the Governor of the State to succeed Corwin in the Senate.  These changes made it necessary for Mr. Ewing to discontinue house-keeping, and Mr. Corwin took his home and furniture off his hands.  I escorted the family out to their home in Lancaster, Ohio; but, before this had occurred, some most interesting debates took place in the Senate, which I regularly attended, and heard Clay, Benton, Foots, King of Alabama, Dayton, and the many real orators of that day.  Mr. Calhoun was in his seat, but he was evidently approaching his end, for he was pale and feeble in the extreme.  I heard Mr. Webster’s last speech on the floor of the Senate, under circumstances that warrant a description.  It was publicly known that he was to leave the Senate, and enter the new cabinet of Mr. Fillmore, as his Secretary of State, and that prior to leaving he was to make a great speech on the “Omnibus Bill.”  Resolved to hear it, I went up to the Capitol on the day named, an hour or so earlier than usual.  The speech was to be delivered in the old Senate-chamber, now used by the Supreme Court.  The galleries were much smaller than at present, and I found them full to overflowing, with a dense crowd about the door, struggling to reach the stairs.  I could not get near, and then tried the reporters’ gallery, but found it equally crowded; so I feared I should lose the only possible opportunity to hear Mr. Webster.

I had only a limited personal acquaintance with any of the Senators, but had met Mr. Corwin quite often at Mr. Ewing’s house, and I also knew that he had been extremely friendly to my father in his lifetime; so I ventured to send in to him my card, “W.  T. S., First-Lieutenant, Third Artillery.”  He came to the door promptly, when I said, “Mr. Corwin, I believe Mr. Webster is to speak to-day.”  His answer was, “Yes, he has the floor at one o’clock.”  I then added that I was extremely anxious to hear him.  “Well,” said he, “why don’t you go into the gallery?” I explained that it was full, and I had tried every access, but found all jammed with people.  “Well,” said he, “what do you want of me?” I explained that I would like him to take me on the floor of the Senate; that I had often seen from the gallery persons on the floor, no better entitled to it than I. He then asked in his quizzical way, “Are you a foreign embassador?” “No.”  “Are you the Governor of a State?” “No.”  “Are you a member of the other House?” “Certainly not” “Have you ever had a vote of thanks by name?” “No!” “Well, these are the only privileged members.”  I then told him he knew well enough who I was, and that if he chose he could take me in.  He then said, “Have you any impudence?” I told him, “A reasonable amount if occasion called for it.”  “Do you think you could become so interested in my conversation as not to notice the door-keeper?” (pointing to him).  I told him that there was not the least doubt of it, if he would tell me one of his funny stories.  He then took my arm, and led me a turn in the vestibule,