Many incidents occurred during his speakership, highly illustrative of his playfulness, wit, and readiness, of which the following may serve as a specimen.
On one occasion, the late general Alexander Smyth, of Virginia, a gentleman of unusual ability and erudition, had been speaking a long time, fatiguing and vexing the house with the length and number of his quotations, and citations of authorities, and justified his unbearable prolixity by saying to Mr. Clay, who was seated near him, ‘_you_, sir, speak for the present generation, but _I_ speak for posterity.’ ‘Yes,’ he immediately replied, ‘and you seem resolved to speak until the arrival of _your_ audience!’
On another, the house was harangued by the late governor Lincoln, of Maine, in his usual eloquent, but verbose and declamatory manner. He was considering the revolutionary pension bill, and replying to an argument which opposed it on the ground that those to whom it proposed to extend pecuniary aid, might perhaps live a long time, and thus cause heavy drafts to be made upon the treasury. In one of his elevated flights of patriotic enthusiasm, he burst out with the exclamation, ‘_soldiers of the revolution, live forever!_’ Mr. Clay succeeded him, in favor also of the humane provision, but did not respond to his desire relative to the length of the lives of those worthies for whose benefit it was devised, and when he closed, turned suddenly towards Mr. Lincoln, and, with a smile upon his countenance, observed, ‘I hope my worthy friend will not insist upon the very great duration of these pensions which he has suggested. Will he not consent, by way of a compromise, to a term of nine hundred and ninety-nine years, instead of eternity?’