WRITINGS OF SAM HOUSTON, 1858
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fancied such sketches as these are. I object to them unequivo- cally; I can never submit to them. [Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, with scathing sarcasm, ex- plained the purpose of the statues in question. He accused Hous- ton of rank ignorance of art and lack of industry to inform him- self. He informecl him that the sculptor was the lamented .'~rawford, the greatest sculptor that America had produced.] Mr. Houston. I will ask whether Mr. Crawford lived to com- plete the pieces that he had designed, and which pieces he designed. [Mr. Davis replied that Crawford designed and completed all the statues.] Mr. Houston. I believe that they are not completed yet. How any man, unless he was under the influence of a diseased brain, could ever have fancied that a pair of brogans were becoming to any lady, and that they were necessarily incorporated with heathen mythology, [laughter] I cannot conceive. [Davis rebuked Houston for an effort at misplaced wit, that tended to reflect on the character of an eminent, deceased artist.] Mr. Houston. It is on the marbles, not on the artist that I reflect. [Mr. Davis. And it is no heathen mythology.] Mr. Houston. The Goddess of Liberty? [Mr. Davis. You did not even stop to learn the name of the statue, or the distance at which it was to be viewed.]
Mr. Houston. I did not want to do it. [Laughter.] I was satisfied that it was some unfortunate lady that had fallen into great bodily agony, and infelicity of feeling. Her countenance ·denotes no pleasure. And I should like to know what lady has commended herself to the consideration of the Government, in a national point of view, so far as to be entitled to so much bestow- ment of art, and of labor, and expenditure, that has worn brogan shoes? [Laughter.] I commend it to the special notice of the Senators. Her robe is :floating; the zone is bound with loose drapery; and who ever heard of a person thus dressed and dec- orated, wearing brogan shoes? Nobody, Mr. P1·esident, ever heard of it. It is not wit; it 'is a matter of gravity and solemn complaint with me. Who ever hea1·d of a mother holding a child in her arms, with the little fellow's neck sticking out like your finger? ,No, sir, it reclines on the mother's arm, and is not drawn up in that agonizing attitude. It is unheard of. I do not care who has done it-it is an imposition upon art. Crawford was a
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