n every platform. But no words of mine--and I have used many
in the effort--are able to convey a notion of the masterful ease and
charm of his manner on the floor of the Senate or of the singular
modesty, courtesy, aptness and simplicity of his words as they fell from
his lips. There were the thunderous Webster, the grandeur of whose
sentences no American has equaled; the agile-minded Clay, whose voice
was like a silver clarion; the farseeing, fiery Calhoun, of "the swift
sword"--most formidable in debate--but I was soon to learn that neither
nor all of these men--gifted of heaven so highly--could cope with the
suave, incisive, conversational sentences of Wright, going straight to
the heart of the subject and laying it bare to his hearers. That was
what people were saying as we left the Senate chamber, late in the
evening; that, indeed, was what they were always saying after they had
heard him answer an adversary.

He had a priceless and unusual talent for avoiding school-reader English
and the arts of declamation and for preparing a difficult subject to
enter the average brain. The underlying secret of his power was soon
apparent to me. He stood always for that great thing in America which,
since then, Whitman has called "the divine aggregate," and seeing
clearly how every measure would be likely to affect its welfare, he
followed the compass. It had led him to a height of power above all
others and was to lead him unto the loneliest summit of accomplishment
in American history.

Not much in my term of service there is important to this little task of
mine. I did my work well, if I may believe the Senator, and grew
familiar with the gentle and ungentle arts of the politician.

One great fact grew in magnitude and sullen portent as the months
passed: the gigantic slave-holding interests of the South viewed with
growing alarm the spread of abolition sentiment. Subtly, quietly and
naturally they were feeling for the means to defend and increase their
power. Straws were coming to the surface in that session which betrayed
this deep undercurrent of purpose. We felt it and the Senator was
worried I knew, but held his peace. He knew how to keep his opinions
until the hour had struck that summoned them to service. The Senator
never played with his lance. By and by Spencer openly sounded the note
of conflict.

The most welcome year of my life dawned on the first of January, 1844. I
remember that I arose before daylight that