It is obvious that no legislation is necessary or intended to follow that resolution. It merely asserts a truth, established by the highest authority of law in this country, and, in conformity with that decision, I trust there will be one universal acquiescence.

I should not have thought it necessary to embrace in that resolution the declaration which is embraced in it, but that I thought it might be useful in treating of the whole subject, and in accordance with the practice of our British and American ancestors, occasionally to resort to great fundamental principles, and bring them freshly and manifestly before our eyes, from time to time, to avoid their being violated upon any occasion.

Mr. President, you have before you the whole series of resolutions, the whole scheme of arrangement and accommodation of these distracting questions, which I have to offer, after having bestowed on these subjects the most anxious, intensely anxious, consideration ever since I have been in this body. How far it may prove acceptable to both or either of the parties on these great questions, it is not for me to decide. I think it ought to be acceptable to both. There is no sacrifice of any principle, proposed in any of them, by either party. The plan is founded upon mutual forbearance, originating in a spirit of conciliation and concession; not of principles, but of matters of feeling. At the North, sir, I know that from feeling, by many at least cherished as being dictated by considerations of humanity and philanthropy, there exists a sentiment adverse to the institution of slavery.

Sir, I might, I think-although I believe this project contains about an equal amount of concession and forbearance on both sides-have asked from the free states of the North a more liberal and extensive concession than should be asked from the slave states. And why, sir? With you, gentlemen Senators of the free states, what is it? An abstraction, a sentiment-a sentiment, if you please, of humanity and philanthropy-a noble sentiment, when directed rightly, with no sinister or party purposes; an atrocious sentiment a detestable sentiment-or rather the abuse of it-when directed to the accomplishment of unworthy purposes. I said that I might ask from you larger and more expansive concessions than from the slave states. And why? You are numerically more powerful than the slave states. Not that there is any difference-for upon that subject I cannot go along with the ardent expression of feeling by some of my friends coming from the same class of states from which I come-not that there is any difference in valor, in prowess, in noble and patriotic daring, whenever it is required for the safety and salvation of the country, between the people of one class of states and those of the other. You are, in point of numbers, however, greater; and greatness and magnanimity should ever be allied.

But there are other reasons why concession upon such a subject as this should be more liberal, more expansive, coming from the free than from the slave states. It is, as I remarked, a sentiment, a sentiment of humanity and philanthropy, on your side. Ay, sir, and when a sentiment of that kind is honestly and earnestly cherished, with a disposition to make sacrifices to enforce it, it is a noble and beautiful sentiment; but, sir, when the sacrifice is not to be made by those who cherish that sentiment and inculcate it, but by

another people, in whose situation it is impossible, from their position, to sympathize and to share all and everything that belongs to them, I must say to you, Senators from the free states, it is a totally different question. On your side it is a sentiment without sacrifice, a sentiment without danger, a sentiment without hazard, without peril, without loss. But how is it on the other side, to which, as I have said, a greater amount of concession ought to be made in any scheme of compromise?

In the first place, sir, there is a vast and incalculable amount of property to be sacrificed, and to be sacrificed, not by your sharing in the common burdens, but exclusive of you. And this is not all. The social intercourse, habit, safety, property, life, everything, is at hazard, in a greater or less degree, in the slave states.

Sir, look at that storm which is now raging before you, beating in all its rage pitilessly on your family. They are in the South. But where are your families, where are your people, Senators from the free states? They are safely housed, enjoying all the blessings of domestic comfort, peace and quiet, in the bosom of their own families.

Behold, Mr. President, that dwelling-house now wrapped in flames. Listen, sir, to the rafters and beams which fall in succession, amid the crash; and the flames ascending higher and higher as they tumble down. Behold those women and children who are flying from the calamitous scene, and with their shrieks and lamentations imploring the aid of high Heaven. Whose house is that? Whose wives and children are they? Yours in the free states? No. You are looking on in safety and security, while the conflagration which I have described is raging in the slave states, and produced, not intentionally by you, but produced from the inevitable tendency of the measures which you have adopted, and which others have carried far beyond what you have wished.

In the one scale, then, we behold sentiment, sentiment, sentiment alone; in the other property, the social fabric, life, and all that makes life desirable and happy.

But, sir, I find myself engaged much beyond what I intended, when I came this morning from my lodgings, in the exposition with which I intended these resolutions should go forth to the consideration of the world. I cannot omit, however, before I conclude, relating an incident, a thrilling incident, which occurred prior to my leaving my lodgings this morning.

A man came to my room-the same at whose instance, a few days ago, I presented a memorial calling upon Congress for the purchase of Mount Vernon for the use of the public-and, without being at all aware of what purpose I entertained in the discharge of my public duty to-day, he said to me: "Mr. Clay, I heard you make a remark, the other day, which induces me to suppose that a precious relic in my possession would be acceptable to you." He then drew out of his pocket, and presented to me, the object which I now hold in my hand. And what, Mr. President, do you suppose it is? It is a fragment of the coffin of Washington--a fragment of that coffin in which now repose in silence, in sleep, and speechless, all the earthly remains of the venerated Father of his Country. Was it portentous that it should

have been thus presented to me? Was it a sad presage of what might happen to that fabric which Washington's virtue, patriotism, and valor, established? No, sir, no. It was a warning voice, coming from the grave to the Congress now in session to beware, to pause, to reflect, before they lend themselves to any purposes which shall destroy that Union which was cemented by his exertions and example. Sir, I hope an impression may be made on your mind such as that which was made on mine by the reception of this precious relic.

And, in conclusion, I now ask every Scnator, I entreat you, gentlemen, in fairness and candor, to examine the plan of accommodation which this series of resolutions proposes, and not to pronounce against them until convinced after a thorough examination. I move that the resolutions be read and received.