for a while into private life, but in 1831 he was elected to the United States Senate. In 1833 he was an unsuccessful candidate for the presidency, and was equally unsuccessful in the two subsequent campaigns. Henry Clay remained a member of the Senate till 1842, when, finding that his strength was insufficient to undergo the arduous tasks he imposed on it, he took a formal leave of the scene of his long labors in a speech which thrilled the heart of the nation, and which moved it, also, with shame that a servant so faithful and gifted had been neglected. "Justice to Clay" became a rallying cry, and in 1844 he was once more nominated for the highest office in the gift of the people. This time the majority belonged to the opposite party, and President Polk was elected. Clay remained in retirement until 1849, when he was again returned to the Senate. The severe labors which he imposed on himself in the patriotic endeavor to reconcile the interests of the North and South on the subject of slavery seriously impaired his already feeble health. He tendered his resignation as senator, but before the day named for it to take effect he had breathed his last. He died on the 29th of June, 1852, still a GREAT COMMONER, at the age of seventy-five. He was buried with great pomp, and the people throughout the length and breadth of the land recognized his death as a national calamity.

Mr. Clay, in his domestic relations, sustained an enviable reputation as a husband, father, and master. It was his good fortune to be united to a lady of great excellence, and the homely and happy influence of her sway made Ashland a retreat of the most tranquil delight. She was a noticeable housewife, and superintended not only the house, but the farm of her husband, containing upward of six hundred acres, and populated with a small army of negroes. Mr. Clay was universally respected, and in the immediate neighborhood of his home received a meed of respect almost amounting to adoration. The following anecdote is related in Colton's Life. Some few days after the result of the presidential election of 1844 was known, Mr. Clay met a woman on horseback as he was walking in the public road near Ashland, who stopped to salute him, but immediately burst into tears. quired Mr. Clay, "pray what is the matter?" in broken accents, "you do not know me, but your neighbor, always taught me to revere you. father, my husband, and my children, and passed through other

"Madam," in"Sir," said she,

my father, once I have lost my

painful trials; but all of them together have not given me so much sorrow as the late disappointment of your friends.”

Mr. Clay was a tall man, six feet one inch high, spare in body, with long arms and small hands. His carriage was remarkably erect, and became additionally so in debate. Of his facial appearance we need say nothing. There is scarcely an American family in the country that does not possess a bust or a portrait of the famous "Mill-boy of the Slashes." His temper was quick and easily excited, but, like most quick-tempered persons, he permitted nothing to linger behind. In his valedictory to the Senate of the United States, the following touching and manly passage occurs, with which we close this brief sketch of a great man :

“That my nature is warm, my temper ardent, my disposition -especially in relation to the public service-enthusiastic, I am fully ready to own. During a long and arduous career of service in the public councils of my country-especially during the last eleven years I have held a seat in the Senate-from the same ardor and enthusiasm of character, I have no doubt, in the heat of debate, and in an honest endeavor to maintain my opinions against adverse opinions equally honestly entertained, as to the best course to be adopted for the public welfare, I may have often, inadvertently or unintentionally, in moments of excited debate, made use of language that has been offensive and susceptible of injurious interpretation toward my brother senators. If there be any here who retain wounded feelings of injury or dissatisfaction produced on such occasions, I beg to assure them that I now offer the amplest apology for any departure on my part from the established rules of parliamentary decorum and courtesy. On the other hand, I assure the senators, one and all, without exception and without reserve, that I retire from this Senate-chamber without carrying with me a single feeling of resentment or dissatisfaction to the Senate or any one of its members."

JOHN LEDYARD.

IN America, every man, more or less, is a traveler. It is not remarkable, therefore, that America has produced some of the most enterprising of the class. The constant pioneering which every man undertakes in search of fortune has given to our citizens a natural aptitude for the perils, excitements, and rude pleasures of the traveler's lot. In a country so vast as this, geographical ideas of distance are forgotten. We pay a winter visit to our relatives in New Orleans, as if that tropical city lay somewhere on the North River. Thus accustomed to travel an immense continent, it is not remarkable that our citizens penetrate all parts of Europe with great rapidity and energy, or that some few, who have a special talent for the vocation, become great and world-known travelers. One of our earliest distinguished men in this way was John Ledyard, whose romantic story we are now about to condense. Ledyard was born in the year 1751, at Groton, in Connecticut. His parents were in easy circumstances, but, on the death of his father, the family were thrown into difficulties, owing to a fraud which was practiced on the widow, depriving her of a small estate which of right was hers. Young Ledyard received an ordinary grammar-school education, and at an early day was placed in a lawyer's office. From this irksome imprisonment he was released by Dr. Wheelock, the amiable and pious founder of Dartmouth College, who invited Ledyard to enter his institution recently established at Hanover, New Hampshire, and qualify himself to become a missionary among the Indians. This plan was so much in accordance with his mother's wishes, that Ledyard -who probably had an eye to its romantic bearings-assented to it. In due time he started for Hanover, performing the journey in a broken-down sulky, and bearing with him, in addition to his clothes and books, a queer assortment of calico curtains and "properties" for dramatic entertainments. Ledyard had a passion for plays, and burdened himself with these accessories of the stage in order that he might be able to get up some

It is to be feared

private theatricals during the winter months. that he thought more of this matter than of his studies; for in a short time he fitted up a stage, and, assisted by the other students, produced the tragedy of Cato, himself playing the character of Syphax in a long gray beard, and a dress of a pantomimical character supposed to bear some resemblance to the national costume of a Numidian prince. With a head full of these idle fancies, it is not remarkable that he neglected his studies, and longed to escape from the irksome routine of a student's life. He had only been in the college four months, when one day he was missed, and for nearly four months nothing whatever was heard of him. When he returned he explained that he had been taking an excursion among the Six Nations on the borders of Canada, reviewing the missionary ground, and picking up some knowledge of the manners and language of the Indians. The impressions he received on this tour were not favorable to the missionary project. He abandoned it in his own mind, and only waited for an opportunity to cut loose from the college and its associations. Every day this determination received new strength, inasmuch as every day he received some fresh hint from Dr. Wheelock concerning the value of time and necessity for welldisciplined study.

It was not an easy thing to escape from Dartmouth College in those days, and Ledyard had to exercise all his ingenuity to do So. To go away on foot was out of the question; of public conveyances there were none, and the use of a private one could not be obtained without exciting suspicion. In this state of things, he directed all his attention to the Connecticut River, which flowed past the college grounds. Along its margin he observed a number of glorious old trees, monarchs of the forest, which had stood there for centuries. One of these Ledyard contrived to cut down, and then wrought its huge trunk into a canoe. When the work was finished, he bade adieu to the home of the Muses, and set off alone to explore a river with the navigation of which he was entirely ignorant. The distance to Hartford was not less than one hundred and forty miles, much of the way being through dark, primeval forests, and in several places there were dangerous falls and rapids. He had a bearskin for a covering, and his canoe was liberally provisioned, so that he had little to apprehend save from these dangers. Of books he took but two: a Greek

Testament and a copy of Ovid. With these he amused himself while the canoe dropped leisurely down the stream. One day he was deeply absorbed in his reading when his canoe approached Bellows' Falls, where he was suddenly aroused by the dashing of the waters among the rocks as they passed through the narrow passage. With difficulty he gained the shore, and thus escaped inevitable destruction. With the exception of this adventure, we hear of no other incident in his voyage worth recording. He arrived in safety at Hartford, much to the astonishment of his relatives.

Ledyard, after this, appears to have conceived a violent desire to become a clergyman, and he applied to the clergy for approval as a candidate with his usual impetuosity, but with no success. He was greatly disappointed at the moment, but, a few weeks later, he cheerfully abandoned all ideas of the Church, and took to the very opposite profession of the sea. He entered himself as a common sailor for a voyage to the Mediterranean, but was treated by the captain rather as a friend and associate than as one of the crew. The voyage was first to Gibraltar, next to a port on the Barbary coast, for taking in a cargo of mules, and thence homeward by way of the West Indies. While the vessel was lying at Gibraltar, Ledyard was suddenly missed. Inquiries were made in the town without success. At length a messenger was dispatched to the barracks. There he was discovered in the full costume of a British soldier. He explained the circumstance by stating that he had a fondness for the profession of arms, and had therefore enlisted in the king's service. The captain of the vessel remonstrated with him, and, with his consent, fortunately secured a discharge.

The voyage took about a year to complete, and at the end of that time he found himself once more in America, with nothing in his pocket, and no prospect before him for the future. He was now in his twenty-second year; and began to realize the necessity of striking out a course of action for himself. His erratic conduct had wearied his friends. He had no one to depend on but himself, and no one to look to, unless, indeed, it were some relatives of his grandfather, who was an Englishman of good family, and had many connections in Britain. The idea of hunting up these lost relatives was pleasing to his adventurous mind, and he determined to do so. For this purpose, he started out once