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The President’s Counsel During the Impeachment Trial.

Washington, April 27, 1868.

Another effort of the immortal mind has been inscribed upon the scroll of fame. Judge Nelson, of Tennessee, has spoken in behalf of the President, and only the pen of genius can do justice to this dewy, refreshing speech as it fell upon the American Senate.

When it is known that Judge Nelson dropped the cowl of the monk for the lawyer’s pointed lance, it is not astonishing that he mistook the Senate for a set of Tennessee sinners, and appealed to its feeling instead of its judgment. This most interesting speech was interspersed with poetry, borrowed for the occasion, to be sure, but of equal use and effectiveness—nevertheless, like mourning garments, borrowed from friendly neighbors; and yet the speech was destitute of all solemnity. A rich vein of humor coursed through it, and the Senate seemed to enjoy the repose so much needed after the strong arguments of Mr. Boutwell.

It is said Andrew Johnson chose Nelson for these very qualities; but, gratifying as it may have been to the President, it did not find favor in the minds of those who are friendly to the lost cause. A genuine sneer curled itself up and nestled in all the hide-and-seek places in the delicate face of William M. Evarts, while stately Mr. Groesbeck seemed severely offended. Members of Congress folded their unseen tents and silently stole away; the Chief Justice uncoiled his dignity just enough to catch a breath of the fluttering breeze; and the high court of impeachment was relieved as if by an unexpected holiday.

Judge Nelson was a semi-rebel—a sort of Tennessee neutral—during the rebellion, and it has not been ascertained whether it was for this reason that Andrew Johnson chose him for the defence; but it is now known beyond a doubt that minister and lawyer are so ingeniously mixed in the judge’s composition that a third compound is the result, bearing no more resemblance to the first ingredients than soap bears to oil and alkali.

Mr. Groesbeck had the floor next—apparently a good, strong man, bearing the same relation to the human family that a fair, rosy-cheeked apple does to the remainder of the fruit in the orchard. Like Mr. Stanbery, he pleads illness. His voice seemed in the last stages of collapse. It is very difficult to catch the hoarse sentences in the galleries. There is nothing flashing, brilliant, or electrical in his speech, and if there were, it would be entirely lost, unless it rose, cloud-like, into the galleries. Hard, cold, flinty argument must be hurled upon the impassive Senate. Mr. Groesbeck seems to be aware of this fact, as he contends against the odds.

The gallery wears its usual high-toned, fashionable elegance. A real hothouse of rare human exotics is gathered together, partaking of the same weaknesses and desires that animate creation in the humbler spheres of life. Some of these exquisite butterflies have a way of spreading their voluminous crinoline to the exclusion of some unfortunate in want of a seat; but as soon as an acquaintance makes an appearance, in the twinkling of an eye space is evolved from a minus quantity and immediately occupied, and the real honest possessor has no redress except in repeating an ave, or declaiming mentally the touching poem of “sour grapes.”

Allowing it to be exceedingly gratifying, it is not good taste to be eating in public. History tells us that a great monarch used to take his emetics and vomit gracefully in the presence of the court, but even royalty could not add dignity to, nor throw a rosy glamor over, one of Nature’s disgraceful freaks. And in the high court of impeachment no pink-lipped, amber-haired beauty can afford to distort her features and wantonly assail the ears of her neighbors by cracking nuts with her pearly teeth. If a woman has neither youth nor beauty, and commits the same fatal error, “Angels and ministers of grace defend us!”

Olivia.