being a senator from Shelby. The business of the session was truly important, as well as very laborious. We had laws to pass in some cases to meet the changes in the new Constitution, and the commissioners, who had been appointed for the purpose, reported to the Legislature in bill form a complete revision and codification of all the statutes of the State of a general nature, and we had to take up that work in joint committee, examine, revise, and, where necessary, amend every section, and pass the whole as one statute. It was truly gratifying to many of us that we had the aid of his large experience and sound judgment. He was not, it is true, a member of the joint committee, but those of us who had that work to perform found him always ready to aid us by his wise counsel. I enjoyed my association with him very much, admired and honored him as an eminently able lawyer and statesman, and loved him as a kind and patronizing kinsman. I did not regard him as at all failing from the effects of age. His health was good when we parted, and I little thought that I should never see him on his feet again."

The narrative of Mr. Hardin's public life must now be brought to a close. He can not escape that inexorable rule, applied in all ages, and among all men, of measuring capacity, ability, and talent by the success they have achieved. Yet it must be admitted that it is often an uncertain and delusive standard. Mr. Hardin had, by no means, achieved all that, in the condition in which he was placed, with the talents he undoubtedly possessed, and with the exercise of more wisdom in his public career, it was possible, and, indeed, practicable, for him to have attained. Slight, indeed, were the circumstances that had limited his political success, but these had been like the few extra pounds that retard the racer. He always carried weights. In the highest reaches of human effort, trivial, and often accidental, are the causes that determine defeat or triumph, obscurity or renown.

As a member of the United States Senate, an honor he coveted, Mr. Hardin would, undoubtedly, have increased his fame. His natural abilities, his great attainments, his broad statesmanship, and practical patriotism qualified him for usefulness and success in that arena. His strong conservatism would have tempered the heat that too often marked the discussions of the Upper House in his day.. But he did not attain that honor, really never making a formal contest for it. He, indeed, in all his life undertook nothing in the way of office-seeking that he did not believe he could reasonably attain. He knew his strength, and was not less conscious of his weakness. As a politician, he had the elements of both. He was, as elsewhere observed, neither a leader nor a follower. The only apparent exception to this was his career in the constitutional convention and

the votes that preceded. But his leadership there resulted from a popular movement for constitutional reform, which he rather led than originated. One reason why he was not a leader, was a deficiency of that personal magnetism that attracts and retains followers, especially followers among politicians. He could ingratiate himself with the masses of the people, but when he encountered other leaders he became their rival or their adversary. In his contests with these, he sought victory, not by conciliation, but by crushing and overwhelming. He was lacking in all the arts of the courtier; he belonged to the "Commons," not to the "Lords." The result was that while popular with the people he was not so with the politicians.

The people admired his talents and had confidence in his political integrity and ability. It was really a confession on his part when he boasted that he had sought no honor save at the hands of the people, whereby he meant to distinguish the people from those in power. He was rarely in favor at court. He had also a besetting infirmity that militated against his political success. He was resentful, and when he felt misused he often bided his time to avenge himself. It is an important political grace sometimes to forget. This was impossible for Mr. Hardin.

His neglect of his personal appearance was another inauspicious circumstance. For some offices and in some localities the time in State history has been known when indifference to dress was deemed a passport to popular favor. When the late William S. Pilcher, noted as a rabble-rouser years ago, was a candidate for mayor in Louisville, an Irishman expressed the sentiment of others besides himself when he “huzzaed for Billy McPilcher. Faith 'an he's the man for me— he's nayther proud nor daycent."

For some exalted offices the most unlettered of the masses of the people have always regarded certain outward proprieties requisite— on the principle that there should be an external sign of inward grace -and have resented their neglect. That Mr. Hardin never wore senatorial garments was a point against him. Popular ideals can not be disregarded without penalty. Slip-shod shoes, ill-fitting coats, and slouchiness would have overshadowed the valor of Achilles, and lost the Hebrew leader the laurels that crowned him on Pisgah's top.

WH

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

MR. HARDIN AT HOME.

HEN the mailed knight has removed his armor, only then we see the man. Although helmet, and visor, and breast-plate, and greaves are no longer worn in this unknightly age, yet mankind, in their intercourse with each other, encase themselves with an outward demeanor, quite as effectually concealing the grace and shapeliness of character. Only in the security and privacy of home is the reserve, characterizing public intercourse, laid aside, and only then and there does the man appear as he really is.

Mr. Hardin's residence at Bardstown was a commodious building of brick, of irregular structure. Originally a one-storied building, with two rooms in front, to this an addition had been made, on the ⚫ left, of two stories, comprising a large hall and front room, and room in rear, with similar rooms above. These added-rooms and the hall were unusually large. The hall was entered by a front-door, and in the hall a staircase connected with the rooms above. A later tenant has added a veranda in front. The outer appearance of the house gave no suggestion of architectural thought. The only purpose, evidently, had been to roof in and inclose a given amount of space. An exception should be made as to the left gable, above which two chimneys ascended, which were connected by a horizontal wall that manifested some intention of accompanying them to their tops, but stopped short of that point. Perhaps some fanciful architect caught this hint from the webbed feet of water-fowls. With an ample porch and rooms to rear, it was, altogether, a commodious dwelling, and not suspected, in its earlier history, of being inconvenient, whatever judgment might be passed on that question now. If lacking the graces of colonial or Queen Anne architecture, or the strength of the Gothic, yet it had within, the elements-elements eluding the reach. of wealth and the skill of the architect-of an old-fashioned, hospitable, warm-hearted Kentucky home. The house was surrounded by ample grounds, stretching down to the street, to which a goodly number of forest, fruit, and ornamental trees added grace and comfortable shade.

Mr. Hardin s home was long a happy one. In its sacred precincts, austerity was laid aside and the bitterness of sarcasm and invective carefully sheathed. The gentle and benevolent sentiments of the heart had full and free action. Good humor and hospitality were in the ascendant. Hearty good fellowship inspired him and made him the most delightful of companions.

"I remember Ben Hardin," writes a daughter of the late Francis P. Blair, Sr., "for, though politically opposed, he was on the kindest terms with my parents, and always a heartily-welcomed guest at their home. Nothing was enjoyed there more than his stories, rough as some of them were. His true-hearted friendship to my father on one occasion was often dwelt upon and gratefully remembered by all of us."* If guests came to his home, they were welcome, no matter what their rank or station. The dweller of the cabin in the "Knobs," found the same open, unreserved greeting in the Hardin mansion that met the honored statesman, or the citizen boasting birth and fortune. The household was a miniature republic, where the worthy always found ready and hospitable admittance, and were treated with perfect equality. Its members were proud, not of themselves, but rather each of the other.

Mr. Hardin's mother survived until he had reached the zenith of his fame, yet he was always the affectionate and loyal son as when her clear head and steady hand guided him safely over all the pitfalls of youth. In domestic matters, he ever yielded unqualified deference to the good sense of his wife, to whom he was tenderly attached.

Undoubtedly, the influence of "Betsey Barbour," over her husband, proved most beneficent. Descended from a stock of proud and gentle blood, yet vigorous withal, reared in a home of wealth and refinement, and worthy every honor he could win for her or himself, she had furnished not only an incentive to effort, but proved herself a "lamp to his feet and a guide to his way." She curbed the excesses and rounded the angles of his character, purified his impulses and aspirations, and, by her loving inspiration, gave wings to his genius.

Toward his children, he was fond and indulgent. He found especial delight in their manifestations of sprightliness. The affection he felt for his own offspring, begot a tenderness for all children. Dr. Burr Harrison was an old friend-personal and political. He was prominent as a physician, and well known as a politician. For a while, he was a competitor of Mr. Hardin, when the latter was a candidate for Congress in 1833. About this period, a personal mis

Mrs. Admiral Lee.