inst bitter opposition, by the force of his own abilities, to be a
member of Congress, after having been for some time the leader of his
party in the State Legislature. We met like old friends, and conversed
almost as freely as we used to do in college days, twelve years ago and
more. He is a singular man, shrewd, crafty, insinuating, with wonderful
tact, seizing on each man by his manageable point, and using him for his
own purpose, often without the man's suspecting that he is made a tool
of; and yet, artificial as his character would seem to be, his
conversation, at least to myself, was full of natural feeling, the
expression of which can hardly be mistaken, and his revelations with
regard to himself had really a great deal of frankness. He spoke of his
ambition, of the obstacles which he had encountered, of the means by
which he had overcome them, imputing great efficacy to his personal
intercourse with people, and his study of their characters; then of his
course as a member of the Legislature and Speaker, and his style of
speaking and its effects; of the dishonorable things which had been
imputed to him, and in what manner he had repelled the charges. In
short, he would seem to have opened himself very freely as to his public
life. Then, as to his private affairs, he spoke of his marriage, of his
wife, his children, and told me, with tears in his eyes, of the death of
a dear little girl, and how it affected him, and how impossible it had
been for him to believe that she was really to die. A man of the most
open nature might well have been more reserved to a friend, after twelve
years' separation, than Cilley was to me. Nevertheless, he is really a
crafty man, concealing, like a murder-secret, anything that it is not
good for him to have known. He by no means feigns the good-feeling that
he professes, nor is there anything affected in the frankness of his
conversation; and it is this that makes him so very fascinating. There
is such a quantity of truth and kindliness and warm affections, that a
man's heart opens to him, in spite of himself. He deceives by truth. And
not only is he crafty, but, when occasion demands, bold and fierce as a
tiger, determined, and even straightforward and undisguised in his
measures,--a daring fellow as well as a sly one. Yet, notwithstanding
his consummate art, the general estimate of his character seems to be
pretty just. Hardly anybody, probably, thinks him better than he is, and
many