him three interviews of considerable length, and remember each of them,
the more distinctly from the remarkable habit he had of talking Ton
subjects,--not upon the general occurences of the day, but upon some
particular topic. The first two were at an earlier period than that
to which this part of my narrative creates; it was when he was
Vice-President of the United States, under the administration of John
Quincy Adams. I went to his room in the Capitol to present my letter
of introduction; it was just before the assembling of the Senate, and I
said, of course, that I would not intrude upon his time at that moment,
and was about to withdraw; but he kindly detained me, saying, "No: it
will >e twenty minutes before I go to the Senate; sit down." And then,
in two minutes, I found him talking upon a purely literary point,--I
am sure do not know how he got to it; but it was this, hat the first or
second book of every author, so le maintained, was always his best. He
cited a [111] number of instances in support of his position. I do not
remember what they were; but it occurred to me in reflecting upon
it afterwards, that, in purely literary composition, there were some
reasons why it might be true. An author writes his first books with the
greatest care; he naturally puts into them his best and most original
thoughts, which he cannot use again; and if he succeeds, and gains
reputation, he is liable to grow both careless and confident,--to think
that the things which people admire are his peculiarities, and not his
general merits, and so to fall into mannerism and repetition. I remember
Mrs. George Lee, of Boston, a sagacious woman, saying to me one day,
when I told her I was going to write a second sermon on a certain
subject,--she had praised the first,--"I have observed that the second
sermon, on any subject, is never so good as the first; even Channing's
are not."

Mr. Calhoun, on my leaving him, invited me to pass the evening with him
at his house in Georgetown. I went, expecting to meet company, but found
myself alone with him, and then the subject of conversation was the
advantage and necessity of an Opposition in Government. He was himself
then, of course, in the Opposition, and he was very candid: he said he
did not question the motives of the Administration, while he felt bound
to oppose it. I was struck with his candor,--a thing I did not look for
in a political [112] opponent,--but especially with what he said about