just, and benevolent? Did he help civilization, or was he an obstacle
in its way? Did he ripen and improve to the end, or did he degenerate
and go astray? These are the questions which are silently considered
when we look upon the still countenance of death, and especially when
the departed was a person who influenced his generation long and
powerfully. Usually it is only the last of these questions which
mortals can answer with any certainty; but from the answer to that one
we infer the answers to all the others. As it is only the wise who
learn, so it is only the good who improve. When we see a man gaining
upon his faults as he advances in life, when we find him more
self-contained and cheerful, more learned and inquisitive, more just
and considerate, more single-eyed and noble in his aims, at fifty than
he was at forty, and at seventy than he was at fifty, we have the best
reason perceptible by human eyes for concluding that he has been
governed by right principles and good feelings. We have a right to
pronounce such a person _good_, and he is justified in believing us.

The three men most distinguished in public life during the last forty
years in the United States were Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, and
Daniel Webster. Henry Clay improved as he grew old. He was a
venerable, serene, and virtuous old man. The impetuosity,
restlessness, ambition, and love of display, and the detrimental
habits of his earlier years, gave place to tranquillity, temperance,
moderation, and a patriotism without the alloy of personal objects.
Disappointment had chastened, not soured him. Public life enlarged,
not narrowed him. The city of Washington purified, not corrupted him.
He came there a gambler, a drinker, a profuse consumer of tobacco, and
a turner of night into day. He overcame the worst of those habits very
early in his residence at the capital. He came to Washington to
exhibit his talents, he remained there to serve his country; nor of