Mr. Crittenden's house in Frankfort was a straggling, oldfashioned house on the corner of Main Street. The front door opened immediately on the street, and led into a wide hall which separated the dining-room and parlor. In fair summer evenings, the custom of the family was to take tea some time before night, and then assemble at the front door, which was only elevated about a foot and a half above the level of the street. The house was entered by two broad stone steps, and opposite these, on the outer edge of the pavement, were several massive marble steps, half circular, which had formed originally the base of some of the stone columns of the old capitol, burned down in 1826. Upon these steps the family and the guests (for there were always guests) seated themselves, the old folks on the sill of the door and the house-steps, the boys and girls (as Mr. Crittenden continued to call his children as long as he lived) on the steps opposite. The neighbors and friends would soon gather in and join the group at the front door. One of the boys would make his way with difficulty into the house, and hand out chairs through the low windows. Stragglers taking their evening walk would pause for awhile, and take part in the conversation, then move on, and others would take the vacant seats. Often the group assembled would be so large that the pavement would be filled up, and those who did not wish to pause would pass by on the other side.

There is no feature of the family life, as connected with Mr. Crittenden, more indelibly impressed upon my mind than these evening gatherings. Mr. Crittenden's cordial and kindly greeting, his warm sympathy and interest in all that concerned the welfare of his friends and neighbors; his inimitable style of telling an anecdote and detailing the news of the day could not be surpassed; his quick appreciation of even an attempt at wit encouraged the timid to do their best, and sent every one home between ten and eleven satisfied with himself and admiring and loving him more than ever. First in the order of the day or night, on these occasions, were family news, kind inquiries for the sick and the absent, little narratives of the wonderful children everybody had or supposed themselves to have, then politics in the largest sense, local and general.

Every man in Kentucky was a politician, and felt that he had

the might and the right to be a public speaker, if he chose, and the women and children generally thought the same of themselves. In early times, I recollect a row of tall Lombardy poplars, all along the front of the house; they were grand old trees, "growing ever upward, having neither fruit nor flowers, and giving no shade;" they were considered cumberers of the ground, and were cut down and replaced by locusts. I remember them with regret. The tree has grown out of fashion, but whenever I see one it brings back misty recollections of the past and of the old home-life. Mr. Crittenden had a real affection for his trees; his locusts were topped from time to time, and watched over with great care. He had a habit of talking to himself with animation. He came down generally before breakfast and walked in front of the house. If alone, he talked and gesticulated earnestly, to the amusement of the children, who were peeping at him through the window. Strangers, guests in the house, would sometimes catch a glimpse of him, and say, "Why, who is Mr. Crittenden talking to?" They would be highly amused when the thing was explained, and join the children at their post of observation. The old corner tree, which was twisted and gnarled and unsightly to every other eye, was his especial favorite; he would stand by it every morning, tapping it with his cane, and holding with it, seemingly, an animated conversation. These seem trivial things to recall, but the old Frankfort people will be gladly reminded of them, and these simple facts will bring back with them other memories of Mr. Crittenden: his cheerful "good-morning," his ready sympathy, his unostentatious hospitality, and all the nameless charm of manner, which not even his political opponents could resist. Mr. Crittenden was, indeed, hospitable. in a grand old way, not as many men are with their superfluity, for, in his whole life, he never knew "that thing." It was his custom to entertain the senators and members of the Kentucky legislature every winter, giving about three dinners a week, and thus entertaining, before the session closed, every member more than once. These dinners were of the simplest character. In early days "old Bourbon" figured largely at the feast, but later, when times grew hard and money scarce, it was dispensed with. A big fish and a saddle of venison were the principal dishes, and

In

vegetables of old Kentucky growth the only addition. those days, I am confident that French peas and asparagus would have been looked upon with suspicion and avoided. I believe that a merrier and wittier set of fellows were never assembled around any table than those Kentucky lawyers and politicians.

CHAPTER IV.

1820-1823.

Old and New Court Question-Commission to settle the Boundary Line between Tennessee and Kentucky-Ferguson's Defeat-General Shelby-Letters.

MR.

R. CRITTENDEN did not return to the Senate till 1835; during the period from 1819 to 1835 he was elected to the legislature of Kentucky repeatedly, and made Speaker of the House.

This was a most exciting period in Kentucky. The Old and New Court question, originally called Relief and Anti-Relief, was agitating the State as no other question has ever agitated it.

This was altogether a local question, but as Mr. Crittenden was greatly interested and took a prominent part in the dissension of the day, it may be well to give a sketch of the rise, progress, and defeat of the New Court party.

The termination of the War of 1812, with Great Britain, was followed by financial distress throughout the whole country, but particularly in Kentucky; the people were greatly in debt, and not content to trust to industry and economy for relief, they cried to the legislature for aid. Carried away by the force of popular feeling, the legislature of 1820-21 assembled and passed first a sixty-days' “stop-law," of all legal process of collection of debts, and then a two-years' replevin law, in connection with the establishment of the Commonwealth's Bank, which issued and loaned to the people, in every county, three millions of paper money. This currency soon became worth only fifty cents on the dollar, but the legislature required the creditors to receive it in full payment, or to wait two years for the specie. The law was pronounced unconstitutional by one or two of the Circuit Court judges, and their decision sustained by the Court of Appeals, composed of Boyle, Owsley, and Mills. A violent excitement throughout the State was the result. The following legislature repealed those judges out of

office, and reconstructed the Court of Appeals, making it to consist of four members, of whom William T. Barry was chief justice. Amos Kendall was the editor of the Argus, published at that time in Frankfort, and this paper was the organ of the Radical party.

A condition of public feeling followed in Kentucky only less violent than civil war. Private friendships were broken up, and danger of strife and bloodshed was imminent. The Old Court party contended that the Court of Appeals was established by the Constitution; was intended to be, and was, in fact, independent of legislative control; that its repeal was a legislative usurpation of power, and a practical overthrow of one of the co-ordinate departments of the government; that liberty itself lay prostrate at the foot of a legislative majority for the time being; that the Constitution intended the three departments— legislative, executive, and judicial-to be co-ordinate, independent, and reciprocal checks. True liberty could only consist in this arrangement of power.

After several years of bitterness and strife, the Old Court party prevailed, the old judges were reinstated, and the New Court decisions were set aside.

Order and peace were restored, but the New Court party became, almost without exception, Jackson Democrats, or Red Republicans, and the Old Court party, Whigs, or Conservatives. These two parties, their leaders and followers, have continued with but little variation to the present time. Mr. Crittenden belonged to the Old Court party,-was, in fact, its leading spirit. He was made president of the Commonwealth's Bank, and continued to fill that position for some time.

Among the many private friendships interrupted by this embittered state of feeling, Mr. Crittenden numbered two devoted and cherished friends,-George M. Bibb and Francis P. Blair. Every man who knew Mr. Crittenden remembers how he loved his friends. A friend once found was, indeed, "grappled to his soul with hooks of steel." Under no doubtful or suspicious circumstances was he ever given up. This characteristic of his was so marked, that many of those who loved and admired him considered it a weakness and reproached him for it. Judge S. S. Nicholas, of Louisville, Kentucky, told me that he was at one