as pleasantly as before.  When we think of such a man as Henry Clay, his long life, his mighty influence cast always into the scale against the slave, of that irresistible fascination with which he moulded every one to his will; when we remember that, his conscience acknowledging the justice of our cause, and his heart open on every other side to the gentlest impulses, he could sacrifice so remorselessly his convictions and the welfare of millions to his low ambition; when we think how the slave trembled at the sound of his voice, and that, from a multitude of breaking hearts there went up nothing but gratitude to God when it pleased him to call that great sinner from this world, we cannot find it in our hearts, we could not shape our lips to ask any man to do him honor.  No amount of eloquence, no sheen of official position, no loud grief of partisan friends, would ever lead us to ask monuments or walk in fine processions for pirates; and the sectarian zeal or selfish ambition which gives up, deliberately and in full knowledge of the facts, three million of human beings to hopeless ignorance, daily robbery, systematic prostitution, and murder, which the law is neither able nor undertakes to prevent or avenge, is more monstrous, in our eyes, than the love of gold which takes a score of lives with merciful quickness on the high seas.  Haynau on the Danube is no more hateful to us than Haynau on the Potomac.  Why give mobs to one and monuments to the other?

If these things be necessary to courtesy, I cannot claim that we are courteous.  We seek only to be honest men, and speak the same of the dead as of the living.  If the grave that hides their bodies could swallow also the evil they have done and the example they leave, we might enjoy at least the luxury of forgetting them.  But the evil that men do lives after them, and example acquires tenfold authority when it speaks from the grave.  History, also, is to be written.  How shall a feeble minority, without weight or influence in the country, with no jury of millions to appeal to—­denounced, vilified, and contemned,—­how shall we make way against the overwhelming weight of some colossal reputation, if we do not turn from the idolatrous present, and appeal to the human race? saying to your idols of to-day:  “Here we are defeated; but we will write our judgment with the iron pen of a century to come, and it shall never be forgotten, if we can help it, that you were false in your generation to the claims of the slave!” * * *

We are weak here,—­out-talked, out-voted.  You load our names with infamy, and shout us down.  But our words bide their time.  We warn the living that we have terrible memories, and their sins are never to be forgotten.  We will gibbet the name of every apostate so black and high that his children’s children shall blush to bear it.  Yet we bear no malice,—­cherish no resentment.  We thank God that the love of fame, “that last infirmity of noble minds,” is shared by the ignoble.  In our necessity, we seize this weapon in the slave’s behalf, and teach caution to the living by meting out relentless justice to the dead. * * * “These, Mr. Chairman, are the reasons why, we take care that ’the memory of the wicked shall rot.’”