the West"
presented himself to the multitude between the tall columns of the
finest portico in the world. The scene was beyond description, and of
vast interest. As the crowd swayed to and fro, a universal shout was
raised for Mr. Clay to speak; he uttered a sentence or two, waved his
hand in adieu, and escaped amidst the prevailing confusion. Prentiss
meanwhile was at a side window, evidently unconscious of being himself
noticed, gazing upon what was passing with all the delight of the
humblest spectator. Suddenly his name was announced. He attempted to
withdraw from public gaze, but his friends pushed him forward. Again
his name was shouted, hats and caps were thrown in the air, and he
was finally compelled to show himself on the portico. With remarkable
delicacy, he chose a less prominent place than that previously
occupied by Mr. Clay, although perfectly visible. He thanked his
friends for their kindness by repeated bows, and by such smiles as he
alone c