s a credulous
Pennsylvanian, of Dutch descent; honest enough, but without brains,
and only too willing to be the instrument of his colleague in any
dirty work which would subserve his purposes.

Beverly was one of those silly but presumptuous personages who thrust
themselves upon the society of men occupying high positions, and feel
their importance only in that reflected by this association; and ever
too fond of being made the medium of slanderous reports, reflecting
upon those whose self-respect and superior dignity has frowned them
from their presence. Creemer died without divulging anything; probably
under the influence of Buchanan, and it is not improbable he was in
ignorance of the origin of the slander. Beverly knew of its utter
falsity, and was as guilty as the originator, and his conscience smote
him too sorely to permit him to go to the grave without atonement, and
consequently he made a clean breast of it to Mr. Clay.

Mr. Clay and Mr. Buchanan entered public life about the same time,
when they were both young and full of zeal. They belonged to the same
political party, and became warmly attached. They were, however, men
of very different temperaments. The professions of Mr. Clay were
always sincere, his love of truth was a most prominent feature in his
nature, and his attachments were never dissimulations: to no other
person of his early political friends was he more sincerely attached
than to Buchanan--he was his confidential friend; he was never on any
subject reserved to him; and so deep was this feeling with him that he
had called a son after his friend--the late James Buchanan Clay. When
he learned that all his confidences had been misplaced, and that the
man whom he so loved had sought to rob him of his good name, he was
wounded to the heart. He struggled to believe Buchanan was wronged by
General Jackson; but one fact after another was developed--he could
not doubt--all pointing the same way; and finally came this letter of
Beverly's, when he was old, and when his heart was crushed by the loss
of his son Henry at Buena Vista, of which event he had only heard the
day before: he doubted no more. I shall ever remember the expression
of that noble countenance as, turning to me, he said: "Read that!"
Rising from his seat, he went to the garden, where, under a large
live-oak, I found him an hour after, deeply depressed. It was sorrow,
not anger, that weighed upon him. In reply to a remark from me, he
said