Clay, then in his prime, towered up among the sporting magnates on the stand erected for the judges of the course. All Kentucky and all Tennessee seemed to be embodied in those rival racers, and every Kentuckian felt an inch taller when his own pet came in the winner. Absurd as this excitement seemed to a Northern man, so cruel to the horses, and so little profitable to the spectators, it was not difficult to read it as a text from the old book of human nature. From the very beginning, the rivalries of men and nations have turned more upon the pride of conquest than the prize contested, and whether for an oaken crown or a silver cup, whether upon the race-course or the battle-field, it is the name more than the game that is played for. He that would moralize largely and wisely about a horse-race would come to some very sweeping conclusions regarding the whole system of competition that rules over society, and strike hard at the habits of many very grave people.
The social elements that presented themselves to a stranger's observation in various circles, were in many respects of the most heterogeneous kind, yet seemed all pervaded by the same stirring leaven. The New-Englander and the Englishman, with their cool temperament, caught much of the prevailing tone of geniality, without losing their characteristic calculation. One of the most delightful and hearty men in the social walk was an English gentleman who had come out to seek his fortune with a young wife and slender patrimony in that then far country. The brother of one of our most ideal and gifted poets, he did not lose sight of the ideal world in the prosaic business of a lumber-merchant. He was always ready for a literary conversation, and took delight, at any time, in turning from his ledger to his library, and from numbers arithmetical to numbers poetical. I never meet with the portrait of John Keats now, without tracing in his features and expression a memento of this emigrant brother, who never ceased to prove that he was of kindred blood to the author of "Endymion" and "The Eve of St. Agnes." He is not living now, but his image stands in my memory among the cherished forms that can not be forgotten. I might add many other names to the list of notables, but it is enough to specify one person more whose acquaintance enlarged my knowledge of human character.
