party, knowing that, when he had made up his mind, especially on a matter that had become a subject of conflict between him and his “enemies,” it was absolutely useless to reason with him, accustomed themselves to obeying orders, unless they were prepared to go to the rear or into opposition. It was, therefore, not a mere invention of the enemy, but sober truth, that, when Jackson's administration was attacked, sometimes the only answer left to its defenders, as well as the all-sufficient one with the Democratic masses, was simply a “Hurrah for Jackson!”
Henry Clay was, although in retirement, the recognized chief of the National Republicans. He was then fifty-two years old, and in the full maturity of his powers. He had never been an arduous student; but his uncommonly vivacious and receptive mind had learned much in the practical school of affairs. He possessed that magnificent confidence in himself which extorts confidence from others. He had a full measure of the temper necessary for leadership: the spirit of initiative; but not always the discretion that should accompany it. His leadership was not of that mean order which merely contrives to organize a personal following; it was the leadership of a statesman zealously striving to promote great public interests. Whenever he appeared in a deliberative assembly, or in the councils of his party, he would, as a matter of course, take in his hands what important business was pending, and determine the policy to
