question before the society was about to be taken, he whispered to a friend, loudly enough to be overheard, that to him the debate did not seem to have exhausted the subject. Somebody remarked that Mr. Clay desired to speak, and he was called upon. Finding himself unexpectedly confronting the audience, he was struck with embarrassment, and, as he had done frequently in imaginary appeals in court, he began: “Gentlemen of the jury!” A titter running through the audience increased his embarrassment, and the awkward words came out once more. But then he gathered himself up; his nerves became steady, and he poured out a flow of reasoning so lucid, and at the same time so impassioned, that his hearers were overcome with astonishment. Some of his friends who had been present said, in later years, that they had never heard him make a better speech. This was, no doubt, an exaggeration of the first impression, but at any rate that speech stamped him at once as a remarkable man in the community, and laid open before him the road to success.
He had not come to Lexington with extravagant expectations. As an old man, looking back upon those days, he said: “I remember how comfortable I thought I should be if I could make one hundred pounds a year, Virginia money, and with what delight I received the first fifteen shillings fee.” He approached with a certain awe the competition with what he called “a bar uncommonly distinguished by eminent members.” But he did
