Daily American organ. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1856, 1856-09-20

This man, who unfortunately is able TO speak Of
the immortal Henry Clay his father, has had his
weak and vain head turned by the batteries and
cajoleries Of the SagNicht leaders and gone regu-
larly into the canvass as travelling advocate of
James Buchanan whom at least ninety-nine hun
dredths of the old friends and defenders Of Henry
Clay regard as the undoubted and sole author of the
horrible calumny which blasted all the highest and
noblest hopes of that glorious patriot and states
man throughout his eVentful life.
Mr.. j. b. C.'s speeches are of no consequence
in themselves they derive even in the estimation
of his new friends, all their Importance from the
simple fact of his being a son of the great man
whom q large majority of them hunted like hell
hounds to his grave. And this employee of theirs,
seeming to know, in spite of his vanity, what is
wanted of him, makes his ilustrious father the
burden OF all his speeches He is not contemplated
or recognised as a man of himself but simply as
the son of one. He is not esteemed on his own
account but only account of his relationship to
his betters. 1t is said that, by spasmodic effort
of nature, the noblest of horses may be produced
by scrubs and So by spasm of the same power
in an opposite direction, the scrubbiest of men
may be the progeny of the greatest and most il
lustrious of the race.
The Democracy, to make the most of j. B. O.,
are always talking of him as the favorite son of
Henry Clay" This, we think, imposes on us the
duty of speaking of matters that We would most
gladly avoid. James B. Clay never performed, in
behalf of his father, the offices which dutiful
son would have performed from flial affection if
from no other motive. Years ago we heard one of
Mr. Clays highly respectable relatives, who is now
alive to testify to the truth or falsty of what
state, say that even when Mr.. Clay, then in feeble
health, and wearied by the constant calls of visit
ers, wished to seek repose in his bed-chamber or
in brief absence from home, he could never in
ia wiz or hat
under his roof to extend the hospitalities of his
mansion to his guests-that the young man treated
with rudeness and discourtesy all who called to
pay the tribute OF their admiration and gratitude
to his great father.
Mr.. Clay, upon his death-bed at Washington
city, sent for his son, Thomas III. Clay, to come
and remain with him till the close of his life, but
he did not send for James b. Clay, who is now
called the favorite SON." and the latter did not
go, Although the end of the old patriot was
known by the whole country to be at hand, nei-
ther by invitation, nor yet of his own accord, did
the favorite son" repair to his dying bed to
soothe his lest days and hours with ial attentions
and to hear his last words of wisdom and affec-
ton. Whilst hundreds of friends and strangers
were throngng around the house where the dying
patriot lay, and anxiously and wildly inquiring,
with hushed BREATH as to every change In his con-
dition, "the favorite SON. was pursuing his daily
swift approach of the fearful event that was to fill
the whole land with mourning. Henry Clay died
in the arms of his eldest SOB, and, after few days.
his mortal remains were brought home to be bu-
ried in the soil of his own Kentucky.
When Henry Clay was buried out of sight, Jaa
B. Clay left his farm and purchased Ashland, the
residence OF his departed father. His subsequent
conduct was what, from his previous conduct, was
to be expected of him. The old mansion, which
hall
home of Henry Clay, and to which, through all the
coming years, millions of the devotees of liberty
and genius from all parts cf the world would have
delighted to make their holy pilgrimages of love
and reverence, had nothing sacred in the eyes of
" the favorite son." Not having gone near his IA
ther upon his deathbed, and having stood aloof
from the mournful and almost interminabe process
sion, that, gathering from all the States, went
weeping to his fathers funeral, he could not be
supposed to have any regard for the venerable ed
ifice consecrated by that fathers memory. Tohis
soul it was but so much brick and wood and NOR
tar; yet, knowing the deep reverence of myriads
OF others for everything connected with his father
his eye, ever quick to the chances of profit saw
that he could turn that residence to pecuniary &C
count; and 80 he coldIy speculated upon mankind's
love for his dead sire.
He tore down the house made holy to the
worlds great, throbbing heart from having been
the home of his father, and advertised in the
newspapers TO sell the lumber as materials for
canes and work-boxes and snuff-boxes to those by
whom his fathers memory was idolized 1t was q
deed unequaled in heartlessness and barbarism by
that of any Vandal or Goth or Visigoth, whose
name is on record. When he was publicly called
to account by US for this scandaous transac-
ton, he pleaded that, as the old house at Ash
land was his private property, lie had right to
do what he pleased with it. We have no doubt
that his legal title to the house was without flaw,
as also is his title to the ground where his mighty
father sleeps; and the world need not be surprised
if in the exercise of his legal rights, he shall drive
the plough and the harrow through the small and
sacred enclosure that shuts in the tomb from the
fields and pastures. He can sternly
point to his title as perfect security against the
inilicton of punishment by courts or juries.