It was my good fortune to listen to
that speech made to a New Orleans jury. I had listened many times to
his speeches, and had thought some of these could never be surpassed by
any man, not even by himself, and especially that delivered in Faneuil
Hall, Boston, and the one delivered from the steps of the court-house
at Vicksburg, after returning from his political campaign when a
candidate for Congress. But this one was even grander and more powerful
than any I had ever heard from him. Returning from the court-house with
him upon that occasion, I remarked a flagging in the brilliancy of his
conversation. For a moment he sat silent in the carriage, and then
remarked: "I was never so much fatigued; I am afraid I am getting old.
I have not an idea in my brain."
"Certainly, you have poured out enough to-day to empty any brain," was
my reply; "and you should be content not to have another for a month.
But I am sorry your invective was so severe."
"Ah! my old friend," he continued, "he deserved it all! From my heart I
feel he deserved it all! The magnitude of his iniquities inspired the
rebuke, and I exhausted my quiver in the attempt to pierce his shame;
but I failed.
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