construction.  Entrance to the Senate and House of Representatives was afforded to us with that readiness and courtesy which strangers invariably experience.  But, alas! the mighty spirits who had, by their power of eloquence, so often charmed and spell-bound the tenants of the senate chamber—­where were they?  The grave had but recently closed over the last of those giant spirits; Webster was no more!  Like all similar bodies, they put off and put off, till, in the last few days of the session, a quantity of business is hustled through, and thus no scope is left for eloquent speeches; all is matter of fact, and a very business-looking body they appeared, each senator with his desk and papers before him; and when anything was to be said, it was expressed in plain, unadorned language, and free from hesitation.  The only opportunity offered for eloquence was, after the inauguration, on the discussion of the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty.  I will not say that the venerable senator for Delaware—­Mr. Clayton—­was eloquent, but he was very clear both in language and delivery, and his bearing altogether showed the honest conviction of a man who knew he was in the right, and was certain he would be ultimately so judged.  His principal antagonist was the senator for Illinois—­Mr. Douglas—­one of the stars of the Young American party, and an aspirant to the presidential honours of the Republic.  He is a stout-built man, rather short, with a massive overhanging forehead.  When he rose, he did so with the evident consciousness that the gallery above him was filled with many of his political school, and thrusting both hands well into the bottom of his breeches pockets, he commenced his oration with an air of great self-confidence, occasionally drawing one hand from its concealment to aid his oratory by significant gesture.  He made an excellent clap-trap—­or, as they term it in America, Buncombe—­speech, aiding and emphasizing, by energetic shakings of the forefinger, such passages as he thought would tell in the gallery above; his voice was loud and clear, his language blunt and fluent, and amusingly replete with “dares and daren’t;” “England’s in the wrong, and she knows it;” if the original treaty, by which America was to have had the canal exclusively, had been concluded, “America would have had a rod to hold over all the nations.”  Then came “manifest destiny;” then the mare’s nest called “Monroe doctrine;” then more Buncombe about England; and then ... he sat down—­satisfied, no doubt, that he had very considerably increased his chances for the “tenancy of the White House.”

I regretted much not being able to hear Mr. Everett speak, for I believe he is admitted on all hands to be the most eloquent and classical orator within the precincts of the senate at the present moment; but I was obliged to leave Washington before he addressed the assembly.  The absence of all signs of approbation or disapprobation, while a senator is addressing the House, gives a coldness to the debate, and I should