Spain, agreeing to close the river for five and twenty years. Colonel
Clark stood up, and rapped on the table.

"Gentlemen," said he, "Louisville has as her guest of honor to-night a
man of whom Kentucky may well be proud [loud cheering]. Five years ago
he favored Lexington by making it his home, and he came to us with the
laurel of former achievements still clinging to his brow. He fought and
suffered for his country, and attained the honorable rank of Major in the
Continental line. He was chosen by the people of Pennsylvania to
represent them in the august body of their legislature, and now he has
got new honor in a new field [renewed cheering]. He has come to Kentucky
to show her the way to prosperity and glory. Kentucky had a grievance
[loud cries of "Yes, yes!"]. Her hogs and cattle had no market, her
tobacco and agricultural products of all kinds were rotting because the
Spaniards had closed the Mississippi to our traffic. Could the Federal
government open the river? [shouts of "No, no!" and hisses]. Who opened
it? [cries of "Wilkinson, Wilkinson!"]. He said to the Kentucky
planters, 'Give your tobacco to me, and I will sell it.' He put it in
barges, he floated down the river, and, as became a man of such
distinction, he was met by Governor-general Miro on the levee at New
Orleans. Where is that tobacco now, gentlemen?" Colonel Clark was here
interrupted by such roars and stamping that he paused a moment, and
during this interval Mr. Wharton leaned over and whispered quietly in my
ear:--

"Ay, where is it?"

I stared at Mr. Wharton blankly. He was a man nearing the middle age,
with a lacing of red in his cheeks, a pleasant gray eye, and a singularly
quiet manner.