The American Encyclopedia of History, Biography and Travel Comprising Ancient and Modern History: the Biography of Eminent Men of Europe and America, and the Lives of Distinguished Travelers. (part 5 of 7)

The American Encyclopedia of History, Biography and Travel Comprising Ancient and Modern History: the Biography of Eminent Men of Europe and America, and the Lives of Distinguished Travelers. (part 5 of 7)

He now turned his attention to the repairing and cleaning of clocks, and in this way managed for some time to make a livelihood. While traveling the country for this purpose, he happened to attract the notice of Sir James Dunbar of Durn, who bestowed upon him the warmest patronage, and requested him to make his mansion his home. While there, geometry, mechanics, and astronomy, alternately engaged him. ‘Two large globular stones stood on the top of his gate; on one of them I painted with oil colors a map of the terrestrial globe, and on the other a map of the celestial, from a planisphere of the stars which I copied on paper from a celestial globe belonging to a neighboring gentleman. The poles of the painted globe stood toward the poles of the heavens; on each the twenty-four hours were placed around the equinoctial, so as to show the time of the day when the sun shone out, by the boundary where the half of the globe at any time enlightened by the sun was parted from the other half in the shade; the enlightened parts of the terrestrial globe answering to the like enlightened parts of the earth at all times; so that, whenever the sun shone on the globe, one might see to what places the sun was then rising, to what places it was setting, and all the places where it was then day or night throughout the earth.’

While enjoying the hospitality of Durn, he was introduced to Lady Dipple, Sir James’ sister, who also extended to him the warmest patronage. This lady, seeing his taste for design, employed him in drawing patterns for needlework on gowns, aprons, etc., recommending his work to her acquaintances, and in a short while created, as it were, a flourishing domestic trade for the young philosopher. On removing to Edinburgh, she advised Furguson to accompany her household, in which he would have the benefit of another year’s hospitality, assured that, in the more extensive field of the metropolis, he would have a much better opportunity of rising into notice. Thither he accordingly went; was introduced into new families of distinction; drew and designed for fancy needlework; and latterly turned his attention to miniature painting, in which he so far excelled, that for six-and-twenty after, it was the business to which he trusted for a maintenance. But while engaged in painting, and enjoying the estimation of those who had been his patrons, ‘I somehow or other took a violent inclination to study anatomy, surgery, and physic, all from reading of books and conversing with gentlemen on these subjects, which for that time put all thoughts of astronomy out of my mind; and I had no inclination to become acquainted with any one there who taught either mathematics or astronomy, for nothing would serve me but to be a doctor.

‘At the end of the second year I left Edinburgh, and went to see my father, thinking myself tolerably well qualified to be a physician in that part of the country, and I carried a good deal of medicines, plasters, etc., thither; but to my mortification, I soon found that all my medical theories and study were of little use in practice. And then finding that very few paid me for the medicines they had, and that I was far from being so successful as I could wish, I quite left off that business, and began to think of taking to the more sure one of drawing pictures again. For this purpose I went to Iverness, where I had eight months’ business. When I was there, I began to think of astronomy again, and was heartily sorry for having quite neglected it at Edinburgh, where I might have improved my knowledge by conversing with those who were very able to assist me.’

Having spent some time in astronomical pursuits at Inverness, Furguson returned to Edinburgh, where he made himself known to Mr. Maclaurin, professor of mathematics, by whom he was kindly patronized, and instructed in points wherein he was deficient. Being greatly delighted with the orrery of the professor, he set about constructing one after a somewhat different principle, and succeeded so well in the undertaking that his patron not only commended it to the young men attending his class, but desired the constructor to read them a lecture on it. This so far encouraged the young philosopher, that he instantly set about the construction of another more complex, and of higher finish. This was purchased by Sir Dudley Rider when Ferguson first went to London; and he mentions in his memoir, that altogether eight orreries were constructed chiefly by his own hand, and that in no two of them was the wheelwork alike. We now follow him to London, whither he went in May 1743.

‘I had a letter of recommendation from Mr. Baron Eldin at Edinburgh to the Right Hon. Stephen Poyntz, Esq., at St. James’, who had been preceptor to his Royal Highness the late Duke of Cumberland, and was well known to be possessed of all the good qualities that can adorn a human mind. To me his goodness was really beyond my power of expression; and I had not been a month in London, till he informed me that he had written to an eminent professor of mathematics to take me into his house, and give me board and lodging, with all proper instructions to qualify me for teaching a mathematical school he (Mr. Poyntz) had in view for me, and would get me settled in it. This I should have liked very well, especially as I began to be tired of drawing pictures; in which, I confess, I never strove to excel, because my mind was still pursuing things more agreeable. He soon after told me he had just received an answer from the mathematical master, desiring I might be sent immediately to him. On hearing this, I told Mr. Poyntz that I did not know how to maintain my wife during the time I must be under the master’s tuition. ‘What!’ says he, ‘are you a married man?’ I told him I had been so ever since May, in the year 1739. He said he was sorry for it, because it quite defeated his scheme, as the master of the school he had in view for me must be a bachelor.

‘He then asked me what business I intended to follow. I answered that I knew of none besides that of drawing pictures. On this he desired me to draw the pictures of his wife and children, that he might show them, in order to recommend me to others; and told me that when I was out of business, I should come to him, and he would find me as much as he could――and I soon found as much as I could execute; but he died in a few years after, to my inexpressible grief.

‘Soon afterwards it appeared to me, that although the moon goes round the earth, and that the sun is far on the outside of the moon’s orbit, yet the moon’s motion must be in a line――that is, always concave towards the sun; and upon making a delineation representing her absolute path in the heavens, I found it to be really so. I then made a simple machine for delineating both her path and the earth’s on a long paper laid on the floor. I carried the machine and delineation to the late Martin Felkes, Esq., president of the Royal Society, on a Thursday afternoon. He expressed great satisfaction at seeing it, as it was a new discovery; and took me that evening with him to the Royal Society, where I showed the delineation, and the method of doing it.

‘In the year 1747, I published a dissertation on the phenomena of the harvest moon, with a description of a new orrery, in which there are only four wheels. But having never had grammatical education, nor time to study the rules of just composition, I acknowledge that I was afraid to put it to press; and for the same cause, I ought to have the same fears still. But having the pleasure to find that this my first work was not ill received, I was emboldened to go on in publishing my ‘Astronomy,’ ‘Mechanical Lectures,’ ‘Tables and Tracts relative to several Arts and Sciences,’ a small treatise on ‘Electricity,’ and ‘Select Mechanical Exercises.’

‘In the year 1748, I ventured to read lectures on the eclipse of the sun that fell on the 14th of July in that year. Afterwards I began to read astronomical lectures on an orrery which I made, and of which the figures of all the wheelwork are contained in the 6th and 7th plates of ‘Mechanical Exercises.’ I next began to make an apparatus for lectures on mechanics, and gradually increased the apparatus for other parts of experimental philosophy, buying from others what I could not make for myself. I then entirely left off drawing pictures, and employed myself in the much pleasanter business of reading lectures on mechanics, hydrostatics, hydraulics, pneumatics, electricity, and astronomy; in all which my encouragement has been greater than I could have expected.’

To this narrative we shall add the few particulars which are necessary to complete the view of Ferguson’s life and character. It was through the zeal of George III in behalf of science, that Ferguson was honored with the royal bounty of £50 a-year. His majesty had attended some of the lectures of the ingenious astronomer, and often, after his accession, sent for him to converse upon scientific topics. He had the extraordinary honor of being elected a member of the Royal Society, without paying either the initiatory or the annual fees, which were dispensed with in his case, from a supposition of his being too poor to pay them without inconvenience. To the astonishment of all who knew him, it was discovered, after his death, that he was possessed of considerable wealth――about £6000. ‘Ferguson,’ says Charles Hutton in his Mathematical Dictionary, ‘must be allowed to have been a very uncommon genius, especially in mechanical contrivances and inventions, for he constructed many machines himself in a very neat manner. He had also a good taste in astronomy, as well as in natural and experimental philosophy, and was possessed of a happy manner of explaining himself in a clear, easy, and familiar way.

His general mathematical knowledge, however, was little or nothing. Of algebra he understood little more than the notation; and he has often told me that he could never demonstrate one proposition in Euclid’s Elements; his constant method being to satisfy himself as to the truth of any problem with a measurement by scale and compasses.’ He was a man of very clear judgment in everything that he professed, and of unwearied application to study: benevolent, meek, and innocent in his manners as a child: humble, courteous, and communicative: instead of pedantry, philosophy seemed to produce in him only diffidence and urbanity. After a long and useful life, worn out with study, age, and infirmities, he died November 16, 1776.

SIR WILLIAM HERSCHEL.

The science of astronomy, which, from the time of Copernicus, had been gradually improving, through the laborious exertions of Tycho Brahè, Galileo, Kepler, Hüygens, Newton, Halley, Delisle, Lalande, and other eminent observers of the starry firmament, was considerably advanced by the discoveries of Herschel, whose biography now comes under our notice.

William Herschel was born at Hanover on the 15th of November 1738. He was the second of four sons, all of whom were brought up to their father’s profession, which was that of a musician. Having at an early age shown a peculiar taste for intellectual pursuits, his father provided him with a tutor, who instructed him in the rudiments of logic, ethics, and metaphysics, in which abstract studies he made considerable progress. Owing, however, to the circumscribed means of his parents, and certain untoward circumstances, these intellectual pursuits were soon interrupted, and at the age of fourteen he was placed in the band of the Hanoverian regiment of guards, a detachment of which he accompanied to England about the year 1757 or 1759. His father came with him to England, but after the lapse of a few months, he returned home, leaving his son, in conformity with his own wish, to try his fortune in Great Britain――the adopted home of many an ingenious foreigner. How or when he left the regimental band in which he had been engaged, we are not informed. After struggling with innumerable difficulties, and no doubt embarrassed by his comparative ignorance of the English tongue, he had the good fortune to attract the notice of the Earl of Darlington, who engaged him to superintend and instruct a military hand at the time forming for the Durham militia. After fulfilling this engagement, he passed several years in Yorkshire, in the capacity of teacher of music. He gave lessons to pupils in the principal towns, and officiated as leader in oratorios or concerts of sacred music――a kind of employment in which the Germans are eminently skilled, from their love of musical performances. Herschel, however, while thus engaged in earning an honorable livelihood, did not allow his professional pursuits to engross all his thoughts. He sedulously devoted his leisure hours in improving his knowledge of the English and Italian languages, and in instructing himself in Latin, as well as a little Greek. At this period he probably looked to these attainments principally with a view to the advantage he might derive from them in the prosecution of his professional studies; and it was no doubt with this view also that he afterwards applied himself to the perusal of Dr. Robert Smith’s ‘Treatise on Harmonics’――one of the most profound works on the science of music which then existed in the English language. But the acquaintance he formed with this work was destined ere long to change altogether the character of his pursuits. He soon found that it was necessary to make himself a mathematician before he could make much progress in following Dr. Smith’s demonstrations. He now, therefore, turned with his characteristic alacrity and resolution to the new study to which his attention was thus directed; and it was not long before he became so attached to it, that almost all the other pursuits of his leisure hours were laid aside for its sake.

Through the interest and good offices of a Mr. Bates, to whom the merits of Herschel had become known, he was, about the close of 1765, appointed to the situation of church-organist at Halifax. Next year, having gone with his elder brother to fulfill a short engagement at Bath, he gave so much satisfaction by his performances, that he was appointed organist in the Octagon chapel of that city, upon which he went to reside there. The place which he now held was one of some value; and from the opportunities which he enjoyed, besides, of adding to its emoluments by engagements at the rooms, the theatre, and private concerts, as well as by taking pupils, he had the certain prospect of deriving a good income from his profession, if he had made that his only or his chief object. This accession of employment did not by any means abate his propensity to study for mental improvement. Frequently, after the fatigue of twelve or fourteen hours occupied in musical performances, he sought relaxation, as he considered it, in extending his knowledge of the pure and mixed mathematics. In this manner he obtained a competent knowledge of geometry, and found himself in a condition to proceed to the study of the different branches of physical science which depend upon the mathematics. Among the first of these latter that attracted his attention, were the kindred departments of astronomy and optics. Some discoveries about this time made in astronomy awakened his curiosity, and to this science he now directed his investigations at his intervals of leisure. Being anxious to observe some of those wonders in the planetary system of which he had read, he borrowed from a neighbor a two-feet Gregorian telescope, which delighted him so much, that he forthwith commissioned one of larger dimensions from London. The price of such an instrument, he was vexed to find, exceeded both his calculations and his means; but though chagrined, he was not discouraged; he immediately resolved to attempt with his own hand the construction of a telescope equally powerful with that which he was unable to purchase; and in this, after repeated disappointments, which served only to stimulate his exertions, he finally succeeded.

Herschel was now on the path in which his genius was calculated to shine. In the year 1774, he had the inexpressible pleasure of beholding the planet Saturn through a five-feet Newtonian reflector, made by his own hands. This was the beginning of a long and brilliant course of triumphs in the same walk of art, and also in that of astronomical discovery. Herschel now became so much more ardently attached to his philosophical pursuits, that, regardless of the sacrifices of emolument he was making, he began gradually to limit his professional engagements and the number of his pupils. Meanwhile, he continued to employ his leisure in the fabrication of still more powerful instruments than the one he first constructed; and in no long time he produced telescopes of from seven to twenty feet focal distance. In fashioning the mirrors for these instruments, his perseverance was indefatigable. For his seven-feet reflector, it is asserted that he actually finished and made trial of no fewer than two hundred mirrors before he found one that satisfied him. When he sat down to prepare a mirror, his practice was to work at it for twelve or fourteen hours, without quitting his occupation for a moment. He would not even take his hand from what he was about, to help himself to food; and the little that he ate on such occasions was put into his mouth by his sister. He gave the mirror its proper shape more by a natural tact than by rule; and when his hand was once in, as the phrase is, he was afraid that the perfection of the finish might be impaired by the least intermission of his labors.

It was on the 13th of March, 1781, that Herschel made the discovery to which he owes, perhaps, most of his popular reputation. He had been engaged for nearly a year and a-half in making a regular survey of the heavens, when, on the evening of the day that has been mentioned, having turned his telescope――an excellent seven-feet reflector, of his own constructing――to a particular part of the sky, he observed among the other stars, one which seemed to shine with a more steady radiance than those around it; and, on account of that, and some other peculiarities in its appearance, which excited his suspicion, he determined to observe it more narrowly. On reverting to it after some hours, he was a good deal surprised to find that it had perceptibly changed its place――a fact, which, the next day, became still more indisputable. At first he was somewhat in doubt whether or not it was the same star, which he had seen on these different occasions; but after continuing these observations for a few days longer, all uncertainty upon that head vanished. He now communicated what he had observed to the royal astronomer, Dr. Maskelyne, who concluded that the luminary could be nothing else than a new comet. Continued observation of it, however, for a few months, dissipated this error; and it became evident that it was, in reality, a hitherto undiscovered planet.

This new world, so unexpectedly found to form a part of the system to which our own belongs, received from Herschel the name of Georgium Sidus, or Georgian Star, in honor of the king of England; but by continental astronomers, it has been more generally called either Herschel, after its discoverer, or Uranus. He afterwards discovered, successively, no fewer than six satellites or moons, belonging to his new planet.

The anouncement of the discovery of the Georgium Sidus, at once made Herschel’s name universally known. In the course of a few months the king bestowed upon him a pension of £300 a-year, to enable him entirely to relinquish his engagements at Bath; and upon this, he came to reside at Slough, near Windsor. He now devoted himself entirely to science, and the constructing of telescopes, and observations of the heavens, continued to form the occupations of the remainder of his life.

Astronomy is indebted to him for many more most interesting discoveries besides the celebrated one of which we have just given an account, as well as for a variety of speculations of the most ingenious, original, and profound character. But of these we cannot here attempt any detail.

He also introduced some important improvements into the construction of the reflecting telescope, besides continuing to fabricate that instrument of dimensions greatly exceeding any that he had formerly attempted, with powers surpassing, in nearly a corresponding degree, what had ever been before obtained. The largest telescope which he had ever made was his famous one of forty feet long, which he erected at Slough, for the king.

It was begun about the end of the year 1785, and on the 28th of August 1789 the enormous tube was poised on the complicated but ingeniously-contrived mechanism by which its movements were to be regulated, and ready for use. On the same day a new satellite of Saturn was detected by it, being the sixth that had been observed attendant on that planet. A seventh was afterward discovered, by means of the same instrument. This telescope has since been taken down, and replaced by another of only half the length, constructed by the distinguished son of the subject of our present sketch.

So extraordinary was the ardor of this great astronomer in the study of his favorite science, that for many years, it has been asserted, he never was in bed at any hour during which the stars were visible, and he made almost all his observations, whatever the season of the year, not under cover, but in his garden, in the open air――and generally without an attendant. By these investigations Herschel became acquainted with the character of the more distant stars, upon which he wrote a variety of papers. In 1802, he presented to the Royal Society a catalogue of five thousand new nebulæ, nebulous stars, planetary nebulæ, and clusters of stars; thus opening up a boundless field of research, and making the world aware of the sublime truth of there being an infinitude of heavenly bodies far beyond the reach of ordinary vision, and performing in their appointed places the offices of suns to unseen systems of planets.

These discoveries established Herschel’s claims to rank amongst the most eminent astronomers of the age, and amply merited the distinctions conferred upon him by learned bodies and the reigning prince. In 1816, George IV, then prince regent, invested him with the Hanoverian and Guelphic order of knighthood. He was now, from being originally a poor lad in a regimental band, rewarded for his long course of honorable exertion in the cause of science. Herschel (now Sir William) did not relinquish his astronomical observations until within a few years of his death, which took place on the 23d of August, 1822, when he had attained the age of eighty-three. He died full of years and honors, bequeathing a large fortune, and leaving a family which has inherited his genius.

SIMON BOLIVAR.

The Spanish colonies of South America remained for three centuries in quiet submission to the mother country, if we except the desperate attempt of the Peruvian Indians, under Tupac Amaru, to throw off the yoke of their oppressors. Never were despotism, avarice and slavish obsequiousness to power, more thoroughly displayed than in Spanish America, under the government of the viceroys and captains-general, who, with all the principal officers of the viceroyal court, were sent to America from Madrid, and who, without being under any efficient responsibility, administered their authority with every species of tyranny and venality. Justice was bought and sold, and the most important legal decisions were made in favor of the highest bidder. The mercantile policy of the parent country was equally despotic and rapacious. The establishment of manufactures was not permitted, while cargoes of Spanish commodities, the refuse of the shops, were forced, in barter for silver and gold, upon a half-civilized people, who neither wanted nor could possibly use them. Foreign commerce was interdicted on pain of death; all social improvement was suppressed; and to prevent the inhabitants from knowing the extent of their degradation, all intercourse whatever was strictly forbidden with any country or people, besides Spain and Spaniards, and allowed even with them under many restrictions. Superstition and ignorance were upheld as the surest support of the colonial system; so that, previous to 1810, the whole continent, from Lima to Monte Video, contained but one wretched printing-press, and that in the hands of the monks, who consigned to the dungeons of the Inquisition every man who possessed a prohibited book.

The example of the revolt of the British North American colonies had a slow effect in propagating revolutionary ideas in the south; and the usurpation of the crown of Spain by Napoleon precipitated those movements which resulted, after a bloody struggle, in wresting from the dominion of Spain the whole of her continental possessions in America. In this momentous contest, Simon Bolivar bore the most conspicuous part, and his life comprises the substance of the history of the country in which his military exploits were performed during its most eventful period.

This celebrated man was born in the city of Caraccas, in July, 1783. He belonged to a family of distinction, and was one of the few natives of the Spanish colonies who were permitted to visit Europe. After finishing his studies at Madrid, he went to France, and during his stay at Paris rendered himself an acceptable guest in its social circles, by the amenity of his manners, and his other personal recommendations. In the midst, however, of all the seductions of that gay capital, his sanguine temper and ardent imagination anticipated the task which the future fortunes of his country might impose upon him, and even in his twenty-third year he is said to have contemplated the establishment of her independence. While at Paris his favorite occupation was the study of those branches of science which contribute to the formation of the character of a warrior and statesman. Humboldt and Bonpland were his intimate friends, and accompanied him in his excursions in France; nor did he think his travels finished till he had visited England, Italy, and a part of Germany. On his return to Madrid, he was married, and shortly afterwards returned to America, where he arrived in 1810, at the very moment when his countrymen were about to unfurl the standard of independence. On his passage homeward, he visited the United States, where he gathered some political knowledge which subsequent events rendered highly useful to him.

The revolution began in Venezuela on Good Friday, April 19, 1810, when, by a popular movement, the captain-general of Caraccas was arrested and deposed, and a congress convened to organize a new government. The talents and acquirements of Bolivar pointed him out as the best qualified person to be placed at the helm; but he disapproved of the system adopted by the congress, and refused a diplomatic mission to England. He even declined any connection with the government, though he continued a staunch friend to the cause of independence. But at length he consented to proceed to England, where he solicited the British cabinet in vain to espouse the cause of the revolution. Finding them resolved to maintain a strict neutrality, he returned to Caraccas after a short stay. In the mean time, the declaration of independence was boldly maintained by military force. Miranda was appointed commander-in-chief. Bolivar took the post of colonel in the army, and governor of Puerto Cabello, the strongest place in Venezuela.

Success attended the arms of the patriots till 1812, when a remarkable event caused them the most serious reverses. In March of that year a violent earthquake devastated the whole province, and among other places totally destroyed the city of Caraccas, with all its magazines and munitions of war. This dreadful calamity, in which twenty thousand persons perished, happened, by a most remarkable coincidence, on the anniversary of the very day in which the revolution had broken out, two years before. The priesthood, who, as a body, were devoted to the royal interest, eagerly seized upon this circumstance. In their hands, the earthquake became the token of the Divine wrath against the revolutionary party. The superstitious multitude were easily deluded and terrified with such representations and denunciations. Priests, monks, and friars, were stationed in the streets, vociferating in the midst of credulous throngs of people trembling with fear, while the royalist commanders improved the occasion by overrunning one district after another. Bolivar was compelled to evacuate Puerto Cabello. Miranda’s conduct having become suspicious, he was arrested by the patriot leaders and delivered up to the Spanish commander, who sent him to Spain, where he died in a dungeon. Bolivar is supposed to have had a share in this transaction, in consequence of which he has been severely censured. There were some circumstances, however, which appeared to justify a suspicion that Miranda was engaged in a hostile plot with the British cabinet.

Bolivar was now entrusted with the command of an army of six thousand men, which he led across the mountains to the further extremity of New Granada. In the hostilities of this period, deeds of the most revolting ferocity were perpetrated by the royalist troops, and the whole country was reduced to a frightful state of misery. On the most trivial pretexts, old men, women and children, were arrested and massacred as rebels. Friars and military butchers reigned triumphant. One of the Spanish officers, named Suasola, cut off the ears of a great number of patriots, and had them stuck in the caps of his soldiers for cockades. Bolivar, who had hitherto conducted the war with great forbearance, was inflamed with indignation at these cruelties; he swore to avenge his countrymen, and declared that every royalist who fell into his hands should be consigned to the vengeance of his soldiery. But this spirit of inexorable justice and retaliation ill accorded with Bolivar’s character, and it was exercised only on one occasion, when eight hundred Spaniards were shot. Afterwards it was formally announced by Bolivar, that ‘no Spaniard shall be put to death except in battle. The war of death shall cease.’

The royalists, who, by the practice of the most bloody and ferocious atrocities, had gained possession of nearly the whole country, now began to give way before the arms of Bolivar. Passing from one victory to another, he drove the enemy from every post, and on the 4th of August, 1814, made his triumphant entry into the renovated city of Caraccas. The enthusiasm and joy of the people exceeded all bounds, and this was certainly the most brilliant day in his whole career. Greeted by the acclamations of thousands of the inhabitants, artillery, bells and music, the Liberator was drawn into the city in a triumphal car by twelve beautiful young ladies, of the first families of the capital, dressed in white, and adorned with the patriot colors, while others crowned him with laurel, and strewed his way with flowers. All the prisons were thrown open, and hundreds who had been suffering for political opinions came forth, pale and emaciated, to thank him for their liberation. The royalists throughout the province capitulated, and the triumph of the patriots was complete.

Bolivar was now constituted dictator, and entrusted with unlimited power. This measure was prompted by the sentiments of enthusiasm and gratitude during the first moments of exultation in the people; but, as is the case in all infant republics, they soon began to give manifestations of a jealousy for that liberty which had cost them such sacrifices. The power of the dictator, who delegated his authority to his inferior officers, by whom it was frequently abused, redoubled their apprehensions. Suspicions arose, that the primary object of Bolivar was his own aggrandisement. In consequence of this, on the 2d of January 1814, he made a formal tender of his resignation. This lulled the suspicions of the people, and the royalists having begun to rally and arm their negro slaves, he was solicited to retain the dictatorship. The war was now renewed, and many battles were fought. On the 14th of June, 1814, Bolivar was defeated at La Puerta, with the loss of fifteen hundred men; and again, on the 17th of August, near his own estate of San Mateo, where the negro leader Boves, with a squadron of cavalry named the ‘infernal division,’ with black crape on their lances, rushing with hideous shouts from an ambush, scattered his remaining forces, and would have made him a prisoner but for the fleetness of his horse. His cousin, Ribas, was taken and shot, and his head set upon the wall of Caraccas. Bolivar’s beautiful family mansion was burned to the ground, and he was compelled, in September, to leave the royalists again in complete possession of all Venezuela, while thousands of the patriot army deserted to their ranks.

In spite of these reverses, we find him, in December of the same year, at the head of two thousand men, marching upon the city of Bogota, which he stormed and captured. But other circumstances having caused him to despair of any permanent success against the Spaniards at that time, he left the country in May 1815, and retired to Jamaica. The war in Europe being brought to a close, the Spanish government were enabled to send an army of twelve thousand men, under General Morillo, to Venezuela and New Granada. This commander overran both provinces, and executed two thousand of the inhabitants. While Bolivar resided at Kingston, in Jamaica, he employed himself in writing a defense of his conduct in the civil war of New Granada, and issued several spirited exhortations to the patriots, for which his assassination was attempted by the royalist party. A Spaniard, stimulated by a bribe of fifty thousand dollars and a promise of perfect absolution by the church, ventured upon this undertaking. He obtained admission into Bolivar’s apartment, and stabbed to the heart his secretary, who, by chance, was lying in the general’s hammock.

From Jamaica, Bolivar proceeded to Hayti, where he raised a force of blacks and patriot emigrants, with which he landed in Cumana, in July, 1816. But, at Ocumare, he was surrounded by the royalists, defeated with great slaughter, and again expelled from the country. A few months afterwards, he landed once more upon the continent, and, after a battle of three days, completely routed the army of Morillo. This success reinstated him in the office of captain-general, and supreme head, and he followed up this advantage by other victories over the royalists. On the 15th of February, 1819, the congress of the Venezuelan republic was installed at Angostura, when Bolivar submitted the plan of a republican constitution, and formally laid down his authority. A strong representation of the exigencies of the times was again pressed upon him and became his inducement to resume it. In the following summer he undertook an expedition across the Cordilleras. Fatigue and privations of every kind were endured with exemplary fortitude in the advance of the army through this wild, precipitous and barren region, where they lost their artillery and most of their equipments. On the heights of Tunja, they found a Spanish army of three thousand five hundred men, whom they instantly attacked and defeated. This, and a subsequent victory at Boyaca, compelled the Spanish commander-in-chief, Barreyro, to surrender the remnant of his army. Samano, the Spanish viceroy, fled from Bogota, leaving in the treasury a million of dollars behind him; and the deliverance of New Granada was complete.

The immediate consequence of this success was the union of the two provinces of Venezuela and New Granada, under the title of the Republic of Columbia, and Bolivar was appointed president, in 1819. It would much exceed our limits to relate all the military events which followed till the final expulsion of the Spanish armies from the country. Peru had now revolted, and solicited the aid of the Columbians. Bolivar marched an army into that country in 1822, drove the royalists from Lima, and was appointed dictator by the Peruvian congress. On the 6th of August, 1824, he gained the important victory of Junin, and the Peruvian congress shortly after tendered him a present of a million of dollars, which he refused. The royalists being again defeated at Ayacucho, by General Sucre, on the 9th of December, 1824, the war of Spanish American independence was finally closed, after one hundred thousand lives had been sacrificed. Bolivar resigned the dictatorship of Peru in the following February, and in his tour through the country, witnessed one uninterrupted scene of triumph and extravagant exultation,――of dinners, balls, bull-fights, illuminations, triumphal arches and processions. A sumptuous banquet was given on the summit of the famous mountain of Potosi, and the Liberator, in the enthusiasm excited by the excessive adulation which he received, exclaimed on that occasion, ‘The value of all the riches that are buried in the Andes beneath my feet is nothing compared to the glory of having borne the standard of independence from the sultry banks of the Oronoco, to fix it on the frozen peak of this mountain, whose wealth has excited the envy and astonishment of the world.’

A new republic, formed out of the conquered provinces, was now constituted, and named, from the Liberator, Bolivia. From this republic he received a gift of a million of dollars, on condition that the money should be appropriated to the liberation of negro slaves in that territory. At the request of the congress, he framed a scheme of government, known as the ‘Bolivian code.’ This was adopted both in Bolivia and by the congress of Lima, where Bolivar was made president. On the 22d of June, 1826, a scheme projected by him for a grand congress of the Spanish American republics, was carried into effect, and this meeting, consisting of deputies from Columbia, Mexico, Guatimala, Peru and Bolivia, was convened at Panama. The main object of this congress was to establish an annual convention of state representatives, to discuss diplomatic affairs, decide international disputes, promote liberal principles, and insure a union of strength in repelling any foreign attack. This was a noble idea, but too vast an undertaking for the means of performance which actually existed within the control of the Liberator, and it led to no great practical results.

On the return of Bolivar to Columbia, he found two thirds of the republic in a state of insurrection. Great dissatisfaction existed in Venezuela with the central government, and the inhabitants, headed by Paez, a mulatto general, rose and declared themselves in favor of a federal system. Bolivar, having reached Bogota, the capital, assumed extraordinary powers, being authorized to take that step by the constitution, in its provisions for cases of rebellion. He then proceeded to Venezuela; but, instead of punishing the insurgents, he announced a general amnesty, and confirmed Paez in the general command which he had assumed. This led to strong suspicions that the insurrection had been instigated by Bolivar, in order to afford a pretext for assuming the dictatorship, and that he and Paez had acted with a collusive understanding. The truth, on this subject, has never yet been clearly revealed. The presence of Bolivar quieted the commotion, as, in spite of the suspicions which rested upon him, his popularity was still very great. He addressed a letter to the senate of Columbia, disclaiming all ambitious designs, and offering his resignation. This proposal caused violent debates in the congress, and many members voted to accept it; but a majority were in favor of continuing him in office.

At a congress held at Ocana, in March, 1828, Bolivar assumed more of an anti-republican tone, and recommended strengthening the executive power. Many of his adherents, in which the soldiery were included, seconded his views, and declared that the people were not prepared to appreciate the excellence of institutions purely republican; a fact of which there can be little doubt. They carried this doctrine, however, to an unwarrantable extreme, by insisting that the president should be intrusted with absolute discretionary power. This proposition was indignantly rejected by a majority of the congress, and the partisans of Bolivar vacated their seats; in consequence of which, that body was left without a quorum, and dissolved. The city of Bogota then took the matter into its own hands, and conferred upon Bolivar the title of Supreme Chief of Columbia, with absolute power to regulate all the affairs of government. His immediate concurrence in this illegal and revolutionary measure has been deemed a sufficient proof that it was brought about by his instigation. On the 20th of June, 1829, he entered that city in magnificent state, and assumed his authority. These proceedings could not but lead to violent measures. An attempt was soon made to assassinate the dictator. Several persons broke into his chamber at midnight, and shot two officers of the staff, who were with him; Bolivar himself only escaped by leaping out of the window and lying concealed under a bridge. Santander, the vice-president, and several officers of the army, were tried and convicted of being implicated in this conspiracy. The former was sentenced to death, but Bolivar was satisfied with banishing him from Columbia.

The whole country became rent with factions, commotions and rebellion. The popularity of the Liberator was gone, and his authority was disclaimed in almost every quarter. The events which ensued do not require to be specified here, as they are nothing more than a repetition of what had been acted over many times before. At length, Bolivar, finding his influence at an end, and his health and spirits broken, determined to withdraw from public life, take leave of the country, and retire to Europe. At a general convention at Bogota, in January, 1830, he resigned his authority for the last time, and rejected many entreaties to resume it. He withdrew to the neighborhood of Carthagena, where he spent nearly two years in retirement, when, finding his end approaching, he issued his farewell address to the people of Columbia, in the following words:――

‘Columbians,――I have unceasingly and disinterestedly exerted my energies for your welfare. I have abandoned my fortune and my personal tranquillity in your cause. I am the victim of my persecutors, who have now conducted me to my grave: but I pardon them. Columbians, I leave you. My last prayers are offered up for the tranquillity of my country; and if my death will contribute to this desirable end, by extinguishing your factions, I shall descend with feelings of contentment into the tomb that is soon to receive me.’ A week afterwards, he breathed his last, at San Pedro, near Carthagena, on the 17th of December, 1831, at the age of forty-eight.

His death appears to have afflicted his countrymen with the deepest sorrow and remorse. In an instant they forgot the jealousies and suspicions which had filled their breasts, with regard to their great chief, and, by a sudden revulsion of feeling, they indulged in the most bitter self-reproach at the reflection, that the man who had devoted his fortune and his life to the liberation and welfare of his country, had sunk under their ungenerous reproaches, and died of a broken heart, the victim of national ingratitude. Almost every town in Columbia paid honors to his memory by orations, funeral processions, and other demonstrations of grief and respect.

The fortunes of this eminent man were most singular. During one period his was regarded as one of the greatest characters of modern times. At the present moment he is almost forgotten; and another generation may witness the revival of his fame. In the early part of his career he was believed to be a disinterested patriot; at the close he had totally lost the confidence of his countrymen, and he died tainted with the suspicion of intriguing with the French government to subjugate the country by European arms and establish a monarchy. There are some acts of his life which have an equivocal character; but, judging of his whole conduct from such evidence as is within our reach, we are compelled to pronounce his acquittal of the charge of entertaining designs hostile to the liberties of his country. Bolivar is not to be judged by the standard which we apply to the character and merits of Washington. The cool-tempered, orderly, intelligent, and well educated North Americans, who achieved their independence with a moderation, sobriety and self-restraint, which drew forth the applause and admiration of the world, were a very different race from the heterogeneous population of Columbia, ignorant, insubordinate, superstitious, fanatical, ferocious, little advanced in civilization, and subject to all the sudden impulses of a rash and fiery southern temper. It was impossible to govern such men, amid the turbulence of jealous factions, by the weak instrument of a written constitution.

The proofs of Bolivar’s disinterestedness are very strong. He sacrificed a large fortune in the cause of his country; and had many opportunities of acquiring enormous wealth, all of which he neglected. As a military commander, he is entitled to high praise. Though often defeated, his perseverance and fortitude, in rising superior to every obstacle, are everywhere conspicuous. The difficulties of marshalling, disciplining, and leading an army to battle during the revolution of Columbia, are hardly to be conceived. Bolivar’s troops often consisted chiefly of desperate adventurers, eager only for pay and plunder; ragged Creoles, Indians, naked negroes, and cavalry of half-savage Llaneros mounted on wild horses. Whole regiments often deserted from one side to the other, and back again, according to the chance of success.

The fatigues, cares and anxieties to which he was constantly exposed during a most eventful career of nearly twenty years, were strongly marked in his countenance, and at forty-five he had the appearance of a man of sixty. He was capable of enduring the most severe labor; was a remarkably bold horseman, and was fond of dancing in his spurs. He was abstemious in personal matters, but hospitable and highly munificent in giving entertainments. His manners were easy and dignified, and he was gifted with an extraordinary faculty of prompt repartee in conversation. In one instance, he was known to give seventeen unpremeditated answers in succession, each of which, if prepared by deliberate study, would have been admired for its happy adaptation to the subject and the occasion. In proposing a toast, in returning thanks, or in speaking impromptu on any casual subject, he never was surpassed.

FRANCIA, THE DICTATOR.

This singular individual, named José Gaspar Rodriguez Francia, was born near Assumpcion, in Paraguay, in the year 1757. His father was either a Frenchman or a Portuguese, and his mother a Paraguay Creole.

He was one of several children. At the university of Cordova, in Tucuman, he received such an education as a classical seminary in the interior of South America could furnish. Being a person of a shrewd, saturnine disposition, and retired, studious habits, he contrived, by close application, to acquire a degree of knowledge seldom placed within the reach of a student whose pursuits were watched by the jealous ecclesiastics of that region. In addition to the branches of education common in the university, he contrived to acquire some knowledge of algebra, geometry and Greek. Having prosecuted his studies through the ordinary term, he returned to Paraguay, and entered into practice as a lawyer. His professional reputation, in that country where justice was regularly bought and sold, was not only unsullied by venality, but conspicuous for rectitude. The following anecdote of his uprightness has been related by a writer no way disposed to be unduly partial to the subject of it.

Francia had an acquaintance in Assumpcion, of the name of Domingo Rodriguez. This man had cast a longing eye upon a certain Naboth’s vineyard; and this Naboth, named Estanislao Machain, was Francia’s open enemy. Rodriguez, never doubting that the young advocate, like other lawyers, would undertake an unrighteous cause for a suitable reward, went to him, offered a liberal retaining fee, and directed him to institute a suit in law, for the recovery of the estate in question. Francia saw at once that the pretensions were founded in injustice and fraud; and he not only refused to act as his counsel, but plainly told Rodriguez, that, much as he disliked his antagonist, Machain, yet if he persisted in his iniquitous suit, he would himself undertake the cause of the injured party. Covetousness, however, is not so easily driven from its purpose. Rodriguez persisted, and, as he was a man of great fortune, the suit appeared to be going against Machain and his estate. At this critical stage of the affair, the slave who attended the door of the luckless Machain, was astonished, one evening, to see Francia present himself before it, wrapped up in his cloak. Knowing that the doctor and his master, like Montague and Capulet, were ‘smoke in each other’s eyes,’ he refused him admittance, and ran to inform his master, of this strange and unexpected visit. Machain, no less struck by the circumstance than his slave, for some time hesitated, but at length determined to admit his old enemy. In walked the silent visitor to Machain’s chamber, and spread the papers connected with the law-case upon the table.

‘Machain,’ said Francia, ‘you know I am your enemy. But I know that my friend Rodriguez meditates, and will certainly, unless I interfere, carry on against you an act of gross and lawless aggression. I have come to offer my service in your defense.’ The astonished man could scarcely credit his senses; but he poured forth his expressions of gratitude in terms of thankful acquiescence.

Pleas, it would appear, are made in that country by writing. The first paper sent into court confounded the adverse counsel, and staggered the judge, who was in their interest. ‘My friend,’ said that functionary to the leading advocate for the plaintiff, ‘I cannot proceed in this matter, unless you bribe Dr. Francia to be silent.’ ‘I will try,’ was the answer; and the advocate went to him with a hundred doubloons. He offered them as a bribe to Francia, to let the matter slip; and more surely to gain his consent, he advised him that this was done at the suggestion of the judge himself.

‘Leave my house, with your vile proposals and contemptible gold!’ was the indignant answer; amd the menial tool of the unjust judge waited for no further dismissal. Francia, putting on his capote, hurried at once to the residence of that magistrate. ‘Sir,’ said he, after mentioning the attempt to bribe him, ‘you are a disgrace to law, and a blot upon justice. You are, moreover, completely in my power; and unless tomorrow you pronounce a decision in favor of my client, I will make your seat upon the bench too hot for you; and the insignia of your judicial office shall become the emblems of your shame.’ The morrow did not fail to bring a decision in favor of Francia’s client. The Judge lost his character, and the young doctor’s fame resounded far and wide.

His uncommon reputation for integrity, a more than common acuteness and learning in his profession, profound knowledge of the foibles and peculiarities of his countrymen, together with his fame for a mysterious familiarity with the occult sciences, soon caused Dr. Francia to be regarded as a most remarkable personage. In the deplorable state of ignorance then existing in South America, it was a wonderful faculty that enabled a man to multiply and substract the letters of the alphabet; to read a language written in strange characters; to measure an angle, and ascertain the height of a mountain with a theodolite. Francia, celebrated for universal knowledge, stood upon high vantage-ground, and in a great public exigence could not fail to be looked upon as one of the individuals destined to take the lead in public affairs.

When the province of La Plata revolted from Spain, the people of Paraguay refused to acknowledge the authority of the former government; in consequence of which an army was sent from Buenos Ayres, in 1810, under Gen. Belgrano, to reduce Paraguay. He was defeated and driven back. The next year a revolutionary government was established, and Francia, who had previously been in public office as a member of the municipal council and mayor of the capital, Assumpcion, was appointed secretary of the congress. Everything was in confusion; the army, as is usual on such occasions, seemed inclined to take the lead, and for some time, faction and terror alone prevailed; but Francia, at this critical moment, obtained an ascendancy which he never afterwards lost. His superior talents, address and information were continually in requisition and made him indispensable on all occasions. Nothing of any importance could be transacted without him. The members of the congress were entirely inexperienced in political matters, and grossly illiterate. Such a body attempted to found a republic, and we are told that their constitution was compiled from passages in Rollin’s Ancient History!

The business proceeded with small success under such auspices. Intrigues, cabals and factions disgusted Francia to such a degree that he resigned his office, and retired to his country seat. The reader may wish for a picture of so remarkable a man as this Dionysius, of the western world, and we will copy the following description of him at the period of his retirement. It is drawn by an English merchant, who resided in Paraguay at that time:

‘On one of those lovely evenings in Paraguay, after the south-west wind had both cleared and cooled the air, I was drawn, in my pursuit of game, into a peaceful valley, remarkable for its combination of all the striking features of the scenery of the country. Suddenly I came upon a neat and unpretending cottage. Up rose a partridge; I fired, and the bird came to the ground. A voice from behind called out, ‘Buen tiro.’――‘a good shot.’ I turned round, and beheld a gentleman of about fifty years of age, dressed in a suit of black, with a large scarlet capote, or cloak, thrown over his shoulders. He had a mate-cup in one hand, a cigar in the other; and a little urchin of a negro, with his arms crossed, was in attendance by the gentleman’s side. The stranger’s countenance was dark, and his black eyes were very penetrating; while his jet hair, combed back from a bold forehead, and hanging in natural ringlets over his shoulders, gave him a dignified and striking air. He wore on his shoes large golden buckles, and at the knees of his breeches the same.

‘In exercise of the primitive and simple hospitality common in the country, I was invited to sit down under the corridor, and to take a cigar and mate, or cup of Paraguay tea. A celestial globe, a large telescope, and a theodolite, were under the little portico; and I immediately inferred that the personage before me was no other than Doctor Francia. He introduced me to his library, in a confined room, with a very small window, and that so shaded by the roof of the corridor, as to admit the least portion of light necessary for study. The library was arranged on three rows of shelves, extending across the room, and might have consisted of three hundred volumes. There were many ponderous books on law; a few on the inductive sciences; some in French, and some in Latin, upon subjects of general literature, with Euclid’s Elements, and some schoolboy treatises on algebra. On a large table were several heaps of law papers and processes. Several folios, bound in vellum, were outspread upon it. A lighted candle, though placed there solely to light cigars, lent its feeble aid to illumine the room; while a mate-cup and inkstand, both of silver, stood on another part of the table. There was neither carpet nor mat on the brick floor; and the chairs were of such ancient fashion, size, and weight, that it required a considerable effort to move them from one spot to another.’

Francia’s withdrawal left the government without an efficient adviser. Embarrassments multiplied, and a second congress was convened; ‘such a congress,’ we are told, ‘as never met before in the world; a congress which knew not its right hand from its left; which drank infinite rum in the taverns, and had one wish,――that of getting on horseback home to its field-husbandry and partridge-shooting!’ Such men, and we need not wonder, could not govern Paraguay. Francia was called from his retirement, and a new constitution was formed, with two chief magistrates, called consuls. Francia and a colleague were appointed to these offices for one year; each in supreme command for four months at a time; but as the former took the precedence, he had two thirds of the year for his own term of authority. Two carved chairs were prepared for the use of the consuls, one inscribed with the name of Cæsar, and the other with that of Pompey. It is needless to say which of the consuls took possession of the former. By consummate address and management, and by the influence which he had obtained over the troops, Francia got rid of his colleague at the close of the year, in 1814, and was proclaimed dictator for three years. At the end of that time, he found no difficulty in assuming the dictatorship for life. From the moment that he felt his footing firm, and his authority quietly submitted to, his whole character seemed to undergo a remarkable change. Without faltering or hesitation, without a pause of human weakness, he proceeded to frame the boldest and most extraordinary system of despotism that was ever the work of a single individual. He assumed the whole power, legislative and executive; the people had but one privilege and one duty,――that of obedience. All was done rapidly, boldly, unreservedly, and powerfully; he well knew the character of the people at whose head he had placed himself, and who, strange to say, once thought themselves possessed of energy and virtue enough for a republic.

The army, of course, was his chief instrument of power. It consisted of five thousand regular troops, and twenty thousand militia. He took care to secure their most devoted attachment, and it does not appear that during his whole career of despotism the smallest symptom of disaffection was ever manifested in their ranks. Francia, at the time of his accession to the supreme authority, was past the age when any dormant vice, save that of avarice, is likely to spring up in the character. He was not dazzled with the pomp and circumstance of exalted rank, nor even by that nobler weakness, the desire of fame; for he took no pains to make an ostentatious display of his power, or spread his reputation among foreign nations, or hand his name down to posterity. On the contrary, he carefully shrouded himself, and, as far as possible, his dominions, in haughty seclusion. His ruling, or rather his absorbing passion, was a love of power, and of power for itself alone. It was with him a pure, abstracted principle, free from desire of the splendor which usually surrounds it, of the wealth which usually supports it, and of the fame which usually succeeds it.

The most remarkable feature in his administration was the perfect isolation in which he placed the country. Intercourse with foreign nations was absolutely interdicted. Commerce was at an end. The ships lay high and dry, their pitchless seams yawning, on the banks of the rivers, and no man could trade but by the Dictator’s license. No man could leave Paraguay on any pretext whatever, and it became as hermetically sealed against the escape of its inhabitants as the ‘Happy Valley’ of Abyssinia. In this restrictive policy he was assisted by the peculiar geographical features of the country. Paraguay, in the midst of an immense and thinly-peopled continent, stood alone and impenetrable; its large rivers, wide forests and morasses, render traveling difficult and hazardous. Any one attempting to cross the frontiers must encounter the danger of losing himself in the wilderness, of being destroyed by those immense and terrible conflagrations to which the thick woods are subject, of excessive fatigue and exposure, of starvation, and attacks from venomous reptiles, wild beasts and savages. The only possibility of escape is during the time that the river Paraguay overflows the surrounding plains; it is then barely practicable. A Frenchman, with five negroes, made the attempt in 1823. One of them died of fatigue, another by the bite of a snake. At one time they were surrounded by the burning woods; and at another were involved in an immense glade in the midst of a forest, where they wandered about for fifteen days in search of an outlet, and were finally obliged to return by the opening through which they escaped. Being at last so reduced by fatigue and famine that they were unable to resist a single man, they were recaptured by a sergeant of militia.

But Francia’s tyranny was not without signal benefits to the country. The land had peace, while all the rest of Spanish America was plunged into frightful anarchy, raging and ravening like a huge dog-kennel gone mad. Paraguay was domineered over by a tyrant, but Peru and Mexico, Chili and Guatimala, suffered the oppression of forty tyrants. Francia’s soldiers were kept well drilled and in strict subordination, always ready to march where the wild Indians or other enemies made their appearance. Guard-houses were established at short distances along the rivers, and around the dangerous frontiers; and wherever an Indian cavalry horde showed itself, an alarm-cannon announced the danger; the military hastened to the spot, and the savage marauders vanished into the heart of the deserts. A great improvement, too, was visible in other quarters. The finances were accurately and frugally administered. There were no sinecures in the government; every official person was compelled to do his work. Strict justice between man and man was enforced in the courts of law. The affair of Naboth’s vineyard could not have occurred under the Dictator’s rule. He himself would accept no gift, not even the smallest trifle. He introduced schools of various sorts, promoted education by all the means in his power, and repressed superstition as far as it could be done among such a people. He promoted agriculture in a singular manner, not merely making two blades of grass grow where one grew before, but two crops of corn in a season. In the year 1820, a cloud of locusts devastated the whole country, and the prospect of universal famine threatened the land. The summer was at an end, and there was no foreign commerce by which supplies might be obtained from abroad. Francia hit upon an expedient, such as had never entered into the contemplation of any man in Paraguay before. He issued a peremptory command, ordering, under a severe penalty, that the farmers throughout the country should sow their lands anew. The result was, that a second crop was produced, and the people amazed with the important discovery that two harvests were, every year, possible in Paraguay. Agriculture made immense progress; the cultivation of many articles, before unknown in the country, was now successfully introduced, and, among others, rice and cotton. Manufactures kept pace with agriculture, and the clothing of the people, which had previously, for the most part, been imported ready made, at a great expense, was now entirely produced at home.

The city of Assumpcion was an assemblage of narrow, crooked, irregular streets, interspersed with trees, gardens, and clumps of tropical vegetation. It had no pavements, and, standing on a slope of ground, the sandy thoroughfare was torn by the rain into gullies, impassable, except by taking long leaps. Numerous springs issued from the soil in every part of the city, and formed streams, or stagnated into pools, where every species of filth became deposited. Francia determined on having it remodeled, paved, and straightened. The inhabitants were ordered to pull down their houses, and build them anew. The cost to private purses was great, and caused infinite grumbling; but Assumpcion is now an improved, paved city, and possesses convenient thoroughfares.

The stern temper and arbitrary political system of Francia led him to acts which could not fail of being denounced as the wanton excesses of a sanguinary disposition. He put to death upwards of forty persons, as we are assured by a traveler, who utters the bitterest denunciations against him. He had frightful prisons, and banished disorderly persons to a desolate spot in the wilderness. How far his executions were wanton and unjustifiable, we have not sufficient means of judging. In the early part of his career, a plot was formed for the purpose of taking his life; it was discovered, and executions followed; after which we hear nothing more of these sanguinary deeds. His enemy, the bandit chieftain Artigas, had done a great deal of injury to Paraguay, and had incensed him further by fomenting revolts among his Indians. Yet, when one of this chieftain’s lieutenants rebelled against him, and forced him to retreat with the wreck of his army, Artigas threw himself on the mercy of the Dictator, and was treated with clemency. He suffered him to reside in Paraguay, assigned him a house and lands, with a pension, and ordered the governor of the district to furnish him besides with whatever accomodations he desired, and to treat him with respect.

The Dictator’s treatment of foreigners who found their way into his dominions, was most rigorous and unjust, and has contributed more than any other cause to blacken his character among strangers. Paraguay was a sort of mouse-trap, easy enough to get into, but very difficult to get out of. M. Bonpland, the fellow-traveler of Humboldt, and two Swiss naturalists, wandering into Francia’s domains, were detained there many years. Sometimes, by special permission, an individual was allowed to leave the country, but these instances were rare. The foreigners detained were informed that they might pursue what avocations they pleased, provided they did not interfere with the government.

The father of Francia was a man of very eccentric habits; his brothers and one of his sisters were lunatics, and the Dictator himself was subject to fits of hypochondria, which seem occasionally to have affected his intellect. When under such influences, he would shut himself up for several days. On one of these occasions, being offended at the idle crowds gazing about the government-house, he gave the following order to a sentinel:――‘If any person presumes to stop and stare at my house, fire at him; if you miss him, this is for a second shot, (handing him another musket loaded with ball;) if you miss again, I shall take care not to miss you!’ This order being quickly made known throughout the city, the inhabitants carefully avoided passing near the house, or, if their business led them that way, they hurried on with their eyes fixed on the ground. After some weeks, an Indian, who knew nothing of the Spanish language, stopped to gaze at the house, and was ordered to move on, but continued to loiter. The sentinel fired, and missed him. Francia, hearing the report, was alarmed, and summoned the sentinel. ‘What news, friend?’ On being told the cause, he declared that he did not recollect having given such an order, and immediately revoked it.

The domestic establishment of the Dictator of Paraguay consisted of four slaves, three of them mulattoes, and the fourth a negro, whom he treated with great mildness. He led a very regular life, and commonly rose with the sun. As soon as he was dressed, the negro brought him a chafing-dish, a kettle, and a pitcher of water. The Dictator made his own tea; and after drinking it, he took a walk under the colonnade fronting upon the court, smoking a cigar, which he always took care previously to unroll, in order to ascertain that it contained no poison; although his cigars were always made by his sister. At six o’clock came the barber, an unwashed and ragged mulatto, given to drink, but the Dictator’s only confidential menial. If his excellency happened to be in good humor, he chatted over the soap-dish, and the shaver was often intrusted with important commissions in preparing the public for the Dictator’s projects; so that he might be said to be the official gazette of Paraguay. He then stepped out, in his dressing-gown of printed calico, to the outer colonnade, an open space which ranged all around the building; here he walked about, receiving at the same time such persons as he admitted to an audience. About seven, he withdrew to his room, where he remained till nine. The officers then came to make their reports, and received orders. At eleven, his chief secretary brought the papers which required inspection by him, and wrote from his dictation till noon. He then sat down to a table, and ate a frugal dinner. After this, he took a siesta, drank a cup of mate, and smoked a cigar. Till four or five in the afternoon, he again attended to business; the escort then arrived to attend him, and he rode out to inspect the public works. While on this duty, he was armed with a sabre and a pair of double-barreled pocket-pistols. He returned home about nightfall, and sat down to study till nine, when he took his supper, consisting of a roast pigeon and a glass of wine. In fine weather, he took an evening walk in the outer colonnade. At ten, he gave the watchword, and, returning into the house, he fastened all the doors with his own hands.

Though possessing unlimited sway over the finances of the state, he made no attempt to enrich himself, and his small salary was always in arrears to him. His two nephews, who were officers in the army, were dismissed, lest they should presume upon their relationship. He banished his sister from his house, because she had employed a grenadier, one of the soldiers of the state, on some errand of her own. He was a devoted admirer of Napoleon, whose downfall he always deplored. The Swiss traveler, Rengger, who, after a long detention, was permitted to depart, left behind him a print of the French emperor. Francia sent an express after him, inquiring the price of it. Rengger sent him for answer, that the print was at his excellency’s service,――he did not sell such trifles. The Dictator immediately despatched the print after him;――he would receive no gifts. There seems to have originally existed in him somewhat of the simple and severe virtue, which is more characteristic of a stern republican than of a sanguinary tyrant. He has left one witticism upon record, which we will subjoin, as it is much in character. Rengger, who was a surgeon, was about to dissect a body. ‘Doctor,’ said the Dictator, ‘examine the neck, and see whether the Paraguayans have not an extra bone there, which hinders them from holding up their heads, and speaking out.’

In the accounts which were written of this extraordinary man during his lifetime, he has been represented as an arbitrary and cruel oppressor, universally detested, and whose death, inasmuch as he had made no provision for the continuance of the government, would plunge the state into anarchy and ruin. Both these representations have been completely falsified by the event. Francia died peaceably, on the twentieth day of September, 1840, aged eighty-three; the people crowding round his house with much emotion, and even, as we are assured, with tears of anxiety and sympathy. The funeral discourse pronounced on the occasion surprised the world; it was filled with praises of the deceased Dictator, whom it represented as the real father of his country.

Enough is known of Dr. Francia to assure us that he was a most remarkable individual; but it would be both difficult and unsafe to draw his character with confidence and minuteness, from the meagre and questionable materials which we possess respecting him. That he was a man of iron integrity in a country where corruption and venality were almost matters of course with public men; that he spent thirty years of his life in toilsome devotion to his country; that he was above the vulgar love of money, and disdained to take advantage of his unlimited power for enriching himself,――are all incontrovertible facts; that his government was also, on the whole, advantageous to his country, is not to be denied. But what were the motives which guided his conduct? Was it patriotism, or a simple love of power? Why adopt so strange a system of policy――that of interdicting all intercourse with other nations? Was it from a conviction that this was best adapted to the condition of the people, or that it was indispensable to the preservation of his despotic sway? Why enshroud himself in such mysterious isolation, holding as little commerce of affection and sympathy with his fellow-men us of trade with foreign nations? These are questions which we cannot easily answer. If we may rely upon the scattered glimpses of his career that have been presented to us, we should venture to decide that the main elements of his character consisted of stern integrity and devoted patriotism; blended, however, with natural sternness of temper, a love of power, and a conviction that a despotic government was best suited to the condition of the people. His singular habits were, probably, the result of native eccentricity; his exclusive policy was doubtless adopted with the double motive of perpetuating his authority, and insuring tranquillity to the country. Of the vigor of his mind and energy of his character, there can be no doubt. That he should have created and sustained, for thirty years, the sternest despotism that the world ever witnessed, in the heart of a continent where everything besides was tending to the dissolution of tyrannical power and the establishment of popular institutions, is a phenomenon that may well excite the curiosity and astonishment of the world. We may, indeed, suppose that his government was modeled after that of the Jesuits, the effects of which were still visible in his time; but that he should have been able to assume to himself, and exercise for so long a period, the unlimited power wielded by these sagacious priests, must still excite our surprise.

ALEXANDER WILSON.

This extraordinary man, who, from being originally an operative weaver, became by his own unaided exertions one of the most celebrated ornithologists of his day, was born in Paisley on the 6th of July 1766. His father was a distiller, poor in fortune, though said to have been endowed with an active and sagacious mind. He was so unfortunate as to lose his mother at the early age of ten, and was left without the tender and judicious care which a mother alone can give. On attaining his thirteenth year, he was bound apprentice for three years to his brother-in-law, to learn the business of a weaver, and on the expiry of this term, continued to work as a journeyman for four years more.

The employment of a weaver was by no means congenial to the disposition and propensities of the future ornithologist; but as his father, though a highly respectable man in character, was in very indifferent circumstances, young Wilson had no choice left, but was compelled to adopt that which was readiest and most easily attained. It is much to his credit, however, that though he must have felt――indeed it is certain that he did feel, and that at a very early age――that he was fitted for higher things, he yet diligently labored at the humble but honorable calling to which destiny had appointed him, and never allowed such feelings to interrupt his industry. At this period of his life he indulged in a predilection for poetical composition, and wrote several pieces which appeared in the ‘Glasgow Advertiser;’ but in these juvenile attempts he was not very successful, nor was he ever, at any after period, fortunate in this department of literature, though his poetical productions are certainly not without very considerable merit.

Having continued at the loom, as already said, for four years as a journeyman weaver, at the end of this period he abandoned the business, to accompany his brother-in-law, who had commenced traveling merchant or pedlar, in a tour through the eastern districts of Scotland――an employment which, though it could scarcely claim any sort of precedence in point of rank over that which he had left, he yet gladly embraced, as it at once released him from the confinement and dull monotony of his former occupation, and permitted him to indulge in one of his strongest propensities, which was to ramble over hill and dale, and to enjoy unfettered and unrestrained, the beauties of his native land. With such a disposition, it is not to be wondered at that, as a pedlar, he made much greater progress in the study of nature, and perhaps of man, and in the extending of his ideas, than in the improvement of his fortunes. The acquisition of money was no object with him, and of course, as it was not sought, it was not found.

At this time Burns was in the zenith of his fame, and Wilson, tempted by his success, resolved to publish his poems――the accumulated pieces of preceding years――and in 1789, contracted with a printer in Paisley for this purpose, but was obliged to abandon the idea for the time, for want of means to carry it into effect. He, however, published them some time afterwards, with the title of ‘Poems, Humorous, Satirical, and Serious,’ at his own risk, after having in vain endeavored to procure subscribers, and carried them about with him in his hawking expeditions, but met with little or no success in the sale of them. Finding that he could make nothing of either poetry or traffic, he returned once more to his loom, at which he was again quietly seated, when he learned that a debating society in Edinburg had proposed for discussion the question, whether Ferguson or Allan Ramsay had done most honor to Scottish poetry. Seized with an ambition to distinguish himself on this occasion, he borrowed from a friend the poems of Ferguson, which he had never read before, and in a few days produced a poem, which he entitled the ‘Laurel Disputed,’ and in which he awarded the palm to Ferguson. With this poem in his pocket, he proceeded to Edinburg, and recited it before the audience assembled to hear the discussion. Before he left Edinburg, he also recited in public two other poems, and acquired by all a considerable degree of respect and favor. He likewise contributed occasionally, about this time (1791), to a periodical work called ‘The Bee.’ But though Wilson’s poetical efforts procured him some reputation, they did nothing for him in the way of advancing his worldly interests. The volume of poems which he published in 1789, at which period he was only twenty-two years of age, went through two small editions in octavo, but without yielding the author any pecuniary advantage. His literary reputation was, nevertheless, considerably increased by the publication of his ‘Watty and Meg,’ a poem in the Scottish dialect, and of such decided merit, that it was universally ascribed to Burns on its first appearance, which was in 1791. It is a droll and satirical description of a drunken husband and scolding wife, and shows that the author possessed a fund of broad humor.

Having soon after this embroiled himself in some serious disputes which took place in his native town between the operative weavers and their employers, by writing some severe personal satires on certain individuals of the latter class, he found his residence in Paisley no longer compatible with his comfort or happiness, and therefore determined on proceeding to America. But before taking his departure, he called on those persons whom he had satirised, expressed his sorrow for what he had done, and solicited their forgiveness. This circumstance is a pleasing proof of the generosity of his nature――that which follows a very striking one of the determination of his character. Although he had resolved on going to America, he did not possess a single shilling wherewith to pay his passage. To supply this desideratum, he instantly abandoned every other pursuit, and for four months labored with incessant industry at his loom, confining the expense of his living during this time to one shilling in the week. The result of this perseverance and rigid economy was, that at the end of the period named, he found himself in possession of the requisite sum, but nothing more. With this he set out for Portpatrick on foot, crossed to Belfast, and there engaged a passage to America; and he arrived at New York on the 14th of July 1794, with only a few shillings in his pocket, and even these were borrowed from a fellow-passenger.

Up till this period, and indeed for several years after, Wilson exhibited no indications of a genius or even predilection for that particular department of natural history in which he afterwards acquired so brilliant a name; but it is said that, immediately after landing in America, and while proceeding from the place of his disembarkation to Newcastle, his attention was strongly excited by the specimens of the feathered inhabitants of the New World which he met with, and that he was particularly delighted with the splendor of the plumage of a red-headed woodpecker, which he shot by the way. Whether or not his genius received on this occasion that bent which afterwards led to such splendid results, it is certain that he always retained a lively recollection of the feelings of surprise and delight with which he for the first time contemplated the beauties of the American woodpecker.

For many years after his arrival in America, Wilson’s condition underwent but little improvement. He found there nearly the same difficulties to contend with, and prospects nearly equally cheerless, with those he had left behind him in his native land. The first employment he obtained was with a copperplate printer in Philadelphia; but this he soon relinquished, and betook him to his original trade, weaving. This he again resigned for the pack; but his success as a pedler was not sufficient to induce him to continue by it, and he abandoned it also, and commenced teacher; making his first experiment in this laborious and somewhat precarious profession near the town of Frankford in Pennsylvania. While in this situation, he in a great measure repaired the defects of his early education, by close and unremitting study in various departments of science and knowledge; and, as has often been the case, by instructing others, he taught himself. He afterwards removed to Milestown, where he remained for several years, adding a little to the limited income arising from his school, by surveying land for farmers.

At the end of this period he applied for and obtained the appointment of schoolmaster of the Union School in the township of Kingsessing, within a few miles of Philadelphia; and it is from this period that his history in the pursuit of the bird creation commences, although he yet entertained that branch of natural history only in common with others, and by no means confined his studies to the feathered tribes. His attention was equally engrossed by a host of other animals; and his apartment, as described by himself, had the appearance of Noah’s ark, being crowded with opossums, squirrels, snakes, lizards, and other animals. Finding his ignorance of drawing a serious drawback in his new pursuit, he applied to the acquisition of this art with such diligence and determination of purpose, that he in a very short time succeeded in obtaining a command of the pencil, that enabled him to sketch from nature with great fidelity and spirit. It was not, however, till the year 1803 that Wilson conceived the magnificent design of his American Ornithology, and even then his ideas on the subject fell very far short of the great work he afterwards achieved. At this period he contemplated little more than ‘making a collection of the finest American birds,’ as he himself writes to a friend in Paisley. Having mentioned his intention to some of his American friends, they endeavored to dissuade him from prosecuting it, and, with a sincere regard for his interest, pointed out to him the formidable difficulties which he would have to encounter, and which appeared to them insurmountable. But they spoke in vain. Wilson’s ardor and enthusiasm was more than a match for their prudence; and trusting to his own resources, he quietly but resolutely proceeded with his design; although――and it is a curious fact――when he began his stupendous work on American Ornithology, he did not know even the names of more than three or four of the American birds. But from this moment he devoted himself with a zeal and energy to the accomplishment of his enterprise, which removed all obstacles as fast as they presented themselves, and swept away all difficulties, as straws are swept away by the stream.

In October 1804, with his gun on his shoulder he made the first of that series of perilous journeys through the wilds of America, which he found it necessary to perform to obtain an accurate and intimate knowledge of the birds of the forest; and amidst privations and hardships which few men but himself would have voluntarily encountered, he completed a journey of twelve hundred miles on foot, through deep snows, boundless forests, deep and dangerous rivers, and over wild and desolate mountains. But the experience of this perilous and painful excursion, instead of damping his ardor, had the effect only of increasing it. In the spring of the following year, he had completed drawings of twenty-eight rare birds, and about this time also made an attempt to acquire the art of engraving on copper, thinking, in the devotedness of his enthusiasm, that he might, by diligence and perseverance, soon attain such a proficiency in this art as would enable him to execute the plates for his contemplated work; and he actually completed two: but when he had got this length, he became dissatisfied with the result of his labors, and abandoned the pursuit. At this period the general aspect of his affairs, and those, in particular, which related to his undertaking, were exceedingly gloomy. He was without means and without money, and was persevering in a course which his friends thought an imprudent one, and was therefore without even words of encouragement to cheer him on his way. But neither these disheartening considerations, nor any other, could deter him from prosecuting his great design. So far from being discouraged by the difficulties which surrounded him, he declared that he would proceed with his plan even if it should cost him his life; and, in that noble spirit which belongs to true genius alone, exclaimed, ‘I shall at least leave a small beacon to point out where I perished.’

At the close of the year 1805, he made an unsuccessful attempt to be appointed to take part in an exploratory expedition which the American government was then about to send to the valley of the Mississippi. He addressed his application on this occasion to President Jefferson, stating to that functionary what he had done in the prosecution of his intended work on American ornithology, and representing the advantages which the being permitted to accompany the party would afford him in furthering his views. To this communication――from what cause is now unknown――he obtained no reply, and of course did not join the expedition. Soon after this, more cheering prospects presented themselves to the enterprising ornithologist. A Mr. Samuel F. Bradford, a publisher in Philadelphia, who was about to print an edition of Rees’s Cyclopedia, engaged Wilson, on what the latter himself called liberal terms, to superintend the publication of that work. But this connection presented another inducement to Wilson, and one which had infinitely greater attraction for him than any which related to his own personal advantage. This was the prospect it afforded him of procuring a publisher for his work; and so far he was not disappointed. On his explaining the nature and object of his undertaking, Mr. Bradford readily consented to become his publisher; and in September 1808, the first volume of ‘American Ornithology’ appeared, one of the most splendid books by far which had then emanated from the American press; but unfortunately the price was, though necessarily, much too high for a country comparatively in its infancy, and which had not then had time to turn its attention to the arts or sciences, or to acquire a sufficient taste for them to encourage such an expensive appeal on their behalf. The price of the work, when completed, was to be one hundred and twenty dollars. It is not therefore at all surprising to find that, even a considerable time after its publication, its ingenious, but in this respect certainly injudicious author, could only boast of forty-one names on his list of subscribers. This number, however, he afterwards increased to two hundred and fifty, by traveling through the country, and visiting the different towns in quest of patrons; but these, he himself says, were obtained ‘at a price worth more than five times the amount;’ and they no doubt were so, if wounded feelings, fatigue of body and mind, and all the humiliations to which such a mission must of necessity have frequently subjected him, be taken into the account. From this tour he returned to New York in March 1809.

Two hundred copies only of the first volume of the Ornithology had been printed, but it was now thought advisable to throw off three hundred more; which was accordingly done: and in the meantime Wilson assiduously employed himself in preparing the second volume for the press, although he neither had yet benefited to the extent of a single dollar by the publication of his work, nor was likely to do so. The second volume appeared in January 1810; and immediately after its appearance, the author set out on another tour in quest of support and patronage. This time he penetrated into the western part of the States, or valley of the Ohio and Mississippi. At Pittsburg, he succeeded beyond his expectations in getting subscribers; and after ascertaining that the roads were such as to render a land journey impossible, he bought a small boat, which he named the Ornithologist, intending to proceed in it down the Ohio to Cincinnati, a distance of more than five hundred miles. Some advised him not to undertake the journey alone; but he had made up his mind, and only waited, exploring the woods in the interval, till the ice had left the stream. At length the time arrived for his departure on this inland voyage. His provision consisted of some biscuit and cheese, and a bottle of cordial, given him by a gentleman in Pittsburg: one end of the boat was occupied by his trunk, greatcoat, and gun; and he had a small tin vessel, with which to bale his boat, and to drink the water of the Ohio. Thus equipped, he launched into the stream. The weather was calm, and the river like a mirror, except where fragments of ice were floating down. His heart expanded with delight at the novelty and wildness of the scene, The song of the red-bird in the deep forests on the shore, the smoke of the various sugar-camps rising gently along the mountains, and the little log-huts which here and there opened from the woods, gave an appearance of life to a landscape which would otherwise have been lonely and still. He could not consent to the slow motion of the river, which flowed two miles and a half an hour; he therefore stripped himself for the oar, and added three miles and a half to his speed. Our traveler’s lodgings by night were less tolerable than his voyage, as he went down the desolate stream. The first night was passed in a log-cabin, fifty-two miles below Pittsburg, where he slept on a heap of straw.

Having reached Cincinnati, he there got a few subscribers for his work, and then proceeded to Louisville, where he sold his boat. He next walked a distance of seventy-two miles to Lexington, whence he traveled to Nashville, exploring on his journey some of the remarkable caverns of Kentucky. He had thoughts of extending his tour to St. Louis; but after considering that it would detain him a month, and add four hundred miles to his journey, without perhaps adding a single subscriber to his list, he gave up the plan, and prepared for a passage through the wilderness towards New Orleans. He was strongly urged not to undertake it, and a thousand alarming representations of hardship and danger were set before him; but, as usual, he gave fears to the winds, and quietly made preparations for the way. He set out on the 4th of May, on horseback, with a pistol in each pocket, and a fowling-piece belted across his shoulder. During this adventurous journey he suffered severely from the heat of the sun, and all the changes of the weather. His exposure by night and day brought on an illness, which he with difficulty surmounted. He had occasion to travel among the Indians, who, it seems, treated him with great kindness; and though dreadfully worn out with fatigue, he enjoyed the journey very much. He reached New Orleans on the 6th of June, and shortly after embarked in a vessel for New York, and from thence he proceeded to Philadelphia, where he arrived on the 2d of August 1810.

Wilson now applied himself with unwearied industry to the preparation of the third volume of his Ornithology. At this time, he says that the number of birds which he had found, and which had not been noticed by any other naturalist, amounted to forty. Between this period and 1812 he made several other journeys throughout the country, partly with the view of promoting the sale of his publication, and partly to procure materials for his study, an object which he never lost sight of――seldom traveling, whatever might be the immediate or ostensible cause of his changing place, without his fowling-piece.

In the year above named, he received a gratifying proof of the estimation in which his merits were beginning to be held. This was his being chosen a member of the Society of Artists of the United States: and in the spring of the following year, he was admitted to the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia. But this extraordinary man was not destined to see either the completion of his meritorious labors, or to enjoy the triumph of achieving all that he designed. The excessive labor and fatigue of both body and mind to which he had for many years subjected himself, gradually undermined his constitution, and prepared it to yield to the first act of indiscretion to which it should be exposed; and this, unfortunately, now very soon occurred.

While sitting one day with a friend, he caught a glimpse from the window of a rare bird, for which he had long been vainly looking out. The instant he saw it he seized his gun, rushed out of the house in pursuit of it, and after an arduous chase, during which he swam across a river, succeeded in killing it; but he succeeded at the expense of his life. He caught a violent cold; this was followed by dysentery, which carried him off after an illness of ten days. He died on the morning of the 23d August 1813, in the forty-seventh year of his age, and was buried in the cemetery of the Swedish church in Southwark, Philadelphia. A plain marble monument, with an inscription intimating his age, the place and date of his birth, and of his death, marks the place of his sepulture.

Wilson had completed the seventh volume of his Ornithology before he died, and was engaged, when seized with his last illness, in collecting materials for the eighth. At this he labored with an assiduity and unintermitting industry which called forth the remonstrances of his friends. His reply, while it seems to indicate a presentiment of his premature fate, is at the same time characteristic of his extraordinary enthusiasm and diligence. ‘Life is short,’ he would say on these occasions, ‘and nothing can be done without exertion.’ Nor is a wish which he repeatedly expressed to a friend some time before his death, less characteristic of his amiable nature and deep admiration of the works of his Creator. This wish was that he might be buried where the birds might sing over his grave.

His person is described as having been tall and handsome, rather slender than robust; his countenance expressive and thoughtful, and his eye intelligent. Unfortunately for himself, the speculation in which he engaged with so much ardor yielded him no remuneration; for he had committed the serious error of issuing his work on too expensive a scale. From the publication he derived no profits whatever; and the heavy expenses he had to incur in his journeys, as well as his ordinary outlays, were only paid by the wages he received in the capacity of colorer of his own plates. Of the many active men whose biographies are before the public, there is not, perhaps, one whose life presents such a heroic resolution in the pursuit of science as Wilson. Although this most indefatigable genius did not live to enjoy the reward of his diligence, he certainly anticipated what has come to pass――that this work would always be regarded as a subject of pride by his adopted country, as it certainly is by the country which gave him birth, and would secure a high degree of honor for him whose name it bears.

JAMES WATT.

James Watt, the son of a merchant, was born at Greenock, in Scotland, on the 19th of January, 1736. He received the first part of his education at a school in his native place, and completed it at home, by his own diligence. The science of mechanics, for which he afterwards became so famous, formed, at an early age, his favorite study; and, in conformity with his desire, he was, at the age of eighteen, apprenticed to a mathematical instrument-maker, in London. The bad state of his health, however, which had before retarded his progress at school, compelled him to return, after a year’s stay in the metropolis, to Scotland. This was all the instruction he ever received in the business for which he was intended, yet he must have attained considerable skill, as, in 1757, he, at the recommendation of some relations, commenced the practice of it, at Glasgow, and was immediately appointed mathematical instrument-maker to the college. He continued to hold this situation till 1763, when he married, left his apartments in the university, for a house in the town of Glasgow, and commenced the profession of a general engineer. He soon acquired a high reputation; and in making surveys and estimates for canals, harbors, bridges, and other public works, was as extensively employed in his own country, as Brindley had been in England.

His attention to the employment of steam, as a mechanical agent, had been, in the first instance, excited by witnessing some experiments of his friend Mr. John (afterwards Dr.) Robison, and he had also made some experiments himself, with a view of ascertaining its expansive force. It was not, however, till 1763-4 that he began to devote himself seriously to the investigation of the properties of steam, and to ascertain those results upon which his fame was to be founded. An examination of Newcomen’s engine, a model of which had been sent him to repair, revived all his former impressions respecting the radical imperfections of the atmospheric machine, to the improvements of which he now ardently devoted himself. One of his first discoveries was, that the rapidity with which water evaporates, depends simply upon the quantity of heat which is imbibed, and this again on the extent of the surface of the vessel containing the water, exposed to the fire. He ascertained also the quantity of coals necessary for the evaporation of any given quantity of water, the heat at which it boils under various pressures, and many other particulars never before accurately determined.

He now proceeded to attempt a remedy of the two grand defects of Newcomen’s engine――the necessity of cooling the cylinder before every stroke of the piston, by the water injected into it; and the non-employment of the machine, for a moving power, of the expansive force of the steam. On account of the first defect, a much more powerful application of heat than would otherwise have been requisite was demanded for the purpose of again heating the cylinder, when it was to be refilled with steam. To keep this vessel, therefore, permanently hot, was the grand desideratum; and Watt at length hit upon an expedient equally simple and successful. His plan was to establish a communication, by an open pipe, between the cylinder and another vessel, the consequence of which would be, that when the steam was admitted into the former, it would flow into the latter, so as to fill that also. Supposing, then, that the steam should here only be condensed, by being brought into contact with cold water, or any other convenient means, a vacuum would be produced, into which, as a vent, more steam would immediately rush from the cylinder; this steam would also be condensed; and so the process would go on, till all the steam had left the cylinder, and a perfect vacuum had been effected in that vessel, without so much as a drop of cold water having touched or entered it. The separate vessel alone, or the condenser, would be cooled by the water used to condense the steam; which, instead of being an evil, would tend to quicken and promote the condensation. Experiments fully confirmed Watt in these views; and the consequence was, not only a saving of three-fourths of the fuel formerly required to feed the engine, but a considerable increase of its power.

In overcoming this difficulty, Watt was conducted to another improvement, which effected the complete removal of what we have described as the second radical imperfection of Newcomen’s engine, namely, its non-employment, for a moving power, of the expansive force of the steam. The effectual way, it occurred to him, of preventing any air from escaping into the parts of the cylinder below the piston, would be to dispense with the use of that element above the piston, and to substitute there likewise the same contrivance as below, of alternate steam and a vacuum. This was to be accomplished by merely opening communications from the upper part of the cylinder to the boiler, on the one hand, and the condenser on the other; and forming it, at the same time, into an air-tight chamber, by means of a cover, with only a hole in it to admit the rod or shank of the piston, which might, besides, without impeding its freedom of action, be padded with hemp, the more completely to exclude the air. It was so contrived, accordingly, by a proper arrangement of the cocks, and the machinery connected with them, that while there was a vacuum in one end of the cylinder, there should be an admission of steam into the other; and the steam so admitted now served, not only by its susceptibility of sudden condensation, to create the vacuum, but also, by its expansive force, to impel the piston.

These were the principal fundamental improvements in an engine, which has since been brought to such perfection of action and power, as to form one of the most triumphant eras in the history of human ingenuity. Instead of entering into all the subsequent contrivances which Watt invented, we cannot give a better idea of his splendid success, than by quoting the language of a recent writer. ‘In the present state of the engine, it appears a thing almost endowed with intelligence. It regulates, with perfect accuracy and uniformity, the number of its strokes in a given time, counting or recording them, moreover, to tell how much work it has done, as a clock records the beats of its pendulum; it regulates the quantity of steam admitted to work; the briskness of the fire, the supply of water to the boiler; the supply of coals to the fire; it opens and shuts its valves with absolute precision as to time and manner; it oils its joints; it takes out any air which may accidentally enter into parts which should be vacuous; and, when anything goes wrong, which it cannot of itself rectify, it warns its attendants by ringing a bell; yet, with all these talents and qualities, and even when exerting the power of six hundred horses, it is obedient to the hand of a child; its aliment is coal, wood, charcoal, or other combustible; it consumes none while idle; it never tires, and wants no sleep; it is not subject to malady when originally well made, and only refuses to work when worn out with age; it is equally active in all climates, and will do work of any kind; it is a water-pumper, a miner, a sailor, a cotton-spinner, a weaver, a blacksmith, a miller, etc., etc.; and a small engine, in the character of a steam pony, may be seen dragging after it, on a railroad, a hundred tons of merchandise, or a regiment of soldiers, with greater speed than that of our fleetest coaches. It is the king of machines; and a permanent realization of the genii of eastern fable, whose supernatural powers were occasionally at the command of man.’

Watt had, however, another difficulty to surmount; that of bringing his invention into practice. Having no pecuniary resources of his own, he applied to Dr. Roebuck, who had just established the Carron iron works, to advance the requisite funds; which he consented to do, on having two-thirds of the profits made over to him. A patent was accordingly obtained in 1769, and an engine soon after erected; but the failure of Dr. Roebuck thwarted the project, for a time, and the subject of our memoir returned to his business of a civil engineer. At length, in 1774, a proposal was made to him, to remove to Birmingham, and enter into partnership with the celebrated hardware manufacturer, Mr. Boulton. Dr. Roebuck’s share of the patent was shortly afterwards transferred to Mr. Boulton, and the firm of Boulton and Watt commenced the business of making steam-engines, in the year 1775. From this date, Mr. Watt obtained from parliament an extension of his patent for twenty-five years, in the course of which he added several new improvements to the mechanism of his engine. In particular, he exerted himself, for many years, in contriving the best methods of making the action of the piston communicate a rotatory motion in various circumstances; and, between the years 1781 and 1785, he took out four different patents, for inventions relating to this object.

The invention of Watt was fully appreciated in the scientific world. In 1785, he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society; in 1806, LL.D., by the University of Glasgow; and, in 1808, a member of the French Institute. He died on the 25th of August, 1819, in the eighty-fourth year of his age, leaving behind him a name that will descend to posterity, in connexion with an invention that has already gone far to revolutionize the whole domain of human industry. ‘The trunk of an elephant,’ it has been truly said of this machine, ‘that can pick up a pin, or rend an oak, is as nothing to it. It can engrave a seal, and crush masses of obdurate metal like wax before it; draw out, without breaking, a thread as fine as gossamer; and lift a ship of war, like a bauble, in the air. It can embroider muslin, and forge anchors; cut steel into ribands, and impel loaded vessels against the fury of the winds and the waves.’

JOHN HOWARD.

John Howard, whose name as a philanthropist must be familiar to a number of our readers, was born at Clapton, in the parish of Hackney, in the immediate vicinity of London, in or about the year 1727. His father was an upholsterer and carpet-warehouseman, who had acquired a considerable fortune in trade, and had retired from business to live at Hackney. Being a dissenter, and a man of strong religious principles, he sent his son at an early age to be educated by a schoolmaster named Worsley, who kept an establishment at some distance from London, where the sons of many opulent dissenters, friends of Mr. Howard, were already boarded. The selection appears to have been injudicious; for in after-life Mr. Howard assured an intimate friend, with greater indignation than he used to express on most subjects, ‘that, after a continuance of seven years at this school, he left it not fully taught any one thing.’ From Mr. Worsley’s school he was removed, probably about the age of fourteen, to one of a superior description in London, the master of which, Mr. Eames, was a man of some reputation for learning. His acquisitions at both seminaries seem to have been of the meagre kind then deemed sufficient for a person who was to be engaged in commercial pursuits; and it is the assertion of Mr. Howard’s biographer, Dr. Aikin, founded on personal knowledge, that he ‘was never able to speak or write his native language with grammatical correctness, and that his acquaintance with other languages――the French perhaps excepted――was slight and superficial.’ In this, however, he did not differ perhaps from the generality of persons similarly circumstanced in their youth, and destined, like him, for business.

At the age of fifteen or sixteen Mr. Howard was bound apprentice by his father to Messrs. Newnham and Shipley, extensive wholesale grocers in Watling Street, who received a premium of £700 with him. His father dying, however, shortly afterwards, and the state of his health or his natural tastes indisposing him for the mode of life for which he had been destined, he made arrangements with his masters for the purchase of the remaining term of his apprenticeship, and quitted business. By the will of his father, who is described as a strict methodical man, of somewhat penurious disposition, he was not to come into possession of the property till he had attained his twenty-fourth year. On attaining that age, he was to be entitled to the sum of £7000 in money, together with all his father’s landed and moveable property: his only sister receiving, as her share, £8000 in money, with certain additions of jewels, etc., which had belonged to her mother. Although nominally under the charge of guardians, Mr. Howard was allowed a considerable share in the management of his own property. He had his house at Clapton, which his father’s parsimonious habits had suffered to fall into decay, repaired or rebuilt, intending to make it his general place of residence. Connected with the repairing of this house an anecdote is told of Mr. Howard, which will appear characteristic. He used to go every day to superintend the progress of the workmen; and an old man who had been gardener to his father, and who continued about the house until it was let some time afterwards, used to tell, as an instance of Mr. Howard’s goodness of disposition when young, that every day during the repairs he would be in the street, close by the garden wall, just as the baker’s cart was passing, when he would regularly buy a loaf and throw it over the wall, saying to the gardener as he came in, ‘Harry, go and look among the cabbages; you will find something for yourself and family.’

After passing his twentieth year, Mr. Howard, being of delicate health, quitted his native country, and made a tour through France and Italy, which lasted a year or two; but of the particulars of which we have no account. On his return to England, probably about the year 1750, he took lodgings in Stoke Newington, living as a gentleman of independent property and quiet, retired habits, and much respected by a small circle of acquaintances, chiefly dissenters. The state of his health, however, was such as to require constant care. His medical attendants, thinking him liable to consumption, recommended to him a very rigorous regimen in diet, which ‘laid the foundation,’ says one of his biographers, ‘of that extraordinary abstemiousness and indifference to the gratifications of the palate which ever after so much distinguished him.’ This condition of his health obliged him also to have recourse to frequent changes of air and scene. Newington, however, was his usual place of residence. Here, having experienced much kindness and attention during a very severe attack of illness from his landlady, Mrs. Sarah Loidoire, an elderly widow of small property, he resolved to marry her; and although she remonstrated with him upon the impropriety of the step, considering their great disparity of ages――he being in his twenty-fifth, and she in her fifty-second year――the marriage was concluded in 1752. Nothing but the supposition that he was actuated by gratitude, can account for this singular step in Mr. Howard’s life. The lady, it appears, was not only twice as old as himself, but also very sickly; and that no reasons of interest can have influenced him, is evident, as well from the fact that she was poor in comparison with himself, as from the circumstance of his immediately making over the whole of her little property to her sister. Mr. Howard seems to have lived very happily with his wife till her death shortly afterwards, in November, 1755.

On his wife’s death, he resolved to leave England for another tour on the continent. In his former tour he had visited most of the places of usual resort in France and Italy; during the present, therefore, he intended to pursue some less common route. After some deliberation, he determined to sail first to Portugal, in order to visit its capital, Lisbon, then in ruins from the effects of that tremendous earthquake the news of which had appalled Europe. Nothing is more interesting than to observe the effects which great public events of a calamitous nature produce on different minds; indeed one of the most instructive ways of contrasting men’s dispositions, is to consider how they are severally affected by some stupendous occurrence. It is to be regretted, therefore, that we are not informed more particularly by Howard’s biographers of the reasons which determined him to visit the scene of the awful catastrophe which had recently occurred in Portugal――whether they were motives of mere curiosity, or whether they partook of that desire to place himself in contact with misery, that passion for proximity to wretchedness which formed so large an element in Howard’s character, and marked him out from the first as predestined for a career of philanthrophy.

Before leaving England to proceed on his tour to the south of Europe, Mr. Howard broke up his establishment at Stoke Newington, and, with that generosity which was so natural to him, made a distribution among the poorer people of the neighborhood of those articles of furniture for which he had now no necessity. The old gardner already mentioned used to relate that his dividend of the furniture on this occasion consisted of a bedstead and bedding complete, a table, six new chairs, and a scythe. A few weeks after this distribution of his furniture, Mr. Howard set sail in the Hanover, a Lisbon packet. Unfortunately, the vessel never reached her destination, being captured during her voyage by a French privateer. The crew and passengers were treated with great cruelty by their captors, being kept for forty hours under hatches without bread or water. They were carried into Brest, and confined all together in the castle of that place as prisoners of war. Here their sufferings were increased; and after lying for many hours in their dungeon without the slightest nourishment, they had a joint of mutton thrown in amongst them, which, not having a knife to cut it, they were obliged to tear with the hands, and gnaw like dogs. For nearly a week they lay on straw in their damp and unwholesome dungeon, after which they were separated, and severally disposed of. Mr. Howard was removed first to Morlaix, and afterwards to Carpaix, where he was allowed for two months to go about on parole――an indulgence usually accorded to officers only, but which Mr. Howard’s manners and behavior procured for him from the authorities. He was even furnished, it is said, with the means of returning to England, that he might negotiate his own exchange for some French naval officer, a prisoner of war in the hands of the English. This exchange was happily accomplished, and Mr. Howard was once more at liberty, and in England. His short captivity in France, however, was not without its good effects, by interesting him strongly in the condition of those unfortunate men who, chancing like himself to be captured at sea during war, were languishing in dungeons both in France and England, and atoning by their sufferings for the mutual injuries or discords of the nations to which they belonged. Mr. Howard’s imprisonment may be said to have first given a specific direction to his philanthropic enthusiasm. In his ‘Account of the State of Prisons,’ published a considerable time afterwards, he subjoins the following note to a passage in which he contrasts the favorable treatment which prisoners of war usually receive, with the cruelties which domestic prisoners experience:――‘I must not be understood here to mean a compliment to the French. How they then treated English prisoners of war I knew by experience in 1756, when a Lisbon packet in which I went passenger, in order to make the tour of Portugal, was taken by a French privateer. Before we reached Brest, I suffered the extremity of thirst, not having, for above forty hours, one drop of water, nor hardly a morsel of food. In the castle of Brest I lay for six nights upon straw; and observing how cruelly my countrymen were used there and at Morlaix, whither I was carried next, during the two months I was at Carpaix upon parole I corresponded with the English prisoners at Brest, Morlaix, and Dinnan. At the last of these towns were several of our ship’s crew and my servant. I had sufficient evidence of their being treated with such barbarity, that many hundreds had perished, and that thirty-six were buried in a hole at Dinnan in one day. When I came to England, still on parole, I made known to the Commissioner of Sick and Wounded Seamen the sundry particulars, which gained their attention and thanks. Remonstrance was made to the French court; our sailors had redress; and those who were in the three prisons mentioned above were brought home in the first cartel-ships. Perhaps what I suffered on this occasion increased my sympathy with the unhappy people whose case is the subject of this book.’ In Mr. Howard’s conduct, as here described by himself, we discern the real characteristic of active philanthropy. How few men are there who, like him, would have turned a personal misfortune to such good account; and who, while enduring sufferings themselves, would have occupied their thoughts with the means of putting an end, for all time coming, to the system which permitted such sufferings! Most men would have occupied the time of their imprisonment with sighs and lamentations; and once at liberty, they would have returned gleefully to the enjoyment of their homes, without troubling themselves about their less fortunate fellow-sufferers whom they had left behind, or at least without conceiving that their exertions could do anything for their benefit. But it is the characteristic of men like Howard, when once their attention is called to a wrong, not to rest until they have seen it rectified.

On his return to England, Mr. Howard went to reside on the small estate of Cardington, near Bedford, which had been left him by his father, and which he had increased by the purchase of an additional farm. He appears to have resided here for the next two years, leading the life of a quiet country gentleman, superintending his farms, and earning the respect and good-will of all the neighborhood, by his attention to the comforts of his tenants, and his charities to the poor. It was during this period also, on the 13th of May 1756, that he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society; an honor which did not necessarily imply that he possessed reputation as a scientific man, or even a man of brilliant abilities, but only that he was a gentleman of respectability, who, like many others of his class, took an interest in scientific pursuits. Howard’s attainments in science do not seem to have ever been very great, and the only point of his character which connected him particularly with a scientific body, was his taste for meteorological observations.

On the 25th of April 1758, Mr. Howard contracted a second marriage with Miss Henrietta Leeds, eldest daughter of Edward Leeds, Esq., of Croxton, Cambridgeshire. The lady whom he had selected as his partner in life is described as amiable, affectionate, pious, and in every way worthy of such a husband. Her tastes were the same as his, and she cordially seconded all his charitable plans for the assistance and relief of those who depended upon his benevolence.

For seven years Mr. Howard enjoyed uninterrupted happiness in the society of his wife. During this period he resided first at Cardington, next for about three years at Watcombe in Hampshire, and latterly at Cardington again. The even tenor of his existence during these years presents few incidents worth recording. Reading, gardening, and the improvement of his grounds, occupied most of his time. His meteorological observations were likewise diligently continued; and it is mentioned, as a proof of his perseverance in whatever he undertook, that on the setting in of a frost, he used to leave his bed at two o’clock every morning while it lasted, for the purpose of looking at a thermometer which he kept in his garden. His charities, as before, were profuse and systematic. His desire, and that of his wife, was to see all around them industrious and happy. To effect this, they used all the influence which their position as persons of property and wealth gave them over the villagers and cottagers in their neighborhood. One of their modes of dispensing charity was to employ persons out of work in making articles of furnature or ornament; and in this way, it is said, Mrs. Howard soon increased her stock of table-linen to a quantity greater than would ever be required by any household.

On the 31st of March 1765, Mrs. Howard died in giving birth to a son, the first and only issue of their marriage. This event was a source of poignant affliction to her husband. On the tablet which he erected to her memory in Cardington church, he caused to be inscribed the following passage from the book of Proverbs:――‘She opened her mouth with wisdom, and on her tongue was the law of kindness.’ Her miniature was ever after his constant companion by sea or land; and the day of her death was observed by him annually as a day of fasting, meditation and prayer.

From the death of his wife in 1765 to the end of the year 1769, Mr. Howard appears to have remained in England, and at Cardington as before, with the exception of a month or six weeks in the year 1767, which he devoted to a tour through Holland. His principal occupation during these four years was the education of his infant son. From the circumstance that this boy, when he arrived at the years of manhood, conducted himself in a profligate manner, and at last became insane, much attention has been drawn to Mr. Howard’s mode of educating him in his infancy; some insisting that his conduct as a parent was harsh and injudicious, others going so far as to asert that this man――whom the world reveres as a philanthropist, and whose benevolent soul yearned for the whole human race――was in his domestic relations a narrow and unfeeling tyrant. This last assertion――although, abstractly considered, there is nothing impossible or absurd in it, inasmuch as we may conceive such a thing as real philanthropy on a large scale conjoined with inattention to one’s immediate duties as a husband or father――appears to have absolutely no foundation whatever in Howard’s case; and to have originated either in malice, or in that vulgar love of effect which delights in finding striking incongruities in the characters of great men. Nor does the other assertion――that Howard’s mode of educating his infant son was harsh and injudicious――appear more worthy of credit. The truth seems to be, that Howard was a kind and benevolent man, of naturally Strict and methodical habits, who entertained, upon principle, high ideas of the authority of the head of a family. A friend of his relates that he has often heard him tell in company, as a piece of pleasantry, that before his marriage with his second wife he made an agreement with her, that in order to prevent all those little altercations about family matters which he had observed to be the principal causes of domestic discomfort, he should always decide. Mrs. Howard, he said, had cheerfully agreed to this arrangement; and it was attended with the best effects. The same principle of the supremacy of the head of a family――a principle much less powerful in society now than it was a generation or two ago――guided him in his behavior to his son. ‘Regarding children,’ says Dr. Aikin, ‘as creatures possessed of strong passions and desires, without reason and experience to control them, he thought that nature seemed, as it were, to mark them out as the subjects of absolute authority, and that the first and fundamental principle to be inculcated upon them was implicit and unlimited obedience.’ The plan of education here described may to some appear austere and injudicious, while others will cordially approve of it, as that recommended by experience and common sense; but at all events, the charges of harshness and cruelty which some have endeavored to found upon it are mere calumnies, refuted by all who knew Mr. Howard, and were witnesses to his affection for his son.

Sensible of the loss which the boy had sustained by the death of his mother, Mr. Howard placed him, in his fifth year, under the care of a lady in whom he had confidence, who kept a boarding-school at Cheshunt in Hertfordshire. This and other arrangements having been made, he went abroad on a fourth continental tour towards the end of 1769. Proceeding through the south of France, and spending a few weeks in Geneva, he visited most of the remarkable places in Italy, some of them for the second time; and returned home through Germany in the latter part of 1770, having been absent in all about twelve months.

When Howard had again settled at Cardington, he resumed his benevolent schemes of local improvement. It appears that the vicinity of Bedford, and Cardington especially, was inhabited by a very poor population, liable to frequent visitations of distress from the fluctuations of the only manufacture which yielded them employment――that of lace; as well as generally from the unhealthy and marshy nature of the soil, rendering agues prevalent. Mr. Howard’s first care with respect to those to whom he was attached as landlord, was to improve their dwellings. ‘At different times,’ says his biographer, Mr. Brown, ‘he pulled down all the cottages on his estate, and rebuilt them in a neat but simple style, paying particular attention to their preservation, as much as possible, from the dampness of the soil. Others which were not his property before, he purchased, and reërected upon the same plan; adding to the number of the whole by building several new ones in different parts of the village. To each of these he allotted a piece of garden-ground, sufficient to supply the family of its occupier with potatoes and other vegetables; and generally ornamented them in front with a small fore-court, fenced off from the road by neat white palings, enclosing a bed or two of simple flowers, with here and there a shrub, or an evergreen; thus imparting to these habitations of the poor, with their white fronts and thatched roofs, that air of neatness and comfort so strikingly characteristic of everything in which he engaged.’ ‘These comfortable habitations, which he let at a rent of twenty or thirty shillings a year,’ says another biographer, Dr. Aikin, ‘he peopled with the most industrious and sober tenants he could find; and over them he exercised the superintendence of master and father combined. He was careful to furnish them with employment, to assist them in sickness and distress, and to educate their children.’ In consequence of these exertions of Mr. Howard, aided and seconded by those of his friend and relative, Samuel Whitbread, Esq., who possessed property in the same neighborhood, ‘Cardington, which seemed at one time to contain the abodes of poverty and wretchedness, soon became one of the neatest villages in the kingdom――exhibiting all the pleasing appearances of competence and content, the natural rewards of industry and virtue.’ Industry and cleanliness were the two virtues which Mr. Howard sought by all means to naturalize among the villagers of Cardington. It was his custom to visit the houses of his tenants now and then, conversing with them on the state of their affairs. During such visits he was particular in requesting them to keep their houses clean; and it was one of his standing advices that they should ‘swill the floors well with water.’ After talking with the children, he would tell them, at parting, to be ‘good boys and girls, and keep their faces and hands clean.’

Among Mr. Howard’s other benefactions to the locality of Cardington, he established schools for the education of the boys and girls of the neighborhood, in the rudiments of knowledge. Of these it was strictly required that they should regularly attend some place of worship on Sundays; whether the established church, or any other, was indifferent, provided it was a church at all. His anxiety on this point also led him to convert one of his cottages into a preaching station, where the neighboring clergymen of different pursuasions, or occasionally a clergyman from a distance passing through the village, might officiate to such as chose to attend; and very rarely was the little congregation without at least one sermon a week. Mr. Howard, when at Cardington, was invariably present at these meetings. His regular place of worship was the Old Meeting-house at Bedford, of which the Rev. Mr. Symonds was pastor for 1766 to 1772. In the latter year, however, when Mr. Symonds declared his adherence to the theological tenets of the Baptists, Mr. Howard seceded along with a considerable part of the congregation, and established a new meeting-house. The truth is, however, that, with all his piety, and indeed on account of the very strength and sincerity of it, the theological differences of sects occupied very little space in his attention, and did not in the least affect his schemes of philanthropy; and though a dissenter of a particular denomination himself, dissenters of all other denominations, as well as members of the established church, were equally the objects of his respect and his benevolent solicitude.

The following recollections of Mr. Howard’s habits at this period, by the Rev. Mr. Townsend, who resided with him at Cardington for a short period, in the interval between the secession from the Old Meeting-house, and the erection of the new one, may be interesting: ‘He found him,’ he said, ‘not disposed to talk much; he sat but a short time at table, and was in motion during the whole day. He was very abstemious; lived chiefly on vegetables, ate little animal food, and drank no wine or spirits. He hated praise; and when Mr. Townsend once mentioned to him his labors of benevolence’――not those general ones for which he is now so celebrated, but his exertions for the improvement of the condition of the people in his neighborhood――‘he spoke of them slightingly, as a whim of his, and immediately changed the subject.’ ‘He was at all times,’ adds his biographer, Mr. Brown, ‘remarkably neat in his dress, but affected no singularity in it. Though he never thought it right to indulge in the luxuries of life, he did not despise its comforts. Wine or fermented liquors of any kind he himself never drank; but they were always provided, and that of the best quality, for his friends who chose to take them. He always maintained an intercourse of civility with some of the most considerable persons in the country, and was on visiting terms with the greater part of the country gentlemen around him, and with the most respectable inhabitants of the town of Bedford, churchmen and dissenters. His aversion to mix much with promiscuous assemblies was the result of his religious principles and habits, which taught him that this was no very profitable method of spending his time; yet however uncomplying he might be with the freedoms and irregularities of polite life, he was by no means negligent of its received forms; and though he might be denominated a man of scruples and singularities, no one would dispute his claim to the title of a gentleman.’

From these details our readers will be able to fancy Mr. Howard as he was in the year 1773――a widower country gentleman, of plain, upright, methodical habits, aged about forty-six; devout and exemplary in his conduct, and a dissenter by profession, but without any strong prejudices for or against any sect; temperate and economical, but the very reverse of parsimonious; fond of traveling, and exceedingly attentive to what fell under his observation; of a disposition overflowing with kindness at the aspect of a miserable object, and prompting him to go out in search of wretchedness, and to distribute over his whole neighborhood the means of comfort and happiness. Such was Mr. Howard in the year 1773; and if he had then died, his name would never have been so celebrated as it is over the world, but would only have been remembered in the particular district where his lot was cast, as the names of many benevolent landlords and good men are locally remembered all over the country. Fortunately, however, a circumstance happened which opened for this unostentatious benefactor of a village a career of world-wide philanthropy. This was his election, in the year 1773, to the important office of high-sheriff of the county of Bedford. Regarding the special circumstances which led to his election to such a post, we have no information. It may be mentioned, however, that, in accepting the office, he subjected himself to the liability of a fine of £500――the laws which disqualified dissenters from holding such offices not having been yet repealed, although they were practically set at defiance by the increasing liberality of the age. A story was indeed once current that Mr. Howard, on his nomination to the office, stated to earl Bathurst, then lord chancellor, his scruples about accepting it, arising from the fact of his not being a member of the Church of England; and that lord Bathurst, in reply, gave him an assurance of indemnification, in case any malicious person should endeavor to put the law in force against him. This story, however, does not appear to have been well-founded.

The duties of a high-sheriff in England are important and various. To him are addressed the writs commencing all actions, and he returns the juries for the trial of men’s lives, liberties, lands and goods. He executes the judgments of the courts. In his county he is the principal conservator of the peace. He presides in his own court as a judge; and he not only tries all causes of forty shillings in value, but also questions of larger amount. He presides at all elections of members of parliament and coroners. He apprehends all wrongdoers, and for that purpose, he is entitled to break open outer-doors to seize the offender. He defends the county against riot, or rebellion, or invasion. The sheriff takes precedence of all persons in the county. He is responsible for the execution of criminals. He receives and entertains the judges of assize, on whom he is constantly in attendance whilst they remain in his shire. To assist him in the performance of his duties, the sheriff employs an under-sheriff, and also a bailiff and jailers, from whom he takes security for their good conduct. Such was the office to which, fortunately for society, Mr. Howard was appointed at the annual election of sheriffs in the year 1773.

The office of high-sheriff became a different thing in the hands of such a man as Howard from what it had been before. It was no longer a mere honorable office, all the drudgery of which was performed by the under-sheriff; it was no longer the mere right of going in state twice a-year to meet the judges, and of presiding during the gayeties of an assize-week; it was a situation of real power and laborious well-doing. Already alive to the existence of numerous abuses in prison management――as well by his general information respecting the institutions of the country, as by his own experience of prison life in France seventeen years before――he had not been a month in office before all the faculties of his heart and soul were engaged in searching out and dragging into public notice the horrible corruptions and pollutions of the English prison system.

Within Mr. Howard’s own cognizance as sheriff of Bedfordshire, there were three prisons――the county jail, the county bridewell, and the town jail, all in Bedford; and, as a matter of course, it was with these that his inquiries commenced. Various abuses struck him in their management, particularly in that of the county jail, the accommodations of which, whether for the purposes of work, health, or cleanliness, he found very deficient. But what roused his sense of justice most of all, was to find that the jailer had no salary, and depended for great part of his income on the following clause in the prison regulations:――‘All persons that come to this place, either by warrant, commitment, or verbally, must pay, before being discharged, fifteen shillings and fourpence to the jailer, and two shillings to the turnkey.’ The effect which this and similar exactions from prisoners in the Bedford jail made upon him, will be best learned from his own statement prefixed to his ‘Account of the State of Prisons.’ ‘The distress of prisoners,’ he says, ‘of which there are few who have not some imperfect idea, came more immediately under my notice when I was sheriff of the county of Bedford; and the circumstance which excited me to activity in their behalf was seeing some who, by the verdict of juries, were declared not guilty――some on whom the grand jury did not find such an appearance of guilt as subjected them to trial――and some whose prosecutors did not appear against them――after having been confined for months, dragged back to jail, and locked up again till they should pay sundry fees to the jailer, the clerk of assize, etc. In order to redress this hardship,’ he continues, ‘I applied to the justices of the county for a salary to the jailer in lieu of his fees. The bench were properly affected with the grievance, and willing to grant the relief desired; but they wanted a precedent for charging the county with the expense.’

With a view to find the precedent required, Mr. Howard undertook to visit the jails of some of the neighboring counties, that he might inquire into the practice adopted there. His first visits were to the jails of Cambridge and Huntingdon; and in the course of the same month――November 1773――he prosecuted his tour through those of the following counties in addition――Northampton, Leicester, Nottingham, Derby, Stafford, Warwick, Worcester, Gloucester, Oxford, and Buckingham. In each and all of these jails he found abuses and grievances; different, indeed, in one from what they were in another, and in some fewer and less shocking than in others, but in all disgraceful to a civilized country. In all of them, the income of the jailer was derived, as at Bedford, from fees exacted from the prisoners, and not from a regular salary; nay, in one of them the sheriff himself drew fees from the prisoners; and in another, that of Northampton, the jailer, instead of having a salary, paid the county £40 a-year for his office. To enter into the details of his investigations of the abuses of the various prisons above enumerated, as these are given in the first edition of his ‘Account of the State of Prisons,’ would be impossible; suffice it to say, that Mr. Howard’s reports on the various jails he visited are not mere general assertions that this or that jail was defective in its arrangements, but laborious and minute accounts of the statistics of each――containing in the briefest possible compass, every circumstance respecting every jail which it could possibly be useful to know. Indeed no parliamentary commission ever presented a more searching, clear, and accurate report than Howard’s account of the state of the prisons he visited.

His visits to the jails of the counties adjoining Bedford had only disclosed to him those depths of misery which he was yet to sound. ‘Looking into the prisons,’ he says, ‘I beheld scenes of calamity which I became daily more and more anxious to alleviate. In order, therefore, to gain a more perfect knowledge of the particulars and extent of it, by various and accurate observation, I visited most of the county jails in England.’ This more extensive tour was begun in December 1773, and by the 17th of that month he had inspected the jails of the counties of Hertford, Berks, Wilts, Dorset, Hants, and Sussex; occupying, therefore, it will be perceived, a much less space of time in his survey than most official commissioners, and yet probably doing the work much better. The next six weeks he appears to have spent at Cardington with his son, then about eight years of age, and at home no doubt on his Christmas vacation; but towards the end of January 1774, his philanthropic tour was resumed. The jails of Rutlandshire were first visited, then those of York: on his journey southward from York he passed through the shires of Lincoln, Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex, visiting the prisons of each: a fortnight was then devoted to an examination of the monster prisons of London: from London he set out on a journey to the western counties, inspected the jails of Devon, Cornwall, Somerset, Hereford, and Monmouth; and, after a short absence, returned to London, having, in the course of three months of expeditious and extensive, but most thorough scrutiny, acquired more knowledge of the state of English prisons than was possessed by any other man then living. Such is the effect of having a definite object in view, and attending exclusively to it. If we measure ability by mere largeness of intellect, there were undoubtedly hundreds of abler men than Howard then alive in England; but what is the lazy and languid greatness of these intellectual do-nothings compared with the solid greatness of a man like Howard, who, gifted by God with a melting love for his fellow-men, laboriously and steadily pursued one object, made himself master of one department, and dragged into daylight one class of social abuses till then unknown or unheeded?

It happened by a fortunate conjunction, that at the time Mr. Howard was pursuing his prison inquiries, a few members of the legislature were interesting themselves in the same subject. In the previous session of parliament a bill had been introduced into the House of Commons by Mr. Popham, member for Taunton, proposing the payment of jailors, not by fees from the prisoners, as heretofore, but out of the county rates. The bill had been dropped in committee on the second reading; but the subject of prison management was resumed next session, the principal movers in the inquiry being Mr. Popham, and Mr. Howard’s intimate friends, Mr. St. John and Mr. Whitbread. It would appear that it had been in consequence of consultations with Mr. Howard that these gentlemen broached the subject in parliament at so early a period in the session; at all events, we find Mr. Howard immediately after his return from his western tour, examined before a committee of the whole House regarding his knowledge of the state of English prisons. So full and valuable were the details submitted to the committee by Mr. Howard, that on the House being resumed, the chairman of the committee, Sir Thomas Clavering, reported that ‘he was directed by the committee to move the House that John Howard, Esq., be called in to the bar, and that Mr. Speaker do acquaint him that the House are very sensible of the humanity and zeal which have led him to visit the several jails of this kingdom, and to communicate to the House the interesting observations he has made upon that subject.’ The motion was adopted unanimously; and Mr. Howard had, accordingly, the honor of receiving the public thanks of the House for his philanthropic exertions. To show however, how little the spirit which animated these exertions was understood or appreciated, we may mention that it is related that during his examination before the committee, one member put the question to him, ‘At whose expense he traveled?’

Mr. Howard, however, was still only at the commencement of his labors. In the month of March 1774, only a few days after receiving the thanks of the House of Commons, he set out for the extreme north of England, to visit the jails there. In an incredibly short space of time he had traversed the counties of Durham, Northumberland, Cumberland, Westmoreland, Lancaster, Chester, and Shropshire, visiting the jails in each; then, after revisiting those of Stafford, Derby, Nottingham, Leicester, and Northampton, he returned home to Cardington; from which, after a week’s repose he sent out for Kent. With the examination of the jails of Kent, Mr. Howard’s first survey of the jails of England may be said to have been finished. To give once for all, an idea of the minute and thorough manner in which he discharged his self-imposed duty, we may quote his remarks on the county jail at Durham. After giving a list of the officials and their salaries, he proceeds thus:――‘The high jail is the property of the bishop. By patent from his lordship, Sir Hedworth Williamson, Bart., is perpetual sheriff. The court for master’s side debtors is only 24 feet by 10: they are permitted sometimes to walk on the leads. They have beds in the upper hall, and in several other rooms. Their rooms should be ceiled, that they might be lime-whited, to prevent infectious disorders, and that great nuisance of bugs, of which the debtors complain much here and other places. Common side debtors have no court; their free wards, the low jail, are two damp, unhealthy rooms, 10 feet 4 inches square by the gateway. They are never suffered to go out of these except to chapel, which is the master’s side debtor’s hall; and not always to that: for on Sunday, when I was there, and missed them at chapel, they told me they were not permitted to go thither. No sewers. At more than one of my visits I learned that the dirt, ashes, etc., had lain there many months. There is a double-barreled pump, which raises water about 70 feet. Felons have no court; but they have a day-room, and two small rooms for an infirmary. The men are put at night into dungeons: one, 7 feet square, for three prisoners; another, the great hole, 16½ feet by 12, has only a little window. In this I saw six prisoners, most of them transports, chained to the floor. In this situation they had been for many weeks, and were very sickly; their straw on the stone floor almost worn to dust. Long confinement, and not having the king’s allowance of two shillings and sixpence a-week, had urged them to attempt an escape; after which the jailer had chained them as already mentioned. There is another dungeon for women felons, 12 feet by 8; and up stairs, a separate room or two. The common side debtors in the low jail, whom I saw eating boiled bread and water, told me that this was the only nourishment some had lived upon for near a twelvemonth. They have, from a legacy, one shilling and a sixpence a-week in winter and one shilling a-week in summer, for coals. No memorandum of it in the jail: perhaps this may in time be lost, as the jailer said two others were――namely, one of Bishop Crewe, and another of Bishop Wood, from which prisoners had received no benefit for some years past. But now the bishop has humanely filed bills in Chancery, and recovered these legacies, by which several debtors have been discharged. Half-a-crown a-week is paid to a woman for supplying the debtors with water in the two rooms on the side of the gateway. The act for preserving the health of prisoners is not hung up. Jail delivery once a-year. At several of my visits there were boys between thirteen and fifteen years of age confined with the most profligate and abandoned. There was a vacant piece of ground adjacent, of little use but for the jailor’s occasional lumber. It extends to the river, and measures about 22 yards by 16. I once and again advised the enclosing this for a court, as it might be done with little expense; and it appears that formerly here was a doorway into the prison. But when I was there afterwards in January 1776, I had the mortification to hear that the surgeon, who was uncle to the jailer, had obtained from the bishop, in October preceding, a lease of it for twenty-one years, at the rent of one shilling per annum. He had built a little stable on it.’

Having completed his survey of the English jails, Mr. Howard turned his attention next to those of Wales; and by the end of the autumn of 1774, he appears to have visited the principal jails in that principality. During these last months the field of his inquiries had been extended, so as to embrace a new department. ‘Seeing,’ he says ‘in two or three of the jails some poor creatures whose aspect was singularly deplorable, and asking the cause of it, the answer was, ‘They were lately brought from the bridewells.’ This started a fresh subject of inquiry. I resolved to inspect the bridewells; and for that purpose traveled again into the counties where I had been; and indeed into all the rest, examining houses of correction, city and town jails. I beheld in many of them, as well as in the county jails, a complication of distress.’

Mr. Howard’s philanthropic labors for now nearly a twelve-month had of course made him an object of public attention, and it became obviously desirable to have such a man in parliament. Accordingly, at the election of 1774, he was requested by a number of the electors of Bedford to allow himself to be put in nomination for that town, in the independent interest, along with his friend Mr. Whitbread. Mr. Howard consented; but when the polling had taken place, the numbers stood thus――Sir William Wake, 527 votes; Mr. Sparrow, 517; Mr. Whitbread, 429; and Mr. Howard, 402. A protest was taken by the supporters of Mr. Whitbread and Mr. Howard, most of whom were dissenters, against the election of the two former gentlemen, on the ground that the returning officers had acted unfairly in rejecting many legally good votes for Messrs. Whitbread and Howard, receiving many legally bad ones for the other two candidates. Petitions impeaching the return were also presented to the House of Commons by Mr. Whitbread and Mr. Howard.

Nothing, however, could divert our philanthropist from his own peculiar walk of charity, and the interval between the election and the hearing of the petitions against its validity was diligently employed by him in a tour through Scotland and Ireland, for the purpose of inspecting the prisons there, and comparing them with those of England and Wales. With the Scotch system of prison management he seems to have been, on the whole, much better pleased than with that of England; and he mentions, with particular approbation, that in Scotland ‘all criminals are tried out of irons; and when acquitted, they are immediately discharged in open court,’ and that ‘women are not put in irons.’ Still he found sufficient grounds for complaint in the state of the prisons themselves. ‘The prisons,’ he says, ‘that I saw in Edinburgh, Glasgow, Perth, Stirling, Jedburgh, Haddington, Ayr, Kelso, Nairn, Banff, Inverness, etc., were old buildings, dirty and offensive, without courtyards, and also generally without water.’ ‘The tolbooth at Inverness,’ he afterwards observes, ‘has no fire place, and is the most dirty and offensive prison that I have seen in Scotland.’ In the Irish prisons he found, as might have been expected, abuses even more shocking than those he had generally met with in England.

In March 1775, Mr. Howard having by this time returned to England, his petition and that of Mr. Whitbread against the return of Sir William Wake and Mr. Sparrow were taken into consideration by a committee of the House of Commons. On a revision of the poll, the numbers, after adding the good votes which had been rejected, and striking off the bad ones which had been accepted, stood thus――Mr. Whitbread, 568; Sir William Wake, 541; Mr. Howard, 537; Mr. Sparrow, 529. Thus, although by a small majority, Mr. Howard lost the election; his friend, Mr. Whitbread, who had formerly been in the same predicament, was now returned at the top of the poll in lieu of Mr. Sparrow.

It was perhaps a fortunate circumstance for the world that Mr. Howard did not succeed in being returned to parliament. He might no doubt have been of great service as a member of the legislature; but his true function was that which he had already chosen for himself――a voluntary and unofficial inquirer into the latent miseries of human society. It was not so much as a propounder of schemes of social improvement that Mr. Howard appeared; it was rather as an explorer of unvisited scenes of wretchedness, who should drag into the public gaze all manner of grievances, in order that the general wisdom and benevolence of the country might be brought to bear upon them. In a complex state of society, where wealth and poverty, comfort and indigence, are naturally separated from each other as far as possible, so that the eyes and ears of the upper classes may not be offended and nauseated by the sights and sounds of wo, the interference of this class of persons――inspectors, as they may be called, whose business it is to see and report――is among the most necessary of all acts for social wellbeing.

Mr. Howard having completed his survey of the prisons of Great Britain, began to prepare his reports for publication. ‘I designed,’ says he, ‘to publish the account of our prisons in the spring of 1775, after I returned from Scotland and Ireland. But conjecturing that something useful to my purpose might be collected abroad, I laid aside my papers, and traveled into France, Flanders, Holland, and Germany.’ The precise route which he pursued during this, his fifth continental tour, is not known; he appears, however, to have gone to France first. He gives the following account of his attempt to gain admission to the famous Bastile of Paris. ‘I was desirous of examining it myself, and for that purpose knocked hard at the outer gate, and immediately went forward through the guard to the drawbridge before the entrance of the castle. But while I was contemplating this gloomy mansion, an officer came out much surprised, and I was forced to retreat through the mute guard, and thus regained that freedom which, for one locked up within those walls, it is next to impossible to obtain.’ On this singular adventure of Mr. Howard one of his biographers makes the following remark. ‘In the space of four centuries, from the foundation to the destruction of the Bastile, perhaps Mr. Howard was the only person that was ever compelled to quit it reluctantly.’ Although denied admission to the Bastile, Mr. Howard was able to obtain entrance into the other prisons of Paris. His first application, indeed, for admittance to the Grand Chatelet was unsuccessful; but happening to remark that, by the tenth article of the arrêt of 1717, jailers were authorized to admit persons desirous of bestowing charity on the prisoners, he pleaded it before the Commissaire de la Prison; and in this way gained admission not only to that prison, but to the others. Except for the horrible subterranean dungeons, in which he found that certain classes of prisoners were sometimes confined in France, he appears to have considered the prisons in that country better managed than those of England.

Mr. Howard’s proceedings in France, French Flanders, and the Netherlands, will be best gathered from the following letter to a friend:――‘I came late last night to this city; the day I have employed in visiting the jails, and collecting all the criminal laws, as I have got those of France. However rigorous they may be, yet their great care and attention to their prisons is worthy of commendation: all fresh and clean; no jail distemper; no prisoners ironed. The bread allowance far exceeds that of any of our jails; for example, every prisoner here has two pounds of bread a-day; once a-day, soup; and on Sunday, one pound of meat. I write to you, my friend, for a relaxation from what so much engrosses my thoughts. And indeed I force myself to the public dinners and suppers for that purpose, though I show so little respect to a set of men who are so highly esteemed (the French cooks), that I have not tasted fish, flesh, or fowl since I have been this side the water. Through a kind Providence I am very well; calm, easy in spirits. The public voitures have not been crowded, and I have met, in general, agreeable company. I hope to be in Holland the beginning of next week.’

After visiting the principal prisons in Holland and part of Germany, most of which seem to have particularly pleased him, when contrasted with those at home, Mr. Howard returned to England in the end of July, 1775. Not to rest, however; for he immediately commenced a second survey of the English prisons. This was interrupted, in the beginning of the year 1776, when he made a trip to Switzerland to visit the Swiss jails, taking some of the French ones in his way. Returning to England, he resumed his second survey of the English and Welsh prisons; and when this was completed to his satisfaction in the beginning of 1777, he took up his residence for the spring at the town of Warrington, in Lancashire, where he had resolved to have his work on prisons printed. His reasons for printing the book there, rather than in London, were various; one of them was, that he wished to be near his friend Dr. (then Mr.) Aikin, employed as a surgeon in Warrington, whose literary talents were of assistance to him in fitting the work for publication. Dr. Aikin gives the following account of the process which Mr. Howard’s notes underwent, in order to qualify them for being sent to press――his own composition, as our readers are already aware, being none of the most correct in a grammatical point of view. ‘On his return from his tours,’ says Dr. Aikin, ‘he took all his memorandum-books to an old, retired friend of his, who assisted him in methodising them, and copied out the whole matter in correct language. They were then put into the hands of Dr. Price, from whom they underwent a revision, and received occasionally considerable alterations. With his papers thus corrected, Mr. Howard came to the press at Warrington; and first he read them all over carefully to me, which perusal was repeated sheet by sheet, as they were printed. As new facts and observations were continually suggesting themselves to his mind, he put the matter of them upon paper as they occurred, and then requested me to clothe them in such expressions as I thought proper. On these occasions such was his diffidence, that I found it difficult to make him acquiesce in his own language, when, as frequently happened, it was unexceptionable. Of this additional matter, some was interwoven with the text, but the greater part was necessarily thrown into notes.’ So intent was he upon the publication of the work, that, ‘for the purpose,’ we are told by his biographer, Mr. Brown, ‘of being near the scene of his labors, he took lodgings in a house close to his printer’s shop; and during a very severe winter he was always called up by two in the morning, though he did not retire to rest till ten. His reason for this early rising was, that in the morning he was least disturbed in his work of revising the sheets as they came from the press. At seven he regularly dressed for the day, and had his breakfast; when, punctually at eight, he repaired to the printing-office, and remained there till the workmen went to dinner at one, when he returned to his lodgings, and putting some bread and raisins, or other dried fruit, in his pocket, generally took a walk in the outskirts of the town, eating, as he walked, his hermit fare, which, with a glass of water on his return, was the only dinner he took. When he had returned to the printing-office, he generally remained there until the men left work, and then repaired to Mr. Aikin’s house, to go through with him any sheets which might have been composed during the day; or, if there were nothing upon which he wished to consult him, he would either spend an hour with some friend, or return to his own lodgings, where he took his tea or coffee in lieu of supper, and at his usual hour retired to bed.’

In April 1777 appeared the work which had cost him so much labor. Its title was, ‘The State of the Prisons in England and Wales, with Preliminary Observations, and an Account of some Foreign Prisons. By John Howard, F.R.S.’ Although the work was very bulky, consisting of 520 quarto pages, with four large plates, yet ‘so zealous was he,’ says Dr Aikin, ‘to diffuse information, and so determined to obviate any idea that he meant to repay his expenses by the profitable trade of book-making, that he insisted on fixing the price of the volume so low, that, had every copy been sold, he would still have presented the public with all the plates and great part of the printing.’ Besides, he distributed copies profusely among all persons who possessed, or might possibly possess, influence in carrying his benevolent views into effect. ‘As soon as the book appeared,’ continues Dr. Aikin, ‘the world was astonished at the mass of valuable materials accumulated by a private unaided individual, through a course of prodigious labor, and at the constant hazard of life, in consequence of the infectious diseases prevalent in the scenes of his inquiries. The cool good sense and moderation of his narrative, contrasted with that enthusiastic ardor which must have impelled him to the undertaking, were not less admired; and he was immediately regarded as one of the extraordinary characters of the age, and as a leader in all plans of meliorating the condition of that wreched part of the community for whom he interested himself.’

To give an idea of the extent of the evils of the prison system in the time of Howard, and of the thorough manner in which these were taken cognizance of by him, we will present our readers with an abridgment of the introductory section of his work, in which, before passing to his special report on the state of the various prisons which he had visited, he gives a summary, or ‘General View of Distress in Prisons.’ The extracts will be found not only interesting in their connexion with Howard’s life, but also interesting in themselves.

‘There are prisons,’ he begins, ‘into which whoever looks will, at first sight of the people confined, be convinced that there is some great error in the management of them; their sallow, meagre countenances declare, without words, that they are very miserable. Many who went in healthy, are in a few months changed to emaciated, dejected objects. Some are seen pining under diseases, ‘sick and in prison,’ expiring on the floors, in loathsome cells, of pestilential fevers and confluent small-pox; victims, I must not say to the cruelty, but I will say to the inattention, of sheriffs and gentlemen in the commission of the peace. The cause of this distress is, that many prisons are scantily supplied, and some almost totally destitute, of the necessaries of life.

‘Food.――There are several bridewells in which prisoners have no allowance of food at all. In some, the keeper farms what little is allowed them; and where he engages to supply each prisoner with one or two pennyworths of bread a-day, I have known this shrunk to half, sometimes less than half the quantity――out of, or broken from, his own loaf. It will perhaps be asked――Does not their work maintain them? The answer to that question, though true, will hardly be believed. There are few bridewells in which any work is done, or can be done. The prisoners have neither tools nor materials of any kind, but spend their time in sloth, profaneness, and debauchery, to a degree which, in some of those houses that I have seen, is extremely shocking.… The same complaint――want of food――is to be found in many county jails. In above half of these debtors have no bread, although it is granted to the highwayman, the housebreaker, and the murderer; and medical assistance, which is provided for the latter, is withheld from the former. In many of these jails, debtors who would work are not permitted to have any tools, lest they should furnish felons with them for escape, or other mischief. I have often seen these prisoners eating their water-soup (bread boiled in mere water), and heard them say, ‘We are locked up, and almost starved to death.’ As to the relief provided for debtors by the benevolent act 32d of George II, I did not find in all England and Wales, except in the counties of Middlesex and Surrey, twelve debtors who had obtained from their creditors the fourpence a-day to which they had a right by that act. The truth is, some debtors are the most pitiable objects in our jails. To their wanting necessary food, I must add not only the demands of jailers, etc., for fees, but also the extortion of bailiffs. These detain in their houses (properly enough denominated spunging-houses), at an enormous expense, prisoners who have money. I know there is a legal provision against this oppression; but the mode of obtaining redress is attended with difficulty, and the abuse continues. The rapine of these extortioners needs some more effectual and easy check: no bailiff should be suffered to keep a public-house.… Felons have in some jails two pennyworth of bread a-day; in some, three halfpennyworth; in some, a pennyworth; in some, none. I often weighed the bread in different prisons, and found the penny loaf seven ounces and a half to eight ounces; the other loaves in proportion. It is probable that, when this allowance was fixed by its value, near double the quantity that the money will now purchase might be bought for it; yet the allowance continues unaltered, and it is not uncommon to see the whole purchase, especially of the smaller sums, eaten at breakfast――which is sometimes the case when they receive their pittance but once in two days; and then on the following day, they must fast. This allowance being so far short of the cravings of nature, and in some prisons lessened by farming to the jailer, many criminals are half-starved; such of them as at their commitment were in health, come out almost famished, scarcely able to move, and for weeks incapable of labor.

‘Water.――Many prisons have no water. This defect is frequent in bridewells and town jails. In the felon’s courts of some county jails there is no water; in some places where there is water, prisoners are always locked up within doors, and have no more than the keeper or his servants think fit to bring them; in one place they were limited to three pints a-day each――a scanty provision for drink and cleanliness.

‘Air.――And as to air, my reader will judge of the malignity of that breathed in prisons, when I assure him that my clothes were, in my first journeys, so offensive, that in a postchaise I could not bear the windows drawn up, and was therefore obliged to travel commonly on horseback. The leaves of my memorandum-book were often so tainted, that I could not use it till after spreading it an hour or two before the fire; and even my antidote――a vial of vinegar――has, after using it in a few prisons, be come intolerably disagreeable. I did not wonder that in those journeys, many jailors made excuses, and did not go with me into the felons’ wards. From hence any one may judge of the probability there is against the health and life of prisoners crowded in close rooms, cells, and subterranean dungeons for fourteen or fifteen hours out of the four-and-twenty. In some of these caverns the floor is very damp; in others there is an inch or two of water; and the straw, or bedding, is laid on such floors――seldom on barrack bedsteads. Where prisoners are not kept in underground cells, they are often confined to their rooms, because there is no court belonging to the prison――which is the case in many city and town jails; or because the walls round the yard are ruinous, or too low for safety; or because the jailor has the ground for his own use. Some jails have no sewers or vaults; and in those that have, if they be not properly attended to, they are, even to a visitor, offensive beyond description. How noxious, therefore, to people constantly confined in those prisons! One cause why the rooms in some prisons are so close, is the window tax, which the jailors have to pay; this tempts them to stop the windows, and stifle the prisoners.

‘Bedding.――In many jails, and in most bridewells, there is no allowance of bedding or straw for prisoners to sleep on; and if by any means they get a little, it is not changed for months together, so that it is offensive, and almost worn to dust. Some lie upon rags, others upon the bare floors. When I have complained of this to the keepers, the justification has been, The county allows no straw; the prisoners have none but at my cost.

‘Morals.――I have now to complain of what is pernicious to the morals of prisoners; and that is, the confining all sorts of prisoners together――debtors and felons, men and women, the young beginner and the old offender; and with all these, in some counties, such as are guilty of misdemeanors only. In some jails you see――and who can see it without sorrow?――boys of twelve and fourteen eagerly listening to the stories told by practised criminals of their adventures, successes, stratagems, and escapes.

‘Lunatics.――In some few jails are confined idiots and lunatics. These serve for sport to idle visitants at assizes, and at other times of general resort. Many of the bridewells are crowded and offensive, because the rooms which were designed for prisoners are occupied by the insane. When these are not kept separate they disturb and terrify the other prisoners.

‘Jail Fever.――I am ready to think that none who have given credit to what is contained in the foregoing pages, will wonder at the havoc made by the jail fever. From my own observations in 1773, 1774, and 1775, I was fully convinced that many more prisoners were destroyed by it than were put to death by all the public executions in the kingdom.[3] This frequent effect of confinement in prison seems generally understood, and shows how full of emphatical meaning is the curse of a severe creditor, who pronounces his debtor’s doom to rot in jail. I believe I have learnt the full import of this sentence from the vast numbers who, to my certain knowledge, and some of them before my eyes, have perished by the jail fever. But the mischief is not confined to prisons. In Baker’s Chronicle, p. 353, that historian, mentioning the assize held in Oxford in 1577 (called, from its fatal consequences, the Black Assize), informs us that ‘all who were present died within forty hours――the lord chief baron, the sheriff, and about three hundred more’――all being infected by the prisoners who were brought into court. Lord Bacon observes, that ‘the most pernicious infection next the plague, is the smell of a jail when the prisoners have been long, and close, and nastily kept; whereof,’ he says, ‘we have had in our time experience twice or thrice, when both the judges that sat upon the jail, and numbers of those who attended the business, or were present, sickened and died.’ At the Lent assize in Taunton, 1730, some prisoners who were brought thither from Ivelchester jail infected the court; and lord chief baron Pengelly, Sir James Sheppard, sergeant, John Pigot, Esq., sheriff, and some hundreds besides, died all of the jail distemper. At Axminster, a little town in Devonshire, a prisoner discharged from Exeter jail in 1755, infected his family with that disease, of which two of them died; and many others in that town afterwards. The numbers that were carried off by the same malady in London in 1750――two judges, the lord mayor, one alderman, and many of inferior rank――are well known. It were easy to multiply instances of the mischief; but those which have been mentioned are, I presume, sufficient to show, even if no mercy were due to prisoners, that the jail distemper is a national concern of no small importance.[4]

‘Vicious examples.――The general prevalence and spread of wickedness in prisons and abroad by discharged prisoners, will now be as easily accounted for as the propagation of disease. It is often said, ‘a prison pays no debts;’ I am sure it may be added, that a prison mends no morals. Sir John Fielding observes, that ‘a criminal discharged, generally by the next session after the execution of his comrades, becomes the head of a gang of his own raising.’ And petty offenders who are committed to bridewell for a year or two, and spend that time, not in hard labor, but in idleness and wicked company, or are sent for that time to county jails, generally grow desperate, and come out fitted for the perpetration of any villainy. Half the robberies in and about London are planned in the prisons, and by that dreadful assemblage of criminals, and the number of idle people who visit them. Multitudes of young creatures, committed for some trifling offense, are totally ruined there. I make no scruple to affirm, that if it were the wish and aim of magistrates to effect the destruction, present and future, of young delinquents, they could not devise a more effectual method than to confine them so long in our prisons, those seats and seminaries of idleness and every vice.

‘These gentlemen who, when they are told of the misery which our prisoners suffer, content themselves with saying, “let them take care to keep out,” prefaced perhaps with an angry prayer, seem not duly sensible of the favor of Providence which distinguishes them from the sufferers. They do not remember that we are required to imitate our gracious Heavenly Parent, who is kind to the unthankful and to the evil; they also forget the vicissitudes of human affairs; the unexpected changes to which all men are liable; and that those whose circumstances are affluent, may in time be reduced to indigence, and become debtors and prisoners. As to criminality, it is possible that a man who has often shuddered at hearing the account of a murder, may, on a sudden temptation, commit that very crime. Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall, and commiserate those that are fallen.’

Such, in an abridged form, is the introductory section of Mr. Howard’s work, entitled ‘A General View of Distress in Prisons;’ but in order fully to appreciate the enormous extent of his labors, it would be necessary to follow him into the remainder of the work, in which he describes and criticises, one by one, the various prisons, both foreign and British, which he had visited during the preceding four years. It is only in this way that one can gain an adequate conception of the misery and wretchedness of the prison system of Great Britain in the latter part of the eighteenth century.

Mr. Howard did not consider that his labors were over when he had published his work on prisons, and laid before the world grievances which had long flourished in society undetected and unknown. In the end of the first edition of his work, he had made a promise that, ‘if the legislature should seriously engage in the reformation of our prisons, he would take a third journey through the Prussian and Austrian dominions, and the free cities of Germany. This,’ he says, ‘I accomplished in 1778, and likewise extended my tour through Italy, and revisited some of the countries I had before seen in pursuit of my object.’ His observations during this tour he published in a second edition of his work in 1780. Wishing, before the publication of a third edition, to acquire some further knowledge on the subject, he again visited Holland, and some cities in Germany. ‘I visited also,’ he says, ‘the capitals of Denmark, Sweden, Russia, and Poland; and, in 1783, some cities in Portugal and Spain, and returned through France, Flanders, and Holland.’ The substance of all these travels he threw into a third and final edition of his work on prisons.

Thus, during ten years, had Howard labored incessantly at a single object, allowing no other to interfere with it; traveling almost without intermission from place to place, and undergoing innumerable risks. From a table drawn up by one of his biographers, it appears that, between 1773 and 1783, he had traveled on his missions of philanthropy, at home and abroad, upwards of forty thousand miles. Forty thousand miles traveled in ten years!――not from mountain to mountain, or from one object of natural beauty to another, but from jail to jail, and bridewell to bridewell――no wonder that Howard, on the retrospect of such a labor fairly accomplished, wrote in his diary, ‘I bless God who inclined my mind to such a scheme.’

During his journeys in Great Britain and Ireland, Mr. Howard was usually accompanied by a single servant. He traveled generally on horseback, at the rate of forty miles a-day. ‘He was never,’ says his biographer, Dr. Aikin, ‘at a loss for an inn. When in Ireland, or the Highlands of Scotland, he used to stop at one of the poor cabins that stuck up a rag by way of sign, and get a little milk. When he came to the town he was to sleep at, he bespoke a supper, with wine and beer, like another traveler; but made his man attend him, and take it away while he was preparing his bread and milk. He always paid the waiters, postilions, etc., liberally, because he would have no discontent or dispute, nor suffer his spirits to be agitated for such a matter; saying that, in a journey which might cost three or four hundred pounds, fifteen or twenty pounds in addition were not worth thinking about.’

In the spring of 1784 Mr. Howard, now about fifty-seven years of age, retired to his estate of Cardington, intending to spend the remainder of his life in peace and quiet, assisting in his private capacity in furthering those schemes of prison improvement which his disclosures had set on foot. He resumed the mode of life which he had led before commencing his prison inquiries; with this difference, that, being now a distinguished public character, his visitors were more frequent and more numerous than formerly. There was one sad circumstance, however, which embittered the peace of this benevolent man. His only son, who had received his early education at several academies in England, and had been sent in his eighteenth year to the university of Edinburgh, and placed under the care of the venerable and well-known Dr. Blacklock, had unhappily contracted habits of extravagance and dissipation; which, to any parent, and especially to one of Howard’s principles, must have caused poignant grief. Already the unfortunate young man had shown symptoms of that malady, brought on by his own imprudent and vicious conduct, which ultimately settled into complete insanity. Of the full extent of this domestic misfortune Mr. Howard was not yet aware.

After nearly two years of repose, interrupted only by the circumstance to which we have alluded, Mr. Howard resolved to quit home on a new mission of philanthropy, fraught with greater danger than the one he had accomplished so successfully. During his inquiries into the state of prisons, his attention had been often directed to the spread of infectious diseases, and the inadequacy of the means provided for checking the progress of fever, pestilence, etc., whether originating in jails or elsewhere. The subject thus suggested to him occupied much of his thoughts during his leisure at Cardington; and he at length determined to devote the remainder of his life to an inspection of the principal hospitals and lazarettos of Europe, with a view to ascertain their defects, and the possibility of effecting such improvements in them as would in future preserve the populations of Europe from the ravages of that dreadful visitation――the plague.

Towards the end of November 1785, Mr. Howard left England on his new expedition of philanthropy. He proceeded first to France, with a view to inspect the lazaretto at Marseilles; but, owing to the jealousy of the French government, it was with the utmost difficulty he could accomplish his object; indeed he narrowly escaped apprehension and committal to the Bastile. After visiting the hospitals of Genoa, Leghorn, Pisa, and Florence, he next proceeded to Rome. Here he was privately introduced to Pope Pius VI, himself a benevolent man. On this occasion the ceremony of kissing the pope’s toe was dispensed with; and at parting, his holiness laid his hand on his visitor’s head, saying kindly, ‘I know you Englishmen do not mind these ceremonies, but the blessing of an old man can do you no harm.’ From Rome our traveler went to Naples, and thence to Malta, pursuing always, as his single object, a knowledge of the state of the hospitals on his route. Writing from Malta to a friend in England, he says, ‘I have paid two visits to the Grand Master. Every place is flung open to me. I am bound for Zante, Smyrna, and Constantinople. One effect I find during my visits to the lazaretto; namely a heavy headache――a pain across my forehead; but it has always quite left me in an hour after I have come from these places. As I am quite alone, I have need to summon all my courage and resolution.’

After remaining about three weeks at Malta, Mr. Howard set out for Zante. ‘From thence,’ he says, ‘in a foreign ship I got a passage to Smyrna. Here I boldly visited the hospitals and prisons; but as some accidents happened, a few dying of the plague, several shrunk at me. I came thence to Constantinople, where I now am, about a fortnight ago. As I was in a miserable Turk’s boat, I was lucky in a passage of six days and a half. I am sorry to say some die of the plague about us. One is just carried before my window; yet I visit where none of my conductors will accompany me. In some hospitals, as in the lazarettos, and yesterday among the sick slaves, I have a constant headache; but in about an hour after it always leaves me. I lodge at a physician’s house, and I keep some of my visits a secret.’ From Constantinople he returned to Smyrna, where the plague was also raging; his object being to obtain a passage from that port to Venice, in order that he might undergo the full rigors of the quarantine system, and be able to report, from personal observation, respecting the economy of a lazaretto. On the voyage from Smyrna to Venice, the ship in which he sailed was attacked by a Tunis privateer, and all on board ran great risks. At length, after a desperate fight, a cannon loaded with spikes, nails, and old iron, and pointed by Mr. Howard himself, was discharged with such effect upon the corsair vessel, that it was obliged to sheer off. From Venice he writes thus to his confidential servant Thomasson, at Cardington; the letter being dated Venice Lazaretto, October 12, 1786:――‘I am now in an infectious lazaretto, yet my steady spirits never forsook me till yesterday, on the receipt of my letters. Accumulated misfortunes almost sink me. I am sorry, very sorry, on your account. I will hasten home; no time will I lose by night or day. But forty days I have still to be confined here, as our ship had a foul bill of health, the plague being in the place from whence we sailed. Then that very hasty and disagreeable measure that is taken in London wounds me sadly indeed. Never have I returned to my country with such a heavy heart as I now do.’ The two circumstances which he alludes to in this extract as distressing him so much, and making him so anxious to leave Venice and return home, were the misconduct of his son, of which he had received further accounts, and a proposal which had just been made in London, and of which intelligence had been conveyed to him, to erect a monument to commemorate the nation’s sense of his former philanthropic labors.

The term of his quarantine at Venice being finished, he proceeded to Trieste, and thence to Vienna. How the thoughts of his sad domestic affliction mingled and struggled with his daily exertions in connexion with the great object of his tour, we may learn from the following touching postscript to a letter to Mr. Smith of Bedford, written from Vienna, and dated 17th December 1786:――‘Excuse writing, etc., as wrote early by a poor lamp. What I suffered, I am persuaded I should have disregarded in the lazaretto, as I gained useful information. Venice is the mother of all lazarettos; but oh, my son, my son!’ At Vienna Mr. Howard had an interview with the Austrian emperor, who entered into conversation with him on the subject of his tour, discussed with him the state of the prisons and hospitals in his Austrian dominions, and expressed his intention to adopt some of his suggestions for their improvement. The attention shown by the emperor to his distinguished visitor procured him the notice of many of the courtiers; and a characteristic anecdote is told of his interview with the governor of Upper Austria and his lady. The Austrian noble asked Howard, in a somewhat haughty manner, what he thought of the prisons in his government. ‘The worst in all Germany,’ said Howard; ‘particularly as regards the female prisoners; and I recommend your countess to visit them personally, as the best means of rectifying the abuses in their management.’ ‘I!’ said the astonished countess; ‘I go into prisons!’ and she rapidly descended the staircase with her husband, as if shocked beyond measure. The philanthropist indignantly followed, and called after her, ‘Madam, remember you are but a woman yourself; and must soon, like the most miserable female in a dungeon, inhabit a little piece of that earth from which both of you sprung.’

Returning home in February 1787, after an absence of fifteen months, Mr. Howard found his unhappy son a confirmed and incurable lunatic. For some time he attempted to keep him in his own house at Cardington, under a mild restraint; at length, however, he yielded to the advice of the medical attendants, and suffered him to be removed to a well conducted asylum at Leicester.

The proposal to erect a memorial to Mr. Howard, was so strenuously resisted by him on his return to England, that it was obliged to be given up. Out of £1533 which had been subscribed for the purpose, about £500 pounds were returned to the donors: the remainder was placed in the stocks――£200 of it being employed in obtaining the discharge of fifty-five poor prisoners in London, a similar sum in the striking of a medal in memory of Howard, and the rest being appropriated, after his death, to the object for which it had been collected. Howard’s opposition to the scheme of erecting to him any species of monument, amounted to positive antipathy; indeed nothing was more remarkable in his character than his dislike to be praised for what he had done. When one gentleman happened to speak to him respecting his services to society in a flattering manner, Howard interrupted him by saying, ‘My dear sir, what you call my merit is just my hobby-horse.’

The three years which followed Mr. Howard’s return from his first tour through the lazarettos of Europe, were spent by him in a new general inspection of the English, Scotch, and Irish prisons, with a view to ascertain whether any improvements had been effected in them since his former survey; and in the preparation of a work giving an account of his recent continental journey. This work was entitled, ‘An Account of the Principal Lazarettos of Europe, with Papers Relative to the Plague;’ and was published in the year 1789. It contained, in the form of an appendix, additional remarks on the state of British prisons.

In the conclusion of his work on Lazarettos, Howard announced his intention of again quitting England to visit the hospitals of Russia, Turkey and the Eastern countries, in order to gain more accurate and extensive views of the plague. ‘I am not insensible,’ he says, ‘of the dangers that must attend such a journey. Trusting, however, in the protection of that Providence which has hitherto preserved me, I calmly and cheerfully commit myself to the disposal of unerring wisdom.’

‘Should it please God to cut off my life in the prosecution of this design, let not my conduct be uncandidly imputed to rashness or enthusiasm, but to a serious, deliberate conviction that I am pursuing the path of duty, and to a sincere desire of being made an instrument of more extensive usefulness to my fellow-creatures than could be expected in the narrower circle of a retired life.’ With regard to his objects in undertaking this journey, his biographer, Dr. Aikin, observes that he had various conversations with him on the subject; and found rather a wish to have objects of inquiry pointed out to him by others, than any specific views present to his own mind.

On the 4th of July 1789, Mr. Howard, accompanied by a single servant, quitted England on his last philanthropic journey. He passed through Holland, part of Germany, Prusia, and several cities of Russia, examining the state of the hospitals; and about the end of the year had reached Cherson, a new settlement of the Russian empress at the mouth of the Dnieper. This was destined to be the closing scene of his labors.

Visiting, according to one account, the Russian hospital of the place; according to another, a young lady, whose friends were anxious that he should prescribe for her, as he had done successfully in many similar cases, he caught a malignant fever, which, after an illness of twelve days, carried him off on the 20th of January, 1790, in the sixty-fourth year of his age. On his deathbed he showed the same calm and Christian spirit which had distinguished him through life. To Admiral Priestman, who resided at Cherson, and who visited him during his illness, and endeavored to amuse and cheer him by his remarks, thinking to divert his thoughts, he said, ‘Priestman, you style this a dull conversation, and endeavor to divert my mind from dwelling on death; but I entertain very different sentiments. Death has no terrors to me; it is an event I always look to with cheerfulness, if not with pleasure; and be assured the subject is more grateful than any other. I am well aware that I have but a short time to live; my mode of life has rendered it impossible that I should get rid of this fever. I have no method of lowering my nourishment, and therefore I must die. It is such jolly fellows as you, Priestman, that get over these fevers.’ Then alluding to the subject of his funeral, he continued――‘There is a spot near the village of Dauphigny; this would suit me nicely. You know it well, for I have often said that I should like to be buried there; and I beg of you as you value your old friend, not to suffer any pomp to be used at my funeral; nor any monument, nor monumental inscription whatever, to mark where I am laid; but lay me quietly in the earth, place a sun-dial over my grave, and let me be forgotton.’ These directions were in spirit, although not strictly complied with; and on the 25th of January 1790, the body of Howard was buried in the spot which he had chosen near the village of Dauphigny, at a little distance from Cherson.

The authorities and the inhabitants of the place testified their respect for him by attending his remains to the grave. Instead of the sun-dial, a small brick pyramid was erected on the spot. In Cardington church, according to his direction, a plain slip of marble was erected by his wife’s tomb, bearing this inscription: ‘John Howard; died at Cherson, in Russian Tartary, January 20th, 1790. Aged 64. Christ is my hope.’ A more stately monument was soon afterwards erected to his memory in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Howard’s son, who never recovered from his malady, died in April 1799, in his thirty-fifth year.

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.

George Gordon, the only son of Captain John Byron, by his second wife, Miss Gordon, of Gight, and grandson of the celebrated Admiral Byron, was born in Holles Street, London, on the 22d of January, 1788. His ancestry, of which he is said to have been more proud than of having been the author of Childe Harold and Manfred, was composed of persons of distinction, but possessing much of that daring recklessness of character which so early displayed itself in the subject of our memoir. His great uncle, Lord William, to whom he succeeded, was tried for killing his relation, Mr. Chaworth, in a duel; and his father, who had caused his first wife to die of a broken heart, after having seduced her, when Marchioness of Carmarthen, became the husband of our poet’s mother, as he openly avowed, for her fortune alone; after the dissipation of which, he separated from her, and died at Valenciennes, in 1791. At this time, young Byron resided, with his mother, at Aberdeen, where in November, 1792, he was sent to a day school; but, according to his own account, ‘learned little there, except to repeat by rote the first lesson of monosyllables.’ After remaining a year in this school, he was placed with a clergyman, named Ross, under whom, he says, he made astonishing progress; and observes, that the moment he could read, his grand passion was history. His next tutor was named Paterson; with him, he adds, ‘I began Latin in Ruddiman’s grammar, and continued till I went to the grammar-school, where I threaded all the classes to the fourth, when I was recalled to England by the demise of my uncle.

The anecdotes which are told of him at this time, display his temper in an unfavorable light, both in his infancy and boyhood. Mr. Moore relates, that whilst yet in petticoats, being angrily reprimanded by his nurse for having soiled or torn a new frock, in which he had just been dressed, he got into one of his ‘silent rages’ (as he himself has described them), seized the frock with both his hands, rent it from top to bottom, and stood, in sullen stillness, setting his censurer and her wrath at defiance. The same authority tells us, that once, in returning home from school at Aberdeen, Byron fell in with a boy who had, on some former occasion, insulted him, but had then got off unpunished; little Byron, however, at the time, promising to ‘pay him off’ whenever they should meet again. Accordingly, on this second encounter, though there were some other boys to take his opponent’s part, he succeeded in inflicting upon him a hearty beating. On his return home, breathless, the servant inquired what he had been about, and was answered by him, with a mixture of rage and humor, that he had been paying a debt, by beating a boy according to promise; for that he was a Byron and would not belie his motto. Other anecdotes are told of him, which show him to have been passionate and resentful to that degree, as to leave it doubtful whether the description of him as ‘a malignant imp’ is not more applicable to his early years, than that of ‘a lively, warm-hearted, and high-spirited boy.’ Before closing our account of his infancy, we should not omit to state that he suffered much from the malformation of one of his feet, which gave him much pain and mortification throughout his life. Even when a child, an allusion to this infirmity so provoked him, that he once struck at a person who remarked it, with a little whip which he held in his hand, exclaiming impatiently, as his eyes flashed fire, ‘Dinna speak of it!’ He himself says, in some memoranda of his early days, that he never felt greater horror and humiliation than when his mother, in one of her fits of passion, called him a ‘lame brat:’ and it is certain, that he always felt it as a sort of ignominy, notwithstanding Mr. Moore’s assertion that in after-life, ‘he could sometimes talk indifferently, and even jestingly, of this lameness.’ His attachment to Mary Duff commenced when he was only eight years of age; but, though, eight years afterwards, the account of her marriage with another, ‘nearly threw him into convulsions,’ and for a while embittered his existence, it was, he adds, ‘the recollection, not the attachment, which afterwards recurred to me so forcibly.’ This affection, however, was not without its influence upon his mind, and probably tended to increase that love of contemplation and solitude, which he is said to have sometimes carried to a dangerous excess among the mountainous scenery of the highlands.

In 1798, he prepared to quit Scotland for Newstead, in consequence of his accession to his family title, of which, perhaps, he was not a little proud; for his mother having said to him, some time in the previous year, whilst perusing a newspaper, that she hoped to have the pleasure of some time or other reading his speeches in the house of commons; he replied, ‘I hope not; if you read any speeches of mine, it will be in the house of lords.’ On his arrival at Newstead, he continued his studies under Mr. Rogers, a schoolmaster in the neighborhood, and was also attended by a quack of the name of Lavender, who had undertaken to cure the defect in his foot. Of this man he had a great abhorrence, and took every opportunity of ridiculing him; and, about the same time, the first symptom of his predilection for rhyming showed itself in four lines of doggerel, respecting an old woman who had given him some offense. In 1799, he was removed to London; and at the suggestion of his guardian, the Earl of Carlisle, placed under the care of Dr. Baillie, who also attended him on his subsequent removal to the school of Dr. Glennie, at Dulwich, where he appears to have gained the esteem both of his master and schoolfellows. His reading in history and poetry, says Dr. Glennie, was far beyond the usual standard of his age; and ‘he showed an intimate accquaintance with the historical parts of Holy Scriptures;’ an assertion which serves to confirm the subsequent declaration of Byron himself, ‘that he was a great reader and admirer of the Old Testament, and had read it through and through before he was eight years old.’ The progress he was rapidly making under Dr. Glennie was, unfortunately, interrupted by the foolish indulgence of his mother, who took him home so frequently, and behaved with so much violence when remonstrated with on the subject, that lord Carlisle determined upon removing his ward to Harrow, whither he was sent in his fourteenth year.

In 1800, he had, as he expresses himself, made ‘his first dash into poetry; the ebullition,’ he adds ‘of a passion for my first cousin, Margaret Parker, one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings.’ This was succeeded by his attachment for Miss Mary Chaworth, whom he used to meet during the Harrow vacations; she was two years older than himself, and does not appear to have given sufficient encouragement to his addresses, to warrant his declaration ‘that she jilted him:’ especially as she was, at the time of their first acquaintance, engaged to Mr. Musters, whom she subsequently married. There is no doubt, however, that his affection for the lady (who is now dead) was sincere, and that the loss of her had an embittering influence upon his future life. A person, who was present when Miss Chaworth’s marriage was first announced to him, has thus described the scene that occurred:――‘Byron, I have some news for you,’ said his mother. ‘Well, what is it?’ ‘Take out our handkerchief first, you will want it.’ ‘Nonsense!’ ‘Take out your handkerchief, I say.’ He did so, to humor her. ‘Miss Chaworth is married.’ An expression very peculiar, impossible to describe, passed over his pale face, and he hurried his handkerchief into his pocket; saying with an affected air of coldness and nonchalance, ‘Is that all?’ ‘Why, I expected,’ said his mother, ‘you would have been plunged into grief.’ He made no reply, and soon began to talk about something else.

This took place in 1805, the year of his leaving Harrow, which he quitted with the character of a plain-spoken, clever and undaunted, but idle boy. His master, Dr. Drury, for whom he always entertained respect and affection, spoke of him as one who ‘might be led by a silken string to a point, rather than by a cable;’ and being asked his opinion of his pupil, after some continuance at Harrow, by lord Carlisle, he replied, that ‘he had talents which would add lustre to his rank.’ Though generally, however, reputed to be too indolent to excel in school, it seems that he collected a vast fund of information, which was little suspected by those who saw him only when idle, in mischief, or at play. ‘The truth is,’ he says, ‘that I read eating, read in bed, read when no one else read, and had read all sorts of reading since I was five years old, though I never met with a review till I was in my nineteenth year.’ He was not, at first, liked by his schoolfellows; but with some of them he ultimately formed friendships, to which he always reverted with a melancholy delight, broken, as most of them were, by his own waywardness, or the peculiar circumstances which attended his subsequent career.

His intrepidity was shown in several pugilistic combats, many of which he undertook in the defense and protection of other boys. One of his schoolfellows says, that he has seen him fight by the hour like a Trojan, and stand up, against the disadvantages of his lameness, with all the spirit of an ancient combatant. On the same person’s reminding him of his battle with Pitt, he replied, ‘You are mistaken, I think; it must have been with Rice-pudding Morgan, or Lord Jocelyn, or one of the Douglases, or George Raynsford, or Pryce (with whom I had two conflicts), or with Moses Moore (the clod), or with somebody else, and not with Pitt; for with all the above-named, and other worthies of the fist, had I an interchange of black eyes and bloody noses, at various and sundry periods. However, it may have happened, for all that.’ He also told Captain Medwin, in allusion to two of his actions at Harrow, that he fought Lord Calthorpe for writing ‘D――d atheist’ under his name; and prevented the school-room from being burnt, during a rebellion, by pointing out to the boys the names of their fathers and grandfathers on the walls.

In 1805, he was entered of Trinity College, Cambridge, which he describes as ‘a new and heavy-hearted scene to him;’ adding, it was one of the deadliest and heaviest feelings of his life, to feel that he was no longer a boy. His chief ambition seems to have been to attain the reputation of a rake and a spendthrift; and his principal fear, lest he should become too fat, to prevent which, he took as much violent exercise as his naturally delicate constitution would allow. Among other of his eccentricities, for which he was more remarkable than his profligacy, though he seemed to take a pride in exaggerating the latter, it is said that he kept a bear, with the intention, as he observed, of training it up for a degree. The time not passed by him at the university, he at first spent with his mother, at Southwell, but her violent temper, which his own was not calculated to appease, soon led to their separation; and he afterwards resided in London, Little Hampton, Harrowgate, and other places of fashionable resort. At this period, he is said to have been remarkably bashful, though he subsequently so far overcame his shyness, as to take a prominent part in some private theatricals at Southwell. In November, 1807, his Hours of Idleness was printed at Newark; and, in the following year, appeared the memorable criticism upon them in The Edinburgh Review, which was decidedly unjust, though few, perhaps, will agree with the subject of our memoir, that these poems were as good as any he ever produced. The impression which the ciriticism above-mentioned made upon our poet, is described, by one who witnessed his fierce looks of defiance, during a first perusal of it, as fearful and sublime. Among the less sentimental effects of this review upon his mind, says Mr. Moore, he used to mention that, on the day he read it, he drank three bottles of claret to his own share after dinner; that nothing, however, relieved him till he had given vent to his indignation in rhyme; and that ‘after the first twenty lines, he felt himself considerably better.’ During the progress of the satire, he passed his time alternately at Newstead, London, and Brighton, where he took lessons in boxing, and appeared in public with a mistress who accompanied him, dressed in boy’s clothes, and whom he introduced as his young brother.

On coming of age, in 1809, he apprised Lord Carlisle of his wish to take his seat in the house of peers; and to the formal reply of the earl, and his refusal to afford any information respecting the marriage of our poet’s grandfather, is owing the bitterness with which he attacked the former in his English Bards. He at length took his seat on the 13th of March, and went down to the house for that purpose, accompanied only by Mr. Dallas, whom he had accidentally met. ‘He was received,’ says that gentleman, ‘in one of the ante-chambers, by some of the officers in attendance, with whom he settled respecting the fees he had to pay: one of them went to apprise the lord-chancellor of his being there, and soon returned for him. There were very few persons in the house. Lord Eldon was going through some ordinary business. When Lord Byron entered, I thought he looked still paler than before; and he certainly wore a countenance in which mortification was mingled with, but subdued by, indignation. He passed the woolsack without looking round, and advanced to the table, where the proper officer was attending to administer the oaths. When he had gone through them, the chancellor quitted his seat, and went towards him with a smile, putting out his hand warmly to welcome him; and, though I did not catch his words, I saw that he paid him some compliment. This was all thrown away upon Lord Byron, who made a stiff bow, and put the tips of his fingers into Lord Eldon’s hand. The chancellor did not press a welcome so received, but resumed his seat; while Lord Byron carelessly seated himself, for a few minutes, on one of the empty benches to the left of the throne, usually occupied by the lords in opposition. When, on his joining me, I expressed what I had felt, he said, “If I had shaken hands heartily, he would have set me down for one of his party; but I will have nothing to do with any of them, on either side: I have taken my seat, and now I will go abroad.” We returned to St. James’ Street, but he did not recover his spirits.’ Another account states that he offended the chancellor by replying to him, when he apologized for requiring the evidence of Admiral Byron’s marriage, as being a part of his duty: ‘Your lordship was exactly like Tom Thumb; you did your duty, and nothing more.’

Shortly after he had taken his seat, his satire was published anonymously, of which, though the success, at the time, highly gratified him, he, some years afterwards, wrote, ‘Nothing but the consideration of its being the property of another, prevents me from consigning this miserable record of misplaced and indiscriminate anger to the flames.’ Before a second edition was published, he left England, accompanied by Mr. Hobhouse, under the influence of those melancholy feelings, which he has described in the early part of the first canto of Childe Harold, in which poem a pretty accurate account of his travels is given, during his two years’ residence abroad. Almost every event he met with, he has made subservient to his muse, particularly the incident on which is founded his Giaour, and it was during this tour that he swam from Sestos to Abydos.

In July, 1811, he returned to England, and being visited by Mr. Dallas, put into his hands a Paraphrase of Horace’s Art of Poetry, expressing a wish that it should be printed under the latter’s superintendence; but he mentioned nothing of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, until Mr. Dallas expressed his surprise that he should have written so little during his absence. He then told his friend that ‘he had occasionally written short poems, besides a great many stanzas in Spenser’s measure, relative to the countries he had visited;’ and, at the same time, handed them to Mr. Dallas, observing, that they were not worth troubling him with. This gentleman had no sooner perused the poem, than he endeavored to persuade the author of its superiority, in every respect, to the Paraphrase of Horace; but it was not until after much real or affected reluctance, that he consented to the publication of Childe Harold, in preference to that of the former. He had scarcely made up his mind on the subject, before he was called to Newstead, by the illness of his mother, who, however, died a short time before his arrival, on the 1st of August. He is said to have been sincerely affected at her loss; and, on being found sitting near the corpse of his mother, by Mrs. Byron’s waiting-woman, he, in answer to her remonstrance with him for so giving way to grief, exclaimed, bursting into tears, ‘I had but one friend in the world, and she is gone!’ His subsequent conduct, however, had an eccentricity about it, which brought the sincerity of his grief into question:――‘On the morning of the funeral,’ says Mr. Moore, ‘having declined following the remains himself, he stood looking, from the abbey door, at the procession, till the whole had moved off; then turning to young Rushton, who was the only person left besides himself, he desired him to fetch the sparring gloves, and proceeded to his usual exercise with the boy. He was silent and abstracted all the time; and, as if from an effort to get the better of his feelings, threw more violence, Rushton thought, in his blows than was his habit; but, at last,――the struggle seeming too much for him,――he flung away the gloves, and retired to his room.’

A few months after the death of his mother, a correspondence took place between himself and Mr. Moore, the poet, of whose duel with Mr. Jeffrey, Byron had given a ludicrous, but untrue, account in his English Bards. After several letters of an explanatory, rather than hostile, nature, had passed on both sides, and in which each exhibited a manly and forbearing spirit, they became mutual friends, and remained so ever afterwards. On the 27th of February, 1812, Lord Byron made his first speech in the house of lords, on the subject of the Nottingham Frame-breaking Bill, and appears to have pleased both himself and his hearers. Mr. Dallas, who met him coming out of the house, says, that he was greatly elated; and, after repeating some of the compliments which had been paid him, concluded by saying, ‘that he had, by his speech, given the best advertisement for Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,’ which was two days afterwards published. The effect upon the public, as his biographer observes, was electric; as he has himself said, in his memoranda, ‘he awoke one morning, and found himself famous.’ The first edition of his work was disposed of instantly; ‘Childe Harold,’ and ‘Lord Byron,’ were the theme of every tongue; the most eminent literati of the day, including many whom he had attacked in his satire, left their names at his door; upon his table lay the epistolary tribute of the statesman and philosopher, the billet of some incognita, or the pressing note of some fair leader of fashion; and, in fine, ‘he found himself among the illustrious crowds of high life, the most distinguished object.’ The sum of £600 which he received for the copyright of the poem, he presented to Mr. Dallas; observing, ‘he would never receive money for his writings;’ a resolution which he subsequently abandoned. Among other results of the fame he had acquired by his Childe Harold, was his introduction to the prince regent, which took place at a ball, at the request of his royal highness, whose conversation so fascinated the poet, that had it not been, says Mr. Dallas, for an accidental deferring of the next levee, he bade fair to become a visitor at Carlton House, if not a complete courtier.

In the spring of 1813, he published, anonymously, his poem on waltzing; and as it was not received with the applause he anticipated, did not avow himself to be its author. In the same year, appeared The Giaour, and The Bride of Abydos; the former of which reached a fifth edition in four months. Mr. Murray offered him a thousand guineas for the copyright of the two poems, but he still refused to derive any pecuniary benefit from his writings. In 1814, his Corsair was published; the copyright of which he presented to Mr. Dallas. Fourteen thousand copies of the poem were sold in one day; but the popularity which this and his other works had procured for him, began to be lessened by his verses to the Princess Charlotte, and by a certain peculiarity of conduct which was looked upon as more indecorous than eccentric. Under these circumstances, he was persuaded to marry, and, in consequence, proposed to Miss Milbanke, the daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke; but was at first met with a polite refusal. He was however, not so much mortified as not to make her a second offer, though he says, in his memoranda, that a friend strongly advised him against doing so; observing that Miss Milbanke had, at present, no fortune, and that his embarrassed affairs would not allow him to marry without one; that she was, moreover, a learned lady, which would not at all suit him.’ He then agreed that his friend should write a proposal for him to another lady, and a refusal being the consequence, he said, ‘you see, after all, Miss Milbanke is to be the person: I will write to her:’ which he accordingly did, and was accepted. His marriage took place at Seaham, on the 2d of January, 1815; a day to which he seems to have always reverted with a shudder, and on which he, in reality, perhaps, experienced those emotions so touchingly described in his beautiful poem of The Dream. Superstition had, no doubt, some influence over his mind on the occasion; for, in addition to the circumstances hereafter related in his own words, he fancied, a short time previous to his marriage, that he had seen, at Newstead, the ghost of the monk which was supposed to haunt the abbey, and to appear when misfortune impended over the mansion,――a legend which he was versified in the sixteenth canto of Don Juan. His own memoranda relative to his union form an interesting prelude to its unhappy consequences. ‘It had been predicted by Mrs. Williams,’ says he, ‘that twenty-seven was to be the dangerous age for me. The fortune-telling which was right: it was destined to prove so. I shall never forget the 2d of January. Lady Byron was the only unconcerned person present: Lady Noel, her mother, cried: I trembled like a leaf, made the wrong responses, and after the ceremony called her Miss Milbanke. There is a singular history attached to the ring:――the very day the match was concluded, a ring of my mother’s that had been lost, was dug up by the gardener at Newstead. I thought it was sent on purpose for the wedding; but my mother’s marriage had not been a fortunate one, and this ring was doomed to be the seal of an unhappier union still. After the ordeal was over, we set off for a country seat of Sir Ralph’s; and I was surprised at the arrangements for the journey, and somewhat out of humor to find a lady’s maid stuck between me and my bride. It was rather too early to assume the husband, so I was forced to submit; but it was not with a very good grace. I have been accused of saying, on getting into the carriage, that I had married Lady Byron out of spite, and because she had refused me twice. Though I was, for a moment, vexed at the prophecy, or whatever you may choose to call it, if I had made so uncavalier, not to say brutal, a speech, I am convinced Lady Byron would instantly have left the carriage to me and the maid. She had spirit enough to have done so, and would properly have resented the insult. Our honeymoon was not all sunshine; it had its clouds; and Hobhouse has some letters which would serve to explain the rise and fall in the barometer; but it was never down at zero.’

About ten months after his marriage, the birth of his daughter took place; an event that was, in a few weeks, followed by a total separation of the parents. So many various reasons have been assigned for this step, by the friends of either party, and so much more than has yet come to light, has been insinuated by Lady Byron herself, that the real cause of their continued disunion still remains a mystery. Our poet has avowed, both in his conversation and correspondence, that, during his residence with his wife, he had nothing to complain of; and it was only when he found her unwilling to resume her connection with him that he gave vent to that bitterness of spirit with which he alludes to her in some of his poems. Mr. Moore speaks with all evident bias in favor of the subject of his biography; but whatever inferences may be drawn from the sacrifice of the papers relating to this affair, at the request of Lady Byron’s family,――and the previous request of the lady herself to her husband, that he would not publish them, on his sending them to her for perusal, which she declined,――it is clear, from the facts that have as yet been made public, that the conduct of Lord Byron was at least as culpable, as that of his wife appears, in the absence of further explanation, to have been extraordinary. Many excuses, however, are to be made for the subject of our memoir, who was most unwarrantably calumniated on the occasion, and publicly taxed with crimes, of which conjugal infidelity was not the least, though, perhaps, at the time of its imputation, the most unjustifiable. The ostensible cause of their separation was the involvement of his lordship’s affairs, and his connexion with the managing committee of Drury Lane, which led him into a course of life unsuitable to the domestic habits of Lady Byron. ‘My income, at this period,’ says his own account of the affair, ‘was small, and somewhat bespoken. We had a house in town, gave dinner parties, had separate carriages, and launched into every sort of extravagance. This could not last long. My wife’s £10,000 soon melted away. I was beset by duns, and at length, an execution was levied, and the bailiffs put in possession of the very beds we had to sleep on. This was no very agreeable state of affairs, no very pleasant scene for Lady Byron to witness; and it was agreed she should pay her father a visit till the storm had blown over, and some arangements had been made with my creditors.’

The lady, however, expressed her determination never to return to him, in a letter which had been preceded by one, beginning, as he ludicrously says, ‘dear duck!’ ‘You asked me,’ he says in a communication to Captain Medwin, ‘if no cause was assigned for this sudden resolution?――if I formed no conjecture about the cause? I will tell you: I have prejudices about women; I do not like to see them eat. Rousseau makes Julie un peu gourmande; but that is not at all according to my taste. I do not like to be interrupted when I am writing. Lady Byron did not attend to these whims of mine. The only harsh thing I ever remember saying to her was, one evening, shortly before our parting. I was standing before the fire, ruminating upon the embarrassment of my affairs, and other annoyances, when Lady Byron came up to me, and said, “Byron, am I in your way?” to which I replied, “D――――bly!” I was sorry, and reproached myself for the expression; but it escaped me unconsciously,――involuntarily: I hardly knew what I said.’

His lordship’s next poems were, Lara, The Siege of Corinth, and Parisina; the two last of which appeared in February, 1816; and, in the following April, he again left England, having previously published The Sketch, and his celebrated Fare-thee-well. He set out upon his travels in no very dejected state of mind, which may be accounted for by an observation in one of his letters, that ‘agitation or contest of any kind gave a rebound to his spirits, and set him up for the time.’ After reaching France, he crossed the field of Waterloo, and proceeded by the Rhine, to Switzerland, where he became acquainted with Shelley; and, whilst at Geneva, began the composition of a poem founded on his recent separation; but hearing that his wife was ill, he threw the manuscript into the fire. From Switzerland he proceeded to Italy, where he resided principally at Venice, and transmitted thence to London his third and fourth cantos of Childe Harold, the Prisoner of Chillon, and other poems, Manfred, and The Lament of Tasso. He also wrote, in that city, his Ode to Venice, and Beppo, which he is said to have finished at a sitting. His mode of living is accurately described in his own letters from Italy, which show him to have been equally candid and shameless in the confession of his amours. The first connexion he formed was with the wife of a linen-draper, in whose house he lodged; and highly censurable, says Mr. Moore, as was his course of life, while under the roof of this woman, ‘it was venial, in comparison with the strange, head-long career of license, to which he subsequently so unrestrainedly and defyingly abandoned himself.’ It will be unnecessary, after this admission from his most partial biographer, to say more than, that, after a gross and degrading course of libertinism, his desires were contracted into a passion for the Countess Guiccioli; with whom he first became acquainted in the April of 1819, and, in a few months, he became her acknowledged paramour. In the same year he was visited, at Venice, by Mr. Moore, to whom he made a present of the memoirs, which have been before alluded to. He brought them in, says Mr. Moore, one day, in a white leather bag, and holding it up, said, ‘look here; this would be worth something to Murray, though you, I dare say, would not give sixpence for it.’――‘What is it?’――‘My life and adventures:――it is not a thing that can be published during my life-time, but you may have it, if you like,――there, do whatever you please with it.’ In giving the bag, continues Mr. Moore, he added, ‘you may show it to any of our friends you think worthy of it.’

The Countess Guiccioli having gone back to Ravenna, at her husband’s desire, lord Byron was about to return to England, when a letter from his inamorata changed his mind, and he resumed his connexion with her, on her separation from her husband, which took place, on an understanding that she should in future reside with her father, Count Gamba. She acoordingly, in July 1820, removed from Ravenna to the count’s villa, a distance of about fifteen miles from the city, where our poet now took up his abode, visiting Madam Guiccioli once or twice in a month. After he had been about a twelvemonth at Ravenna, the state of the country began to render it unsafe for him to remain there any longer; and the Gambas (the father and brother of the Countess Guiccioli) having been exiled, he was induced to remove with them to Pisa, in the autumn of 1821. It appears, that he was himself suspected of having secretly joined the Carbonari; but, though such was the fact, and he had received warnings to discontinue his forest rides, he, as he observes, ‘was not to be bullied,’ and did not quit Ravenna till he had shown the authorites he was not afraid of remaining. His poetical productions, within the three last years, were, Mazeppa, his tragedies of Marino Faliero, the Two Foscari, and Sardanapalus, The Prophecy of Dante, Cain, and several cantos of Don Juan, the sixteenth canto of which he completed at Pisa. At this place he also wrote Werner, The Deformed Transformed, Heaven and Earth, and the celebrated Vision of Judgment; the two last of which appeared in The Liberal, the joint production of himself, Mr. Shelley, and Mr. Leigh Hunt, who had joined his lordship at Pisa. Of this periodical it is unnecessary to say more, in this, place, than that it failed after the fourth number, and gave rise to a prosecution against the publisher, on account of The Vision of Judgment.

An affray with some soldiers of Pisa, who, for some reason or other, had attempted to arrest our poet, and some other Englishmen, induced him to remove, with the Gambas, to Leghorn, and, subsequently, to Geneva, where he took up his residence, in September, 1822. The fervor of his attachment had now, probably, declined towards the Countess Guiccioli; and, anxious for more stirring scenes than those in which he had hitherto mixed, he engaged in a correspondence with the leaders of the insurrection in Greece, which ended in his departure for that country, in the summer of 1823. He has been censured by some for quitting Italy without having made a provision for his mistress, but it seems that she had refused to accept of any: upon what terms they parted is doubtful; for according to Mr. Galt, a friend of his was told, by the lady herself, ‘that she had not come to hate lord Byron, but she feared more than loved him.’ Her brother, however, Count Gamba, accompanied his lordship to Cephalonia, where he equipped forty Suliotes to assist in the defense of Missolonghi, and undertook to provide a loan of £12,000 for the equipment of a fleet against the Turks.

In the beginning of January 1824, he entered Missolonghi, where the inhabitants, who hailed his coming as that of a Messiah, received him with enthusiastic demonstrations of respect and applause. He began by attempting to induce the Greeks to a more civilized system of warfare than had been lately carried on; and, with this view, he not only personally rescued a Turk from some Greek sailors, on the very day of his landing, but released several prisoners in the town, and sent them back to Prevesa, in the hope that it would beget a similar mode of treatment towards the captives in the hands of the Turks. He then formed a brigade of Suliotes, five hundred of whom he took into his pay; and ‘burning,’ says Colonel Stanhope, ‘with military ardor and chivalry, prepared to lead them to Lepanto.’ The insubordination, however, among the troops, and the differences that hourly arose amid the half-famished and ill-accoutred garrison, rendered this step impracticable, and threw him into a state of feverish irritation, that destroyed his self-possession at a time when it was most necessary to the cause he was struggling to serve. An attack of epilepsy was the consequence of this state of mind, and on his recovery, he was strongly urged to remove, for a while, from the marshy and deleterious air of Missolonghi. This he indignantly refused to do; ‘I will remain here,’ he said, to Captain Parry, ‘until Greece is secure against the Turks, or till she has fallen under their power. All my income shall be spent in her service; but, unless driven by some great necessity, I will not touch a farthing of the sum intended for my sister’s children. When Greece is secure against external enemies, I will leave the Greeks to settle their government as they like. One service more, and an eminent service it will be, I think I may perform for them. You Parry, shall have a schooner built for me, or I will buy a vessel; the Greeks shall invest me with the character of their ambassador, or agent: I will go to the United States, and procure that free and enlightened government to set the example of recognizing the federation of Greece as an independent state. This done, England must follow the example, and Greece will then enter into all her rights as a member of the great commonwealth of Christian Europe.’

This was the last ebullition of a mind which was now tottering to its final decadence; though it occasionally broke out in those meteor-like flashes, which had belonged to its early vigor. On the 12th of April, a fever, of whose premonitory symptoms he had not been sufficiently heedful, confined him to his bed, and his physician, Dr. Bruno, proposed bleeding him, as the only means of saving his life. This, however, he repeatedly refused; declaring, that he had only a common cold, and that he would not permit the doctor to bleed him for the mere purpose of getting the reputation of curing his disease. At length, on the 14th, after some controversy among the physicians, who now all saw the necessity of bleeding, he consented to the operation; and also on the 16th, saying as he stretched out his arm, ‘I fear they know nothing about my disorder; but, here, take my arm, and do whatever you like.’ On the 17th, his countenance changed, and he became slightly delirious; he complained that the want of sleep would drive him mad; ‘and,’ he exclaimed to his valet, Fletcher, ‘I would ten times sooner shoot myself than be mad; for I am not afraid of dying――I am more fit to die than people imagine.’ It was not, however, till the 18th, that he began to think himself in danger, when he called Fletcher to his bed-side, and bid him receive his last instructions. ‘Shall I fetch pen, ink, and paper?’ said the valet, as he approached; ‘Oh, my God! no;’ was his reply; ‘you will lose too much time, and I have it not to spare.’ He then exclaimed, ‘Oh! my poor dear child!――my dear Ada――could I have but seen her――give her my blessing.’ And, after muttering something unintelligibly, he suddenly raised his voice, and said, ‘Fletcher, now, if you do not execute every order which I have given you, I will torment you hereafter, if possible.’ The valet replying that he had not understood one word of what his lordship had been saying, ‘Oh, my God?’ he exclaimed, ‘then all is lost, for it is now too late, and all is over: yet, as you say, God’s will, not mine, be done――but, I will try to――my wife! my child! my sister!――you know all――you must say all――you know my wishes.’ Here his words became unintelligible. Stimulants were now, in direct opposition to the opinion of Dr. Bruno, administered to him, after taking which, he said, ‘I must sleep now,’ and never spoke again. For twenty-four hours he lay in a state of lethargy, with the rattles occasionally in his throat; and at six o’clock in the evening of the 19th, an exclamation of Fletcher, who saw him open and then shut his eyes, without moving hand or foot, announced that his master was no more.

The death of lord Byron created a mournful sensation in all parts of the civilized world; his failings were forgotten in his recent struggles for the delivery of Greece, and one universal sound of admiration and regret was echoed throughout Europe. The authorities of Missolonghi paid every token of respect to his memory that reverence could suggest, and before his remains were deposited in their final resting place, some of the most celebrated men of the present century had, in glowing terms, expressed their sense of his merits. His body after having been brought to England, and refused interment in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s, was conveyed to Hucknell church, near Newstead, in conformity to a wish of the poet, that his dust might be mingled with his mother’s. As the procession passed through the streets of London, a sailor was observed walking, uncovered, near the hearse, and on being asked what he was doing there, replied, that he had served lord Byron in the Levant, and had come to pay his last respects to his remains; ‘a simple but emphatic testimony,’ observes Mr. Galt, ‘to the sincerity of that regard which his lordship often inspired, and which, with more steadiness, he might always have commanded.’

The character of lord Byron has, of late years, been so frequently and elaborately discussed, that a lengthened dissertation upon it, in this place would be equally tedious and superfluous. Its best development is furnished by his memoirs, and having read these, we may, without fear of controversy, come to the conclusion, that in regard to his relation to society he was neither a great nor a good man. Had he been desirous of becoming so, it was not impossible for him to have succeeded; the path of rectitude was not a greater mystery to him than to other men; and the metaphysical subtlety that has been employed to prove him the possessor of high and virtuous principles, only shows how far he has diverged from the track to which his panegyrists would wish to restore him. It has been said, that he was not driven to profligacy by inclination, but was goaded into it by the world’s attributing to him vices of which he was not guilty, but which he in consequence, out of scorn and defiance, chose to commit. ‘I took,’ he himself says, ‘my gradation in the vices with great promptitude, but they were not to my taste; I could not be a libertine without disgust; and yet this very disgust, and my heart thrown back upon itself, threw me into excesses, perhaps, more fatal than those from which I shrank.’ This is a metaphysical apology, calculated, perhaps, to mystify the judgment, and cajole the sympathies, of a portion of mankind, towards him by whom it is put forth; but, surely, it is nothing more than the reckless avowal of a perverted and a depraved mind, too indolent, too weak, or too proud, to adopt any other mode of blunting the sting of one vice, than by plunging into another still more odious. We confess we are not among those who see in the circumstances of his lordship’s life sufficient reason for that waywardness of mind and conduct, of which his poetical and moral character form so singular a combination; and from which, after all, he only averts our contempt, by investing it with an aspect that disdains our pity. Lord Byron is not the only sensitive young man who has entered upon life with blighted hopes, but it is doubtful whether the remembrance of them would be accepted as an apology for a similar career to that of his lordship, even though the sufferer possessed not the faculty of venting his anguish in verse, the opportunity of drowning it in dissipation, or the means and leisure of softening it by travel and amusement.

The subject of our memoir, however, was not without redeeming qualities: he was brave, generous and benevolent; but he was also passionate, disingenuous, and resentful; and more ready to inflict a wound, than to submit to one himself. He was sensitive to a painful degree, both in his sentiments, and his feelings; but, though he writhed under an attack upon either, his pride hindered him from showing what he suffered, even when such emotions proceeded from impulses the most honorable to human nature. He certainly took pleasure in showing the dark side of his character to the world; for those who were admitted to an unreserved intimacy with him, give indubitable testimony of his possessing, in a very eminent degree, all the social and companionable qualities, a heart exquisitely alive to the kindness of others towards himself, and a hand unhesitatingly prompt in complying with the supplications of distress. There is, indeed, no reason to doubt his own allegation (for falsehood was not one of his characteristics) when he says, ‘If salvation is to be bought by charity, I have given more to my fellow-creatures in this life, than I now possess. I never in my life, gave a mistress so much as I have some times given a poor honest man in distress.’ Captain Medwin describes him as the best of masters, and as being perfectly adored by his servants, to whose families and children he also extended an affectionate kindness. His habits, in the latter part of his life, were regular and temperate, even to ascetic abstinence; he seldom ate meat or drank wine, living chiefly upon biscuits, coffee, eggs, fish, vegetables, and soda water, of which he has been known to drink fifteen bottles in a night. Riding, swimming, and pistol-shooting, were his favorite amusements; and one of three things which he used to pride himself upon, was his ability to snuff out a candle with a bullet, at twenty yards distance;――the other two were, his feat of swimming across the Hellespont, and being the author of a poem (The Corsair), of which fourteen thousand copies were sold in one day. He had a great partiality for children; and, besides the affection he always manifested for his child Ada, he is said to have felt severely the loss of a natural daughter, born in 1817, and who died at five years of age. Prejudice, affectation, and vanity, displayed themselves in many parts of his conduct; he would talk of avoiding Shakspeare, lest he should be thought to owe him any thing; and delighted in the addition of Noel to his name, because, as he said, Bonaparte and he were the only public persons whose initials were the same; peculiarities which induced Mr. Hazlitt to call him ‘a sublime coxcomb.’ His pride of birth we have before alluded to: it would probably have been somewhat diminished, had he been aware of the singular fact of a baton sinister being in the escutcheon of his family. Though he professed to despise the opinion of the world, no man was a greater slave to it, in some respects, than himself. Speaking of duelling, he would say, ‘we must act according to usages; any man will, and must fight, when necessary――even without a motive.’ He was himself concerned in many duels, as second, but only in two as principal; one was with Mr. Hobhouse, before he became intimate with him. Of his person he was particularly vain, and it was certainly of superior order; he was about five feet eight and a half inches in height, with a high forehead, adorned with fine, curling chesnut hair; teeth, says an Italian authoress, which resemble pearls; hands as beautiful as if they had been the works of art; eyes of the azure color of the heavens; cheeks delicately tinged with the hue of the pale rose; and withal, a countenance, in which the expression of an extraordinary mind was fascinatingly conspicuous.

The religious sentiments of Lord Byron appear to have been much misrepresented: ‘I am no bigot to infidelity,’ he says, in one of his letters, ‘and did not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God.’ Mr. Moore having suspected that Mr. Shelley swayed his lordship’s opinions, the latter writes, ‘pray, assure Mr. Moore that I have not the smallest influence over lord Byron in this particular; if I had, I certainly should employ it to eradicate from his great mind the delusions of Christianity, which, in spite of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for the hours of sickness and distress.’ It is doubtful, however, though he educated his natural daughter in the Catholic faith, and he himself observed some of its ceremonies, whether he was a believer in the tenets of Christianity. He perceived and needed the consolation to be derived from a sincere adoption of its creed, but his intellectual pride would not suffer him to prostrate his reason at the humiliating shrine of faith.

The following anecdotes are interesting, and, upon the whole, favorable illustrations of the paradoxical character of lord Byron:――A young lady of talent being reduced to great hardships on account of her family, came to the resolution of calling on lord Byron, at his apartments in the Albany, for the purpose of soliciting his subscription to a volume of poems. Having no knowledge of him, except from his works, she entered his room with diffidence, but soon found courage to state her request, which she did with simplicity and delicacy. He listened with attention, and, when she had done speaking, began to converse with her in so gentle and fascinating a manner, that she hardly perceived he had been writing, until he put a slip of paper into her hand, saying it was his subscription; ‘but,’ added he, ‘we are both young, and the world is very censorious; and so, if I were to take any active part in procuring subscribers to your poems, I fear it would do you harm rather than good.’ The young lady, on looking at the paper, found it a check for £50. During his residence at Venice, the house of a shoemaker, who had a large family, being destroyed by fire, lord Byron ordered a new habitation to be built at his own expense, and presented the tradesman with a sum equal in value to the whole of his loss. Whilst at Metaxata, in the island of Cephalonia, hearing of several persons having been buried under an embankment which had fallen in, he immediately hastened to the spot, accompanied by his physician. After some of their companions had been extricated, the laborers becoming alarmed for themselves, refused to dig further, when he himself seized a spade, and, by his exertions, assisted by the peasantry, succeeded in saving two more persons from certain death. One of his household having subjected him to much perplexity by his amorous propensities, he hit upon the following means for curing them:――A young Suliote of the guard being dressed up like a woman, was instructed to attract the notice of the gay Lothario, who, taking the bait, was conducted by the supposed female to one of lord Byron’s apartments, where he was almost terrified out of his senses by the sudden appearance of an enraged husband, provided for the occasion. The following anecdote shows how jealous he was of title:――an Italian apothecary having sent him, one day, a packet of medicines addressed to Monsieur Byron, he indignantly sent the physic back to learn better manners. His coat of arms was, according to Leigh Hunt, suspended over the foot of his bed; and even when a schoolboy at Dulwich, so little disguised were his high notions of rank, that his companions used to call him the Old English Baron. When residing at Mitylene, he portioned eight young girls very liberally, and even danced with them at their marriage feast; he gave a cow to one man, horses to another, and silk to several girls who lived by weaving. He also bought a new boat for a fisherman who had lost his own in a gale; and he often gave Greek Testaments to the poor children. At Ravenna, he was so much beloved by the poor people, that his influence over them was dreaded by the government; and, indeed, wherever he resided, his generosity and benevolence appear to have been eminently conspicuous.

Of the merits so universally acknowledged of lord Byron, as a poet, little need be said; in originality of conception, depth and vigor of thought, boldness of imagination, and power of expression, he is unrivaled. His most sublime performances are Manfred, Childe Harold, Heaven and Earth, and Cain; the first of these pieces has been highly commended by Goëthe, who pronounces some parts of it superior to some of the productions of Shakspeare. His great and favorable art lies in his portraiture of the human character, thrown back upon itself by satiety, conscious of its own wreck, yet disdaining penitence for the vices it acknowledges, unable to find relief in itself, and scorning to derive consolation from others. In this respect, he surpasses Milton, who has only depicted the horrors of remorse; a far less difficult task. Satan has an end in view, to which he is driven by despair and hate: Manfred has none, yet, in the stern apathy of his soul, he appears to us more terribly sublime even than Lucifer himself. Don Juan is lord Byron’s most remarkable production; and contains some of his finest and most common-place passages, and shows a command of language and versatility of style that have never been equaled. The tendency, however, of this and some other of his poems, cannot be too explicitly condemned. In Don Juan, sensuality has one of its most powerful and accomplished advocates; the sting by which it is followed he calls the misfortune of nature, instead of the consequence of vice; and, thus, instead of exalting our notions of virtue, makes us regard the exercise of it as a melancholy and irksome duty.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, eldest son of Sir Timothy Shelley, Baronet, of Castle Goring, Sussex, was born in that county, on the 4th of August, 1792. At the age of thirteen he was sent to Eton, where he was distinguished from his schoolfellows by a melancholy and reserved disposition, and an abstinence from every amusement natural to youth. He soon began to develop a rigid, unconventional tenacity of character, in relation to what he deemed the reason and justice of things, and he was in consequence, at an earlier period than usual, removed to the University of Oxford. Here his penetrating and inquisitive mind displayed more fully that pertinacious but conscientious eccentricity, which forbade his assent to the most common truths without investigation; and, in consequence of publishing a pamphlet, in which he attacked the ordinarily received notions of the being of God, he was expelled from the university, on his refusal to retract his opinions. This step drew upon him the displeasure of his family, whose total discountenance of him soon after followed, on his marriage, at the age of about seventeen or eighteen, with a lady equally young. The union ended in misery to both; after the birth of two children they separated by mutual consent, and Mrs. Shelley subsequently destroying herself, the subject of our memoir was looked upon as her murderer, and spoken of with proportionate obloquy.

A perusal of Mr. Godwin’s Political Justice, had first induced Shelley to adopt the systematic rule of conduct, by which he subsequently squared all his actions, at the sacrifice of every worldly interest. His conduct was, in consequence, equally noble and extraordinary; and though, it is said, ‘he had only to become a yea and nay man in the house of commons, to be one of the richest men in Sussex,’ he declined it to live upon a comparative pittance. After a visit to Italy, where he formed a friendship with lord Byron, and composed his Rosalind and Helen, and Ode to the Euganean Hill, he returned to England, and married the daughter of Mr. Godwin, with whom he resided for some time at Great Marlow, in Buckinghamshire. Here he was remarkable for his unostentatious charity; and he not only administered pecuniary relief to the poor, but visited them when sick in their beds, having previously gone the round of the hospitals, on purpose to be able to practice on occasion. At Marlow, he composed the Revolt of Islam, his introduction to which, addressed to his wife, is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful and touching pieces of poetry ever composed. About this time he was deprived of the guardianship of his two children, in consequence of his alleged sceptical notions, and of certain peculiar opinions respecting the intercourse of the sexes. After his separation from them, which deeply affected him, and increased his disgust towards the institutions of his country, he returned, with his family by his second wife, to Italy, where he joined lord Byron and Leigh Hunt in a periodical called The Liberal. In June, 1822, he visited the former, at Pisa, and, on the 7th of July, set off, in a boat, on his return to his own family, at Lerici, in the bay of Spezzia; when a tremendous storm came on, and, in a week afterwards, the body of Shelley, with those of Mr. Williams and a seaman, his only companions, were washed on shore near Villa Reggio. Their remains, after having been interred by the Italian authorities, were, at the request of their respective friends, dug up, and reduced to ashes, when those of Shelley were deposited in the Protestant burial ground at Rome, near the grave of Keats.

In person, Mr. Shelley was tall and slight, of a consumptive constitution, and subject to spasmodic pains, the violence of which would sometimes force him to lie on the ground till they were over. The marks of premature thought and trouble were more visible in his frame than his countenance, which, says the writer from whom we have before quoted, ‘had a certain seraphical character, that would have suited a portrait of John the Baptist, or the angel whom Milton describes as “holding a reed tipped with fire.”’ He had a small, but well-shaped face, with a fair and delicate complexion, cheeks not devoid of color, and large animated eyes, that had almost an appearance of wildness. His voice was weak and shrill, and had a peculiar effect on those who heard it for the first time. He passed a solitary and temperate life; rising early in the morning, and retiring to bed at ten o’clock, having, in the meantime written, studied, and read to his wife, and taken sparingly of his meals, which consisted, at dinner, of vegetables, as he partook neither of meat nor wine. His purse, though he possessed but a very limited income, was at the service of all who needed it; it was not uncommon with him, says our previous authority, to give away all his ready money, and be compelled to take a journey on foot, or on the top of a stage, no matter during what weather. He allowed to a literary acquaintance a pension of £100 per annum; but says Mr. Leigh Hunt, ‘the princeliness of his disposition was seen most in his behavior to myself, who am proud to relate, that Mr. Shelley once made me a present of £1,400 to extricate me from debt, and his last sixpence was ever at my service, had I chosen to share it.’ The following anecdote is told of lord Byron, and some of his cotemporaries; Shelley, at the time, being on a visit to his house at Hampstead:――‘As I approached my door,’ said Mr. Hunt, ‘I heard strange and alarming shrieks, mixed with the voice of a man. The next day it was reported, by the gossips, that Mr. Shelley, no Christian (for it was he who was there), had brought some very strange female into the house, no better of course than she ought to be. The real Christian had puzzled them: Mr. Shelley, in coming to our house that night, had found a woman, lying near the top of the hill, in fits. It was a fierce winter night, with snow upon the ground, and winter loses nothing of its fierceness at Hampstead. My friend, always the promptest, as well as most pitying, on these occasions, knocked at the first houses he could reach, in order to have her taken in, but the invariable answer was that they could not do it. At last, my friend sees a carriage driving up to a house at a little distance. The knock is given; the warm door opens; servants and lights pour forth. Now, thought he, is the time. He puts on his best address, which anybody might recognize for that of the highest gentleman, as well as an interesting individual, and plants himself in the way of an elderly person, who is stepping out of the carriage with his family. He tells his story; and asks him if he will go and see the poor woman. ‘No, sir; there’s no necessity for that sort of thing, depend on it; imposters swarm everywhere, the thing cannot be done. Sir, your conduct is extraordinary.’ ‘Sir,’ cried Mr. Shelley, at last, forcing the flourishing householder to stop, out of astonishment, ‘I am sorry to say that your conduct is not extraordinary; and, if my own seems to amaze you, I will tell you something that may amaze you a little more, and, I hope, will frighten. It is such men as madden the spirits and patience of the poor and wretched; and, if ever a convulsion comes in this country, which is very probable, recollect what I tell you; you will have your house, that you refuse to put this miserable woman into, burnt over your head.’ ‘God bless me, sir! dear me, sir!’ exclaimed the frightened wretch, and fluttered into his mansion. The woman was then brought to our house, which was at some distance, and down a bleak path; the next day my friend sent her comfortably home and, adds Mr. Hunt, this was one of the most ordinary of Shelley’s actions.

As a poet, we think Shelley has never been surpassed; and we could point out many of his passages which are without their equal, even if we look for their parallel in the works of Shakspeare, Byron, and Milton. But the wild speculative sublimity of his thoughts, the refined intellectuality of his ideas, and the mysterious intertexture of sentiment with feeling, which are the characteristics of his poetry, will always hinder him from becoming popular. Yet, with all this, there is a simplicity about his writings, as remarkable, it has been observed, as its views and speculations are remote and peculiar. A very just notion of his style has been taken by the biographer to whom we have before alluded, who observes, that in all Shelley’s works there is a wonderfully sustained sensibility, and a language lofty and fit for it. ‘He has the art,’ continues the same authority, ‘of using the stateliest words and the most learned idioms without incurring the charge of pedantry, so that passages of more splendid and sonorous writing are not to be selected from any writer since the days of Milton; and yet, when he descends from his ideal world, and comes home to us in our humble bowers, and is yearning after love and affection, he attunes the most natural feelings to a style so proportionate, and withal to a modulation so truly musical, that there is nothing to surpass it in the lyrics of Beaumont and Fletcher.’ In addition to the works before mentioned, Shelley is the author of Queen Mab, Alastor, Prometheus Unbound, the tragedy of The Cenci, and a volume of posthumous poems.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Oliver Goldsmith, the son of a clergyman, was, according to some writers, born in 1729, at Elphin, in Roscommon, Ireland; but, according to the inscription on his monument, at Fernes, in the province of Leinster, on the 29th of November, 1731. After having acquired the rudiments of education at a private school, he was, in June, 1744, admitted a sizer of Trinity College, Dublin, where he graduated B. A., in 1749, but did not display remarkable abilities in the course of his academical studies. Being destined for the medical profession, he attended some courses of anatomy in Dublin; and, in 1751, entered the University of Edinburgh, where he studied medicine under the different professors. His thoughtless, though generous, disposition, soon involved him in difficulties; and in order to avoid arrest for the debt of a friend, for which he had made himself responsible, he was obliged to quit Scotland abruptly. He arrived at Sunderland in the early part of 1754, when his person was secured, but, being released, through the friendship of Dr. Sleigh, he sailed to Rotterdam; and, after visiting great part of Flanders, proceeded to Louvain, where he remained some time, at the expense of his uncle, and took his degree of bachelor in physic. Hence, it is said, with only one clean shirt, and no money in his pocket, he set out on foot for Geneva, which he reached by a circuitous route, in the course of which he supported himself by his abilities, musical and classical. ‘My learning,’ he says, ‘procured me a favorable reception at most of the religious houses I visited, and whenever I approached a peasant’s house, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that generally procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day; this, however, was not the case with the rich, who generally despised both me and my music.’

On his arrival at Geneva, he was appointed tutor and traveling companion to a young gentleman of fortune, with whom he continued until they entered the south of France, where, in consequence of a disagreement, they parted. Goldsmith, however, did not turn his steps homeward, till he had still further gratified his passion for travel, although he was obliged to resort to his flute, as before, for lodging and subsistence. The death of his uncle, during our author’s stay abroad, had reduced him to these exigencies, and on his arrival in London, in the winter of 1758, a few halfpence constituted the whole of his finances. In this extremity, he applied for employment to the apothecaries, but his awkward appearance, and broad Irish accent, were much against him; and it was only from motives of humanity, that a chemist, at length, consented to take him into his service. Hearing, however, that his old friend, Dr. Sleigh, was in London, he paid him a visit, and accepted an asylum in his house, but soon afterwards left it, for an ushership at the Rev. Dr. Milner’s academy at Peckham. In this situation he did not remain long; for, having obtained some reputation from criticisms he had written in The Monthly Review, he entered into an engagement with the proprietor, and, coming to London, took lodgings near the Old Bailey, and commenced authorship as a profession. Besides writing for The Review, he produced a weekly pamphlet, called The Bee; An inquiry into the Present State of Learning in Europe; and contributed several Essays to The Public Ledger, in which his Citizen of the World appeared, under the title of Chinese Letters. These publications had brought him both fame and emolument, and, in 1765, at which time he resided in the Temple, he added to them by the production of his celebrated poem The Traveler. This had been written during his residence abroad, and was revised and printed at the recommendation of Dr. Johnson, his acquaintance with whom was soon followed by that of other eminent literary characters of the day. In 1766, appeared his Vicar of Wakefield, and his History of England, in a series of letters, two of his most successful performances, and which were received with immediate applause. In 1768, his comedy of The Good-natured Man, was brought out at Covent Garden, with a prologue by Dr. Johnson; but the success of it was not proportionate to its merits. In 1770, appeared his exquisite poem of The Deserted Village, for which he received £100, but could hardly be prevailed upon to accept it, until satisfied that the profits of the bookseller could afford that sum. It is, indeed, said by one of his biographers, that he went back and returned the money, observing, ‘he had not been easy since he received it;’ and left it to the bookseller to pay him according to the profits of the sale.

In 1772, was acted his celebrated comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, concerning the acceptance and success of which he appears to have been equally anxious and doubtful. His letter to Colman, about this time, does not represent his circumstances in a very favorable light: ‘I have, as you know,’ he says, ‘a large sum of money to make up shortly; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditors that way; at any rate, I must look about to some certainty to be prepared. For God’s sake, take the play, and let us make the best of it; and let me have the same measure, at least, which you have given as bad plays as mine.’ During the first performance of the comedy, he is said to have walked all the time in St. James’ Park, in great uneasiness, until, thinking it must be over, he hastened to the theatre. His ears were assailed with hisses as he entered the green-room; when he eagerly inquired of Mr. Colman the cause.――‘Psha! psha!’ said Colman, ‘don’t be afraid of squibs, when we have been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder these two hours.’ The fact was, that the comedy had been completely successful, and that it was the farce which had excited these sounds so terrific to Goldsmith.

In the following year, his last theatrical piece, entitled The Grumbler, a farce, altered from Sedley, was acted, for the benefit of Mr. Quick; but it was not repeated, and was never printed. His other productions are, a Roman History, a History of England, in four volumes, a Grecian History, and a History of the Earth and Animated Nature, compiled from Buffon and others. He had acquired more than a sufficiency, by his writings, for his comforts and necessaries; but his indiscriminate and improvident liberality, added to a passion for gaming, rendered his emoluments comparatively useless; and at length threw him into a state of despondency, which terminated in a nervous fever, and deprived him of life on the 4th of April, 1774. He was buried in the Temple Church, and a monument was afterwards erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, at the expense of a literary club to which he belonged, with an inscription by Dr. Johnson. He is described as a ‘poet, natural philosopher, and historian; who left no species of writing untouched, or unadorned by his pen, whether to move laughter, or draw tears. He was a powerful master over the affections, though, at the same time, a gentle tyrant; of a genius at once sublime, lively, and equal to every subject: in expression at once noble, pure, and delicate.’

The character of Goldsmith was in the highest degree good-natured and benevolent; he was every one’s friend, and any one’s dupe; retaining, as he did, amid all his worldly experience, his natural simplicity and philanthropy of heart. But he was not truly estimable; for he was, with all his good qualities, improvident, dissipated, and meanly jealous of a literary rival. He was also, at times, impetuous and passionate; but corrected himself upon a moment’s reflection; and it is said his servants would throw themselves in his way upon these occasions, as they were certain of being rewarded after the anger of their master had subsided. Mrs. Piozzi describes him as a poor fretful creature, eaten up with affectation and envy, and the only person she ever knew who acknowledged himself to be envious. It is known that he used his pen better than his tongue; and the same lady calls his conversation a strange mixture of absurdity and silliness. Some one who saw him for the first time in company, declared he was ‘the most solemn coxcomb he had ever met with;’ and the phrase of ‘inspired idiot’ is well known as applied to him. As an author he is to be considered in the character of a poet, historical compiler, novelist, essayist, and dramatist; in all of which he has been so far successful, as to leave some work in these respective departments of literature, alone sufficient to perpetuate his reputation. It is as a poet, however, that he will be chiefly esteemed; The Traveler, The Deserted Village, and The Hermit, are unrivaled in their class; and, though Dr. Aikin has placed them at the head of the minor compositions, will always retain their original popularity. His literary qualifications cannot be better described than in the words of Dr. Johnson, who calls him ‘a man of such variety of powers, and such felicity of performance, that he always seemed to do best that which he was doing: a man, who had the art of being minute, without tediousness; and general, without confusion; whose language was copious, without exuberance; exact, without constraint; and easy, without weakness.’ Johnson was always ready to testify to the merits of Goldsmith; and being, one day, of a party at Sir Joshua Reynolds’, where several affirmed that the author of The Traveler had neither talent nor originality, he rose with great dignity, looked them full in the face, and exclaimed, ‘If nobody was suffered to abuse poor Goldy but those who could write as well, he would have few censors.’

Many anecdotes are told of his credulous simplicity, and indiscriminate benevolence. Sitting, one evening, at the tavern where he was accustomed to take his supper, he called for a mutton chop, which was no sooner placed on the table, than a gentleman near him, with whom he was intimately acquainted, showed great tokens of uneasiness, and wondered how the doctor could suffer the waiter to place such a stinking chop before him. ‘Stinking!’ said Goldsmith, ‘in good truth I do not smell it.’ ‘I never smelled anything more unpleasant in my life,’ answered the gentleman; ‘the fellow deserves a caning for bringing you meat unfit to eat.’ ‘In good troth,’ said the poet, relying on his judgment, ‘I think so too; but I will be less severe in my punishment.’ He instantly called the waiter, and insisted that he should eat the chop, as a punishment. The waiter resisted, but the doctor threatened to knock him down with his cane if he did not immediately comply. When he had eaten half the chop, the doctor gave him a glass of wine, thinking that it would make the remainder of the sentence less painful to him. When the waiter had finished his repast, Goldsmith’s friend burst into a loud laugh. ‘What ails you now?’ said the poet. ‘Indeed, my good friend,’ said the other, ‘I never could think that any man, whose knowledge of letters is so extensive as yours, could be so great a dupe to a stroke of humor; the chop was as fine a one as I ever saw in my life.’ ‘Was it?’ said Dr. Goldsmith, ‘then I will never give credit to what you say again; and so, in good truth, I think I am even with you.’ Being pressed by his tailor for a debt, he appointed a day for payment, and procured the money in due time; but before the tailor came, Glover called on the doctor, and related a piteous tale of his goods being seized for rent. The thoughtless and benevolent Goldsmith immediately gave Glover all the money he possessed. When the tailor arrived, Goldsmith assured him that had he called a little earlier he should have had his money; ‘but’ added he, ‘I have just parted with every penny I had in the world to a friend in distress. I should have been a cruel wretch, you know, not to have relieved him when it was in my power.’ In the suite of the doctor’s pensioners was one Jack Pilkington, who had served the doctor so many tricks, that he despaired of getting any more money from him, without resorting to a chef d’œuvre once for all. He accordingly called on the doctor one morning, and running about the room in a fit of joy, told him his fortune was made. ‘How so Jack?’ says the doctor. ‘Why,’ replied Jack, ‘the Duchess of Marlborough, you must know, has long had a strange penchant for a pair of white mice; now, as I knew they were sometimes found in the East Indies, I commissioned a friend of mine, who was going out there, to get them for me, and he is this morning arrived with two of the most beautiful little animals in nature.’ After Jack had finished this account with a transport of joy, he lengthened his visage, by telling the doctor all was ruined, for without two guineas, to buy a cage for the mice, he could not present them. The doctor unfortunately, as he said himself, had but half-a-guinea in the world, which he offered him. But Pilkington was not to be beat out of his scheme; he perceived the doctor’s watch hanging up in his room, and after premising on the indelicacy of the proposal, hinted that if he could spare that watch for a week, he could raise a few guineas on it, which he would repay him with gratitude. The doctor accordingly took down the watch, and gave it to him, which Jack immediately carried to the pawnbroker’s,――raised what he could on it, and never once looked after the doctor, till he sent to borrow another half-guinea from him on his deathbed, which the other, under such circumstances, very generously sent him. One afternoon, as Colonel O’Moore and Mr. Burke were going to dine with Sir Joshua Reynolds, they observed Goldsmith (also on his way to Sir Joshua’s) standing near a crowd of people, who were staring and shouting at some foreign women in the windows of one of the houses in Leicester Square. ‘Observe Goldsmith,’ said Mr. Burke to Colonel O’Moore, ‘and mark what passes between him and me by-and-by at Sir Joshua’s.’ They passed on, and arrived before Goldsmith, who came soon after, and Mr. Burke affected to receive him very coolly. This seemed to vex poor Goldsmith, who begged Mr. Burke would tell him how he had the misfortune to offend him. Burke appeared very reluctant to speak, but, after a good deal of pressing, said ‘that he was really ashamed to keep up an intimacy with one who could be guilty of such monstrous indiscretions as Goldsmith had just exhibited in the square.’ Goldsmith, with great earnestness, protested he was unconscious of what was meant. ‘Why,’ said Burke, ‘did you not exclaim, as you were looking up at those women, What stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with such admiration at those painted Jezebels, while a man of my talents passes by unnoticed?’ Goldsmith was horror-struck, and said, ‘Surely, surely, my dear friend, I did not say so.’ ‘Nay,’ replied Burke, ‘If you had not said so, how should I have known it?’ ‘That’s true,’ answered Goldsmith, with great humility: ‘I am very sorry; it was very foolish: I do recollect that something of that kind passed through my mind, but I did not think I had uttered it.’

EDWARD GIBBON.

This celebrated historian, the son of a gentleman who for some time represented the borough of Petersfield in parliament, was born at Putney, on the 27th of April, 1737. After having received the elements of instruction at a day school, and under a private tutor, he was, in 1746, sent to an academy at Kingston-upon-Thames; and from thence, in 1748, to Westminster, where he entered the school, and resided in a boarding-house kept by his aunt. His delicate health soon occasioned his removal from Westminster school, though he subsequently attempted to renew his attendance there, after having passed some time at Bath and Winchester, by the advice of his physicians. In his fifteenth year, he was placed under the care of the Rev. Mr. Philip Francis, the translator of Horace: and, on the 3d of April, 1752, he was matriculated as a gentleman commoner of Magdalen College, Oxford. Here, according to his own account, ‘he spent fourteen months, the most unprofitable of his whole life,’ and appears to have been conspicuous only for his dissipation and extravagance. Such a mode of passing his time he attributes less to his own inclination, than to the negligence of his tutors, whom he charges with recommending no plan of study for his use, and prescribing no exercises for his inspection. ‘I was not,’ he says, ‘devoid of capacity or application;’ and insinuates that he might have arrived at academical distinction, ‘in the discipline of a well-constituted university, under the guidance of skillful and vigilant professors.’

His departure from Oxford was hastened by his adoption of the catholic faith, his conversion to which he attributed to a perusal of Bossuet’s Exposition of the Catholic Doctrine, and the History of the Protestant Variations. At a future period he observes: ‘To my present feelings, it seems incredible that I should ever believe that I believed in transubstantiation. But my conqueror oppressed me with the sacramental words, “this is my body;” and dashed against each other the figurative half-meanings of the protestant sects. Every objection was resolved into omnipotence; and, after repeating, at St. Mary’s, the Athanasian creed, I humbly acquiesced in the mystery of the real presence.’ On his arrival in London, he introduced himself to a priest, renounced the protestant, and was admitted a member of the Romish church, in June, 1753. His father was highly indignant at his religious conversion, and sent him, in consequence, to Lausanne in Switzerland, where he resided in the house with Mr. Pavillard, and ‘spent nearly five years with pleasure and profit.’ His tutor, who was a minister, spared no effort to convince him that he had come to an erroneous conclusion concerning the catholic doctrine; and his exertions, aided by the mature reflections of his pupil, were at length successful. ‘The various articles of the Romish creed,’ says our author, ‘disappeared like a dream; and, after a full conviction, on Christmas day, 1754, I received the sacrament in the church of Lausanne.’ During his stay in this city, he made rapid and profitable progress in his studies; and, besides opening a correspondence with the chief literati of the continent, he acquired a knowledge of French and Italian, and perfected his acquaintance with the Greek and Latin languages.

Previous to his leaving Lausanne, he formed an attachment to a Mademoiselle Curchod, the commencement and termination of which, in his own words, is too interesting to be omitted. ‘I saw,’ he says, ‘and loved. I found her learned, without pedantry; lively in conversation; pure in sentiment; elegant in manners. She permitted me to make her two or three visits in her father’s house. I passed some happy days there in the mountains of Burgundy, and her parents honorably encouraged the connexion. In a calm retirement, the gay vanity of youth no longer fluttered in her bosom. She listened to the voice of truth and passion, and I might presume to hope I had made some impression on a virtuous heart. At Crassy and Lausanne, I indulged my dream of felicity; but, on my return to England, I soon discovered that my father would not hear to this strange alliance. After a painful struggle, I yielded to my fate. I sighed as a lover; I obeyed as a son: my wound was insensibly healed by time, absence, and the habits of a new life. My cure was accelerated by a faithful report of the tranquillity and cheerfulness of the lady herself; and my love subsided into friendship and esteem. A rich banker of Paris, a citizen of Geneva, had the good fortune and good sense to discover and possess this inestimable treasure; and, in the capital of taste and luxury, she resisted the temptation of wealth, as she had sustained the hardships of indigence. The genius of her husband has exalted him to the most conspicuous station in Europe; and Mademoiselle Curchod is now the wife of M. Necker.’

In 1758, he returned to England, and took up his residence at his father’s house, where he devoted himself to the gradual collection of a library, and to a strict course of reading. In 1761, he acquired some reputation on the continent, but little at home, by the publication of a small work, written in the French language, entitled, Essai sur l’Etude de la Littérature. His literary occupation received an interruption in the same year, by his entering as captain in the Hampshire militia, in which he remained till the peace of 1763. He then set out for Paris, where the reputation he had acquired by his Essai, procured him an introduction to the first literary and fashionable circles. After a stay of eleven months at Lausanne, he proceeded to Rome, where, as ‘he sat musing amongst the ruins of the capital, while the bare-footed friars were singing vespers in the Temple of Jupiter, the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first started to his mind.’ He returned from Italy in 1765, and again entered the militia as lieutenant-colonel commandant; but resigned the situation on the death of his father, in 1770. The interval between these periods was passed by him in a variety of amusements and occupations, partly in the country, and partly in London, where, in conjunction with other travelers, he established a weekly convivial meeting, under the name of the Roman Club. Alluding to this period of life, he says, ‘I lamented that, at the proper age, I had not embraced the lucrative pursuits of the law or of trade, the chances of civil office or India adventure, or even the fat slumbers of the church.’ His regret at the want of a profession arose, in a great measure, from an apprehension of being left, in his old age, without a sufficient maintenance; a fear that acted as a stimulus to his subsequent exertions.

He had already-made some progress in a History of the Revolutions of Switzerland, and, in conjunction with his friend Mr. Deyverdun, had produced two volumes of a literary journal, entitled Memoires Littéraires de la Grande Bretagne. The former, however, he committed to the flames, before it was finished, and the latter met with little encouragement. His next performance was more successful; it was a masterly refutation of Warburton’s hypothesis that Virgil’s description of Æneas’ descent into the shades was an allegorical representation of the hero’s initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries. About two years after the death of his father, he sat down steadily to the composition of the first volume of his celebrated history. ‘At the outset,’ he says, ‘all was dark and doubtful; even the title of the work, the true era of the decline and fall of the empire, the limits of the introduction, the division of the chapters, and the order of the narrative; and I was often tempted to cast away the labor of seven years;’ and, again, ‘three times did I compose the first chapter, and twice the second and third, before I was tolerably certain of their effect.’ At length, in 1776, previously to which he had been returned to parliament for the borough of Liskeard, through the influence of his cousin, Mr. Eliot, appeared the first quarto volume of his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It was received with a burst of applause, and almost immediately reached a third edition; but the most gratifying result to its author was the spontaneous approbation of Hume and Robertson. ‘My book,’ says Gibbon, ‘was on every table, and almost on every toilette.’ The two chapters, however, in which revealed religion was impugned, gave rise to various attacks; but he only thought fit to reply to one, by Mr. Davis, who called in question ‘not the faith, but the fidelity of the historian.’

In parliament, our author was a silent supporter of ministers, and was employed by them to compose, in the French language, a manifesto against that government, which was sent as a state paper to all the courts of Europe, under the title of Memoire Justificatif. For this service he was appointed one of the lords commissioners of trade and the plantations, but on the retirement of the North administration, his place being abolished, he meditated a retirement to Lausanne, for the purpose of completing his History. Previously to his departure from England, the second and third volumes had appeared in 1781, in which he tells us, ‘his Ecclesiastical History still breathed the same spirit of freedom;’ but, ‘that his obstinate silence, with regard to former attacks, had damped the ardor of the polemics.’ In 1783, he sold every thing but his library, and proceeded to Lausanne; where, in conjunction with his friend, Mr. Deyverdun, he took an elegant and beautifully situated house, and devoted himself to the composition of his History, and the pleasures of the society which the place afforded. In four years he brought his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire to a termination, and seems to have arrived at the close of his literary labors with mingled feelings of regret and delight. ‘It was,’ he says, ‘on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first emotions of joy, on the recovery of my freedom, and, perhaps, the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy spread over my mind, by the idea that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that whatsoever might be the future date of my history, the life of the author might be short and precarious. I will add two facts, which have seldom occurred in the composition of six, or at least five, quartos: First――My rough manuscript, without any intermediate copy, has been sent to press. Second――Not a sheet has been seen by any human eyes excepting those of the author and the printer. The faults and merits are exclusively my own.’

In April, 1788, the publication of the concluding volumes took place, under his own superintendence, for which purpose he had come to London, where he passed most of his time with Lords North and Sheffield, and resided with the family of the latter. In July, he returned to Lausanne, but the death of his friend Deyverdun, which occurred shortly afterwards, and ‘the tide of emigration and wretchedness,’ caused by the explosion of the French revolution, had broken the charm which that place once had for him. In 1791, he was visited by Lord Sheffield, and in 1793, on the death of that nobleman’s wife, he, at the earnest desire of the former, proceeded to England, and again took up his residence at his friend’s house. After some months spent in familiar intercourse with the principal political and literary characters of the time, he sunk under the effects of a hydrocele, the result of a rupture, with which he had been afflicted for nearly thirty years. He was tapped several times previously to his decease, which took place on the 16th of January, 1794. On the preceding day he had talked as usual, and, so far from anticipating his death, said, ‘that he thought himself good for a life of ten, twelve, or perhaps twenty years.’

The character of Gibbon, in many points, resembled that of Hume; he died a bachelor; was a gentleman, a sceptic, and a historian; treated his literary antagonists with contempt, and had a dignified sense of his own abilities. He was careful to retain his place in society, by a strict adherence to its established rules; and as he lived for the world, took care not to lose its esteem by any conduct inconsistent with the calmness of a philosopher, the dictates of honor, or the maxims of morality. He possessed a lofty mind and spirit, but acted rather from motive than principle; and, as a politician, he can be considered in no other character than that of a ministerial follower for the sake of convenience and emolument. His conduct in his domestic relations was in the highest degree exemplary; and in his friendships he was sincere, constant, and ardent. He possessed great natural powers of mind, which he assiduously studied to improve: in conversation he is described, by Lord Sheffield, as ready, cheerful, entertaining, brilliant, illuminating, and interesting. As an author, he is among the most distinguished of the eighteenth century; but the lapse of forty years has somewhat impaired his reputation for a style which is now generally admitted to be enigmatical, pompous, and elaborate, where it should have been concise, simple, and explicit. Dr. Beattie says, ‘Such is the affectation of his style, that I could never get through the half of one of his volumes;’ and a celebrated bishop observed of his ‘bulky quartos,’ that they were ‘only fit for the gloom and horror of wintry storms.’ None can deny to it, however, a pervading splendor, stateliness, and majesty; and, indeed, the writer seems to be always on his guard against a common expression, as if he were afraid of degrading his own powers, by descending to the level of ordinary capacities. It is thus that he has some passages of surprising and matchless beauty; and where his language is in keeping with his subject, the understanding is readily captivated, and the ear unconsciously delighted.

As to the matter of his history, the principal charges against him are the grave ones of a covert attempt to overthrow a belief in revealed religion, and a complacent indelicacy of description, especially in the latter volumes. To this he answers, that ‘the licentious passages are confined to the notes, and to the obscurity of a learned language;’ an apology which few, perhaps, will consider sufficient. His attack on Christianity he himself seems to have regretted, though he never retracted. ‘Had I believed,’ he says, ‘that the majority of English readers were so fondly attached, even to the name and shadow of Christianity; had I foreseen that the pious, the timid, and the prudent, would feel, or affect to feel, with such exquisite sensibility; I might, perhaps, have softened the two invidious chapters, which could create many enemies, and conciliate few friends.’ His pathetic observations at the close of his memoirs, show that his own notions offered no security for felicity here, if, as he insinuated, those of others would fail to do so hereafter. After quoting the opinion of Fontenelle, who, he observes, fixes our moral happiness to the mature season in which our passions are supposed to be calmed, our duties fulfilled, our ambition satisfied, our fame and fortune established on a solid basis, he says, ‘I am far more inclined to embrace than to dispute this comfortable doctrine. I will not suppose any premature decay of mind or body; but I must reluctantly observe, that two causes, the abbreviation of time, and the failure of hope, will always tinge with a browner shade the evening of life.’ In a letter to Lord Sheffield, after the death of his wife, he says, ‘the only consolation in these melancholy trials to which human life is exposed, the only one at least in which I have any confidence, is the presence of a real friend.’

DAVID HUME.

This celebrated historian was born at Edinburgh, on the 26th of April, 1711. He was of a good family, both by father and mother, and the former dying whilst he was an infant, he was brought up under the care of his mother, whom he describes as a women of singular merit. A passion for literature took possession of him at a very early period of his education, and, in consequence of his sobriety and studious disposition, he was destined by his family for the law; but ‘while they fancied,’ he says in his autobiography, ‘I was poring upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I was secretly devouring.’ His health, however, becoming impaired by sedentary application, he, in 1634, went to Bristol, with a view of engaging in mercantile pursuits, but found them unsuitable to his disposition, that in a few months afterwards he took up his residence in France, and laid down a plan of life which he steadily and successfully pursued. ‘I resolved,’ he says, ‘to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune; to maintain unimpaired my independency; and to regard every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature.’

After a stay of three years abroad he returned to England, and, in 1738, published his Treatise of Human Nature, the fate of which he describes by saying, ‘it fell dead born from the press.’ Of too sanguine a temperament to be discouraged, he continued his literary labors, and in 1742, printed, at Edinburgh, the first part of his Essays, which were received in a manner that fully compensated for his former disappointments. In 1745, he went to England as tutor to the young Marqueis of Annandale, and after remaining in that situation for a twelvemonth, he stood candidate for the professorship of moral philosophy at Edinburgh, but although strongly supported, the notoriety of his sceptical opinions prevented his success. In 1746, he accepted an invitation from General St. Clair to attend him as a secretary to his expedition, which ended in an incursion on the coast of France; and, in 1747, he accompanied him in his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin. During his residence at the latter place, imagining that his Treatise of Human Nature had failed of success from the manner rather than the matter, he published the first part of the work anew, under the title of an Inquiry concerning Human Understanding. Its new shape, however, made but little difference in its success; and on his return from Italy, Hume observes, ‘I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment, on account of Dr. Middleton’s Free Inquiry, while my performance was entirely overlooked and neglected.’

His disappointment was increased by the failure of a new edition of his Essays; but borne up by the natural cheerfulness of his disposition, he, in 1749, went to his brother’s residence in Scotland, and composed his Political Discourses, and Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, both of which were published at Edinburgh in 1752. At this time his former publications had begun to attract notice, and more than one answer had been written to his Essays, of which, however, he took no notice, having made a fixed resolution, which he inflexibly maintained, never to reply to any body. His Political Discourses were favorably received both abroad and at home, but his Principles of Morals, although, in his own opinion, incomparably the best of all his writings, came, as he says, unnoticed and unobserved into the world. In the year of its application, already mentioned, he was chosen librarian to the Faculty of Advocates, when the large library, of which he had the command, suggested to him the idea of writing the History of England, ‘Being frightened,’ he says, ‘with the notion of continuing a narrative through a period of seventeen hundred years, I commenced with the accession of the House of Stuart; an epoch when I thought the misrepresentation of faction began chiefly to take place.’ The history of this period appeared in one quarto volume, in 1754; but instead of meeting with the applause which he confesses he expected, it was assailed, as he tells us, ‘by one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation.’ The only individuals of literary consideration from whom he received encouragement to proceed, were the primates of England and Ireland, Drs. Herring and Stone; whilst the sale was so inconsiderable, that, in the course of a twelvemonth, only forty-five copies were disposed of. He attributed the opposition it met with to the regret expressed by the author of the fate of Charles the First and the Earl of Stafford; but, in all probability, it arose from the contemptuous tone in which he spoke of adverse religious parties.

He was so far discouraged by the reception of his work, that he resolved to quit his country for ever, and pass the remainder of his days in France. The war, however, breaking out between that country and England, his intention was frustrated, and he determined to persevere in his historical design. In the meantime he published his Natural History of Religion, which was answered by Warburton in the name of Dr. Hurd, in ‘a pamphlet,’ says our author, that ‘gave me some consolation for the otherwise indifferent reception of my performance.’ In 1756, appeared his second volume of the History of England, containing the period from the death of Charles the First till the Revolution; and, in 1759, it was succeeded by the History of the House of Tudor. This performance was not less obnoxious than his first published volume, but being now grown ‘callous against the impressions of public folly,’ he devoted himself, with calm perseverance, of the early part of the English History, which he completed in two volumes, in 1761.

Notwithstanding the altogether unfavorable reception of his History of England, which had now become a chief standard work, our author received a sum for the copyright, which, together with a pension he enjoyed through the influence of Lord Bute, had procured him not only independence but opulence. He therefore meditated passing the rest of his life in philosophical retirement, when, in 1763, he accepted an invitation to accompany the Earl of Hertford on his embassy to Paris, where his literary reputation obtained for him a reception, which, after the apathy of his own countrymen, astonished and delighted him. He remained at the French capital, in the situation of charge d’affaires, until the beginning of 1766, when he returned to England in company with the celebrated Rousseau, who is said to have repaid the delicate and generous behavior of our author with his usual ingratitude. In 1767, he was appointed under secretary of state to Mr. Conway, and after holding that situation for about two years, he returned to Edinburgh, in 1769, with a fortune of £1,000 a year. The next four years of his life were passed in the enjoyment of ease and reputation; the succeeding portion is best described towards the close of his autobiography, dated April 18th, 1776. ‘In spring 1775,’ he says, ‘I was struck with a disorder in my bowels, which at first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend it, become mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a moment’s abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that were I to name a period of my life, which I should most choose to pass over again, I might be tempted to point to this latter period. I possess the same ardor as ever in duty, and the same gayety in company. I consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation’s breaking out at last with additional lustre, I know that I could have but a few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at present.’

After having finished the account of his life, he, at the request of his friends, went to England for the improvement of his health, but returned with no benefit, after a few weeks’ stay at London and Bath. He now employed himself in correcting his works for a new edition, and considering himself as a dying man, talked familiarly and even jocularly of his approaching dissolution. To one of his friends, who, struck by his cheerfulness, could not help expressing hopes of his recovery, he said, ‘Your hopes are groundless; I am dying as fast as my enemies, if I have any, could wish, and as easily and cheerfully as my best friends could desire.’ His weakness increased daily, until the afternoon of the 26th of August 1776, when he expired, says Dr. Black, ‘in such a happy composure of mind, that nothing could exceed it.’

Hume seemed to have formed a very just estimate of his own character: he describes himself as a man of mild disposition, of command of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humor, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all his passions. This account of himself is fully corroborated by Dr. Adam Smith, who speaks of his social and intellectual qualities in the highest strain of eulogy: ‘Upon the whole,’ says the doctor, in his concluding remarks upon the death of Hume, ‘I have always considered him, both in his lifetime and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man, as, perhaps, the nature of human frailty will permit.’ Of this frailty he exhibited no inconsiderable portion in treating all systems of religion as founded in superstition; and, perhaps, there was a levity of conduct immediately preceding his death, which was beyond the dignity even of a philosopher, as it was certainly very opposite to the unpretending resignation of a dying Christian. His person had no affinity to his mind; his face was broad and flat, his mouth wide, his eyes vacant, and the corpulency of his whole person is said to have been better fitted to communicate the idea of a turtle-eating alderman, than of a refined philosopher. At Turin he fell in love with a lady, and addressing her, declared that he was “abime aneanti.” “Oh! pour aneanti,” replied the lady, “ce n’est en effet qu’une operation très naturelle de votre systême.”

In his intellectual character he takes his place in the first rank of modern philosophical sceptics, and it must be confessed that few writers have insisted on their theories with more vigor, self-command, or ability. The merit of his History of England is now generally allowed, though notwithstanding his own claim to perfect impartiality, prejudices, particularly in favor of the House of Stuart, appear in his work, and he has been accused of coloring facts to support his favorite and somewhat erroneous position that the English constitution cannot be considered as a regular plan of liberty before the reigns of the first two Stuarts. Upon the whole, however, few historians are more free from prejudice than Hume; nor is he often excelled in the clearness and eloquence of his style. About seven years after his death appeared an Essay on Suicide, generally believed to have been the production of his pen, and which, it is said, would have appeared in his lifetime, had not the booksellers been afraid to publish it.

An anecdote of Hume is told in one of Dr. Beattie’s letters to Mrs. Montague, which shows that however sincere a sceptic our author may have been, he admitted the propagation of his opinions might be destructive to the morals, if not the happiness, of at least one half of the intellectual world. ‘Mr. Hume,’ says Beattie, ‘was boasting to Dr. Gregory, that among his disciples in Edinburg, he had the honor to reckon many of the fair sex. “Now tell me,” said the doctor, “whether if you had a wife or a daughter, you would wish them to be your disciples? Think well before you answer me; for, I assure you, that, whatever your answer is, I will not conceal it.” Mr. Hume, with a smile, and some hesitation, made this reply: “No; I believe scepticism may be too sturdy a virtue for a woman.”’ At another time, Mrs. Mallet, wife of the poet, meeting him at an assembly, boldly accosted him in these words: ‘Mr. Hume, give me leave to introduce myself to you; we Deists ought to know each other.’ ‘Madam,’ replied he, ‘I am no Deist; I do not style myself so; neither do I desire to be known by that appellation.’

ALEXANDER POPE.

Alexander Pope was born in Lombard Street, London, of Roman Catholic parents, on the 22d of May, 1688. He was according to Johnson, more willing to show what his father was not, than what he was; but his principal biographers make him the son of a linen-draper, who had grown rich enough to retire from business to Binfield, near Windsor. Alexander was deformed from his birth, and of so delicate a constitution, and such weakness of body, that he constantly wore stays; and when taking the air on the water, had a sedan-chair in the boat, in which he sat with the glasses down. He received the early part of his education at home, and, when about eight, was placed under the care of one Taverner, a Romish priest, who taught him the rudiments of Latin and Greek. His taste for poetry was first excited by the perusal of Ogilby’s Homer and Sandy’s Ovid; and, on his removal to school at Twyford, near Winchester, he exercised his talents in verse, by lampooning the master. He was next sent to a school in the vicinity of Hyde Park Corner, whence his occasional visits to the play-house induced such a fondness for theatrical exhibitions, that he composed a play from Ogilby’s Iliad, with some verses of his own intermixed, which was acted by his schoolfellows.

About twelve years of age, when he wrote his earliest production, The Ode of Solitude, he was called by his father to Binfield, where he improved himself by translating into verse the Latin classics, and in reading the English poets. The versification of Dryden particularly struck him, and he conceived such a veneration for the genius of that poet, that he persuaded some friends to take him to the coffeehouse which he frequented, and pleased himself with having seen him. As early as 1702, he had put into more elegant verse Chaucer’s January and May, and The Prologue to the Wife of Bath; and in the same year, he translated the epistle of Sappho to Phaon, from Ovid. At this time, the smoothness of his versification, which might be said to be formed, surpassed his original; ‘but this,’ says Johnson, ‘is a small part of his praise; he discovered such acquaintance both with human and public affairs, as is not easily conceived to have been attainable by a boy of fourteen, in Windsor Forest.’

In 1703, he passed some time in London, in the study of the French and Italian languages; and on his return to Binfield, wrote a comedy, a tragedy, or epic poem, with panegyrics on all the princes of Europe, and, as he confesses, ‘thought himself the greatest genius that ever was.’ Many of the productions upon which he founded this idea of himself, he subsequently destroyed; nor is it from an earlier period than 1705, that his life, as an author, is properly computed. In that year, he wrote his Pastorals, which, together with the very elegant and learned preface, received the praise of all the poets and the critics of the time; to whose society he, in the following year, more particularly introduced himself, by attending Will’s Coffee-house, in London, where most of them used to assemble. His pastorals did not appear until 1709, and in the same year he wrote, and in 1711 published, his Essay on Criticism, which he seems to have considered either so learned or so obscure, as to declare that ‘not one gentleman in sixty, even of a liberal education, could understand it.’ The piece was translated into French and German, and however overrated may have been the author’s estimation of it, has not been inadequately praised by Johnson, who observes that it displayed extent of comprehension, nicety of distinction, acquaintance with mankind, and knowledge both of ancient and modern learning, not often attained by the maturest age and longest experience. The essay, however, was not without opponents, and was attacked in a bitter and elaborate pamphlet, by Dennis, in consequence of some lines applied to him by Pope, whom he designated as ‘a little affected hypocrite, who had nothing in his mouth at the same time but truth, candor, friendship, good-nature, humanity and magnanimity.’ In this year, he also wrote his Messiah, first published in The Spectator, and his verses on the Unfortunate Lady, who, we are told by Ruffhead, having been removed by her guardian into a foreign country to avoid the addresses of Pope, put an end to her life by stabbing herself with a sword.

His next production was The Rape of the Lock, which is considered the most airy, the most ingenious, and the most delightful of all his compositions. The origin of it is too well known to need repetition here; but it is doubtful, as generally asserted, whether it had the effect of reconciling the parties whose conduct gave rise to the subject. On its first appearance, Addison called it a delicious little thing, and urged Pope not to alter it: he was, however, too confident of improving it to follow this advice, and considerably altered, and added to, the poem. ‘His attempt,’ says Johnson, ‘was justified by its success: The Rape of the Lock stands forward in the classes of literature as the most exquisite example of ludicrous poetry.’ In 1712, he published The Temple of Fame, and, about the same period, his Eloise to Abelard; to the composition of which he was led, according to Savage, by the perusal of Prior’s Nut-brown Maid. In 1713, appeared his Windsor Forest, the conclusion of which is said to have given pain to Addison, both as a poet and politician; but this is doubted by Johnson, who, in proof of the apparant friendship that continued to exist between the two poets, refers to the prologue of Cato, written by Pope, and also to a defense of that tragedy against the attacks of Dennis. About this time, the subject of our memoir is said to have studied painting under Jervis, and to have made progress enough to take the portraits of several of his friends.

He now turned his attention to the completion of his Iliad, which he offered to subscribers in six quarto volumes, for six guineas. The subscription soon rose to an amount that, while it gratified, at the same time alarmed him, when he thought of the extent of his undertaking; which, he says, disturbed him in his dreams at night, and made him wish that somebody would hang him. It was also given out, by some of his enemies, that he was deficient in Greek; and Addison, who does certainly, in this instance, seem to have been jealous of the fame of Pope, hinted to the Whigs, with a view to impede the subscription, that he was too much of a Tory; whilst this suspected him to be of the other party, in consequence of his contributions to Steele’s Guardian. His genius, however, carried him above all difficulties; and at the rate of about fifty lines per day, he soon completed the whole of the volumes, though his repeated alterations delayed the appearance of the sixth until 1720. The clear profit which he gained by this work amounted to £5,324 4_s._; a sum that relieved him from his present pecuniary difficulties, and enabled him to secure himself against future ones, by the purchase of considerable annuities.

The Iliad, which is described by the author’s biographer already mentioned, as not only one of the noblest versions of English poetry ever seen by the world, but, as one of the greatest events in the annals of learning, was a source of much annoyance to Pope, both during its progress and after its completion. Whilst it failed to gain him a patron, it also lost him a friend; the coldness of Addison he returned with indignation, and the overtures of Lord Halifax with indifference and contempt. He had taken umbrage at the conduct of the former, in endeavoring to create a rivalry between his translation of Homer and Tickall’s; the appearance of which, at the same time with his own, he had good reasons for attributing to the instrumentality of Addison. A reconciliation between them was afterwards attempted to be brought about, by Steele; but the interview only increased their mutual dislike, which continued to the end of their lives. Another reason assigned for Pope’s quarrel with Addison, is, that he had given one Gildon ten guineas to abuse the former in a letter, which was published respecting Wycherley. ‘On hearing of which,’ says Pope, ‘I wrote a letter to Mr. Addison, to let him know that I was not unacquainted with this behavior of his; that if I were to speak severely of him in return for it, it should not be in such a dirty way; that I should rather tell him myself fairly of his faults, and allow his good qualities; and that it should be something in the following manner. I then adjoined the first sketch of what has since been called my satire on Addison,――the character of Atticus.’ Our author’s contempt for Lord Halifax arose from that nobleman’s delay in the bestowal of his patronage, until he had secured some compliment, in the way of dedication or otherwise, which the poet was not over anxious to render. ‘They, probably,’ says Johnson, ‘were suspicious of each other: Pope would not dedicate till he saw at what rate his praise was valued; Halifax thought himself entitled to confidence, and would give nothing unless he knew what he should receive.’

Pope had removed to his celebrated villa, at Twickenham, in the year 1715, when the first volume of his Iliad was published, from which time he generally continued to reside there. In 1717, he collected his former works into one quarto volume; and in 1720, partaking of the national infatuation, he lost a slight sum of money in the South Sea stock. In 1721, he was induced, by a reward of £217 12_s._, to give his name and labors to an edition of Shakspeare, in which his various errors were detected and exposed with all the insolence of victory, by Theobald, in a book called, Shakspeare Restored. From this time, says Johnson, Pope became an enemy to editors, collators, and verbal critics; and hoped to persuade the world that he miscarried in this undertaking only by having a mind too great for such minute employments. The same authority tells us that, in 1723, he appeared as a witness on the trial of Bishop Atterbury, and that, in the few words he had to utter, he made several blunders. In 1725, appeared his translation of the Odyssey, in which he was assisted by Broome and Fenton; the former of whom he is said to have treated with great illiberality. About the year 1726, he had the misfortune to be overturned in the water whilst passing a bridge in a friend’s coach, by which he narrowly escaped drowning, and lost the use of two of his fingers from the breaking of the windows. Upon this occasion he received a letter of consolation from Voltaire, whom he had previously entertained at this table, where he is said to have talked with so much grossness, that Pope was driven from the room.

In 1727, he joined with Swift in the publication of three volumes of Miscellanies, wherein was inserted his Art of Sinking in Poetry; and in the following year appeared his Dunciad, a general attack against all the inferior authors of his time, whom he distinguished by the appellation of The Dunces. ‘On the day the book was first vended,’ says Pope, ‘a crowd of authors besieged the shop; entreaties, advices, threats of law and battery, nay, cries of treason, were all employed to hinder the coming out of the Dunciad.’ The poem excited a great sensation in all quarters, and was presented to the king and queen by Sir Robert Walpole. It is said to have blasted the literary reputation of all those whom it touched, and to have driven many of them to such an extent of hatred against the author, that they held weekly clubs to consider how they might injure him, and brought his image in clay for the purpose of executing him in effigy. In 1731, he published a poem on Taste, by which he incurred the odium of all parties, in consequence of ridiculing, under the name of Timon, his former friend and patron, the Duke of Chandos; to whom he wrote an explanatory letter, as full of hypocrisy as his verses were of ingratitude. In 1733, he published anonymously, the first, and in 1735, under his own name, the fourth part of his Essay on Man; the idea of which he acknowledges to have received from Bolingbroke, who is said to have ridiculed Pope as having advanced in it principles of which he did not perceive the consequence, and as blindly propagating opinions contrary to his own. Pope certainly appears to more advantage as a poet than a theologist in this production; which was on its translation into French, attacked with great skill by Professor Crousaz, of Switzerland, who discovered that many of the positions contained inferences against the doctrines of revelation. Warburton, however, defended the essay, in a manner that ever afterwards secured him the gratitude and friendship of Pope, who took the opportunity of acknowledging that he had not explained his own meaning properly, and of disclaiming any intention to propagate the principles of Bolingbroke.

His next poems in succession, were An Epistle to lord Bathurst, the Characters of Men and of Women, several imitations of Horace, Dr. Donne’s Satires, and an Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. In 1737, he published, by subscription, a quarto volume of his Correspondence; for the previous publication of which, by Curill, whom he had prosecuted in the house of lords, he accounts, in his preface, by saying that his letters had been stolen from a friend’s library, and thence sent privately to the press. There is, however, good reason to believe that they were printed with his own connivance, in order to give him an opportunity of subsequently publishing them himself, without incurring the imputation of vanity. In 1738, at which time he was visited by the Prince of Wales, and was of the opposition party, he published two Satirical Dialogues, in which he attacked several statesmen, but with a view rather of displaying his powers as a satirist than his sentiments as a patriot. These works were followed, in 1742, by a fourth book of The Dunciad, which brought on a paper war between himself and Cibber; his attack against whom he repeated, in a new edition of that work, in a strain of virulence that contributed more to the amusement of his readers than to his own reputation. From this time his vital powers gradually declined; he gave over original composition, and passed his time in the correction and revisal of his former works, and in social intercourse with his intimate friends, the chief of whom appear to have been Warburton and lord Bolingbroke. An asthma, with which he had been for some years affected, now terminating in a dropsy, his end visibly approached; he met it with resignation and calmness; and after having taken the sacrament, and exclaimed, a short time previously to death, ‘there is nothing meritorious but friendship and virtue!’ he expired, on the 30th of May, 1744, so placidly that the attendants did not ascertain the exact time of his dissolution. He was interred at Twickenham, where a monument was erected to him by Warburton, to whom he lelft half his library and the copyright of such of his works already printed as were not otherwise disposed of.

The character of Pope has been differently estimated by his biographers, Warburton, Bowles, Warton and Johnson. The last seems to have treated it in the most impartial manner; but his view of it is too diffuse and incongruous to be altogether satisfactory. Upon the whole Pope seems to have been more deserving of praise than he is represented; he has been considered exclusively in his literary character to have had justice done to him as a man. His reputation even as a poet, in the complete sense of the word, has been a subject of dispute with many; but it is idle to deny him a title to which none have so zealously, if so successfully, aspired. It is not to be denied that, upon the ground-work of others, he has raised some of his most beautiful superstructures; but from whatever sources he may have drawn his ideas, he has transferred them immortally to his own verses, by the manner in which he there enshrined them. His Iliad will probably continue to supersede all other translations; whilst the exquisite machinery of the sylphs in The Rape of the Lock, and the vigorous animation and pathetic tenderness pervading his Verses on the Unfortunate Lady, evince an original genius which may successfully challenge competition: His avowed model was Dryden; between whom and himself, Johnson, in drawing an elaborate comparison, says, that where the one delights the other astonishes; that Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid,――Pope always smooth, uniform, and gentle. His conclusion seems to be that the former wrote the brighter paragraphs, the latter the better poems. ‘Pope,’ he observes, ‘had perhaps the judgment of Dryden; but Dryden certainly wanted the diligence of Pope.’ His Ode to St. Cecelia’s Day, the same authority thinks inferior to Dryden’s, but his Epistle of Eloise to Abelard he ranks as one of the most happy productions of human wit. For seductive eloquence and splendor of imagery, his Essay on Man is unequaled; but stripped of their ornaments, the sentiments will be found commonplaces and the diction bombastic. His epistolary writings, composed, doubtless, with a view to publication, attest the care and elegance of his pen, but are too full of that affectation and ambition, with which he himself confesses his early letters to have been vitiated.

Vanity and affectation were principal features in the character of Pope; like Byron, he pretended a hatred of the world, whilst his highest pleasure consisted in pleasing those who lived in it; and his egotism is sufficiently manifest in the contempt with which he treated all excellence in others that had not some affinity with his own. One of his boasts was, that he never obtained the notice of one titled acquaintance by adulation or servility; and Johnson, in confirming this, says, that he never flattered those whom he did not love or praised those whom he did not esteem. An exception to this, however, appears in his conduct towards Lord Hervey and Lady Wortley Montagu, in a memoir of whom he will be found apologizing in a strain of meanness and hypocrisy commensurate with the grossness and vindictiveness of his previous abuse. But though sometimes violent in his attacks and mean in his retreat, he was warm and constant in his friendships; and his social qualities, says Johnson, exhibit a perpetual and unclouded effulgence of general benevolence. Though his fortune was far from splendid, he assisted Dodsley with £100 to open a shop, and of the subscription of £40 a-year that he raised for Savage, £20 were paid by himself.

In his domestic concerns, he was frugal almost to parsimoniousness; in proof of which, it is said, that he used to write his compositions on the backs of letters; and after a scanty entertainment to two of his guests, would place a single pint of wine, with two small glasses, upon the table, and say, ‘Gentlemen, I leave you to your wine.’ He, however, would sometimes give a splendid dinner to a party of his friends, and is said himself to have been so great an epicure, that his heart was often won by a present of some luxury for his table. He used constantly to call for coffee in the night, when it is not probable he took much sleep, if the story of Lord Oxford’s domestic be true, that she was called from her bed, by him, four times in one night, to supply him with paper, lest he should lose a thought. He did not excel in conversation; and it was said no merriment of others, or of his own, excited him to laughter. There appears to have been a certain littleness and artifice in his intercourse with mankind, particularly with regard to trifles, which made Lady Bolingbroke say that ‘he played the politician about cabbages and turnips.’ In his person, he was so much beneath the middle stature, that, to bring him to a level with common tables, it was necessary to raise his seat; his countenance was, upon the whole, prepossessing, and his eyes were animated and expressive. His physical debility continued throughout his life; to conceal the tenuity of his legs, he wore three pairs of stockings; and being unable to dress or undress himself, could neither retire to rest, nor rise, without assistance.

An important feature in his private history, is his intimacy with Martha Blount, the daughter of a Catholic gentleman, near Reading, who is said to have been his intimate confidant and companion through life. She possessed great influence over him, and though she treated him with great neglect for some time previous to his death, he left her the greater part of his property. With this temporary exception, those to whom Pope was attached, remained his warm friends to the last; and Bolingbroke, who wept over him in his last illness, said, ‘I never knew in my life a man that had so tender a heart for his particular friends, or more general friendship for mankind.’ Having discovered, however, after the death of Pope, whom he had commissioned to procure a few impressions of his Patriot King, that he had ordered one thousand five hundred copies to be privately printed, Bolingbroke was so enraged at the transaction, that he exerted his utmost efforts to blast the memory of the man over whom he had so lately shed tears of affection and regret. For this artifice, of which the motive is not apparent, Warburton attempted to apologize; but in so unsatisfactory a manner, that it produced an answer, by Mallet, in A Letter to the most Impudent Man living.

We conclude our memoir of this paradoxical character, with the following anecdotes respecting him:――Lord Halifax having expressed himself dissatisfied with several passages in Pope’s translation of the Iliad, the latter observed to Garth, that, as he could not see where any alteration could be made for the better, his lordship’s observation had laid him under some difficulty. ‘All that you need do,’ said Garth, laughing, ‘is to leave them just as they are; call on Lord Halifax two or three months hence, thank him for his kind observations on those passages, and then read them to him as altered.’ Pope followed his advice, waited on Lord Halifax some time after, said he hoped his lordship would find his objections to those passages removed, read them to him exactly as they were at first, and his lordship was extremely pleased with them, and cried out, ‘ay, now they are perfectly right; nothing can be better.’

On Pope’s receiving, at his house, the Prince of Wales, with the most dutiful expression of attachment, the former remarked, ‘how shall we reconcile your love to a prince with your professed indisposition to kings, since princes will be kings in time?’ ‘Sir,’ replied the poet, ‘I consider royalty under that noble and authorized type of the lion; while he is young, and before his nails are grown, he may be approached and caressed with safety and pleasure.’ During his last illness, a squabble happening between his two physicians, Dr. Burton and Dr. Thompson, who mutually charged each other with hastening the death of their patient by improper prescriptions, Pope silenced them by saying, ‘gentlemen, I only learn by your discourse that I am in a dangerous way; therefore all I now ask is, that the following epigram may be added, after my death, to the next edition of The Dunciad, by way of postscript――

Dunces rejoice, forgive all censures past, The greatest dunce has kill’d your foe at last.

Pope, though some have attributed them to Young, is also said to have composed, on being asked for an extempore couplet, by lord Chesterfield, the following lines, with the pencil of that nobleman:――

Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines with Stanhope’s pencil writ.

JOHN ADAMS.

John Adams, a distinguished patriot of the revolution, was born at Braintree, Massachusetts, October 19, 1735. The ancestors of Mr. A. had left England for the wilds of America, in order to enjoy their religious opinions unmolested. They were among the first settlers of Massachusetts, Henry Adams, the great-great-grandfather of John, and one of the original proprietors of the town of Braintree, having fled from England, with other Puritans, in the year 1630. Their condition was that of substantial yeomen, who possessed the fee simple of their lands, and maintained themselves and families by manual labor. Mr. A. having, when yet a boy, evinced great fondness for books, and readiness in learning, his father determined to give him a collegiate education, and placed him, in consequence, under the care of Mr. Marsh (who was afterwards the preceptor of the celebrated Josiah Quincy), that he might be prepared for entrance into the university of Cambridge. He remained in that institution until the year 1755, when he received his bachelor’s degree, and in 1758 that of master of arts. Whilst at college, he is said to have been distinguished by intense application, retentiveness of memory, acuteness of reasoning, boldness and originality of thought, strength of language, and an honesty of character which could neither assume nor tolerate disguise. After he had left college, he commenced the study of law, at Worcester, with colonel James Putnam, and, during the period he was so engaged, instructed pupils in the Latin and Greek languages, in order to be able to defray his expenses himself. Before proceeding farther, it may not be amiss to notice the posture of affairs in Massachusetts at that epoch. For a long time past, that province had been disturbed by almost unremitted contentions between its inhabitants and the parliament of Great Britain, on various important subjects. The English legislature had, in fact, nothing to do with the colonies, as all dominion acquired by conquest or discovery invariably accrued to the king. To him alone the emigrants paid allegiance and applied for protection, and, although parliament always affected to believe itself entitled to regulate their concerns, they received very little interruption from it in the exercise of the privilege granted them by the king of governing and legislating for themselves. In the course of time, however, parliament became jealous of the power, approaching to independence, which they enjoyed, and began to impose unconstitutional restraints upon their commerce, to violate their charters, and, in short, to treat them so arbitrarily, that their spirit was completely roused, and a vigorous resistance called forth. Massachusetts, especially, had become a theatre of perpetual struggle for power on the one side, and for freedom on the other. But it was hitherto only an intellectual warfare, no idea of a separation from the mother country having been entertained. In 1758, Mr. A. left the office of colonel Putnam, and entered that of Jeremiah Gridley, then attorney-general of the province, and of the highest eminence at the bar. Gridley had, some years previously, superintended also the legal studies of James Otis, and, proud of his two pupils, used often to say, that ‘he had raised two young eagles, who were, one day or other, to peck out his eyes.’ In 1759, Mr. A. was admitted, at his recommendation, a member of the bar of Suffolk. Mr. A. commenced the practice of his profession in that part of his native town now called Quincy, but first brought himself into notice by his defense of a prisoner in the county of Plymouth, from which time a sufficiency of lucrative business generally occupied his attention. In 1761, he was admitted to the degree of barrister at law, and shortly afterwards was placed in the possession of a small landed estate by his father’s decease. In February of this year, an incident occurred, which inflamed his enthusiasm in the cause of his country’s rights to the highest pitch. The British cabinet had long shown a desire to assert the sovereign authority of parliament over the colonies in all cases of taxation and internal policy; but the first evidence of its having determined to do so was an order in council, issued this year, enjoining the officers of the customs in Massachusetts Bay to execute the acts of trade, and make application for writs of assistance, to the supreme judicature of the province. These writs were a species of general search-warrants, authorizing those who were empowered to carry them into effect to enter all houses, warehouses, etc., for the purpose of discovering and seizing such goods as were not discharged from the taxes imposed upon them by the acts. The officers of the customs applied for them, in pursuance of their instructions, to the court at Salem, but the demand was refused, on account of doubts concerning their constitutionality. It was then determined to have the affair argued by counsel in Boston. Great alarm now pervaded the whole community. Mr. Otis was engaged, by the merchants of Salem and Boston, to oppose the concession of so formidable an instrument of arbitrary power. In order to do so with entire freedom, he resigned the lucrative station of advocate-general in the court of admiralty, which he then enjoyed. Of the masterly manner in which he performed his duty, Mr. A., who was present at the discussion, has transmitted a vivid account. ‘Otis,’ says he, ‘was a flame of fire! With a promptitude of classical allusion, a depth of research, a rapid summary of historical events and dates, a profusion of legal authorities, a prophetic glance of his eyes into futurity, and a rapid torrent of impetuous eloquence, he hurried away all before him. American Independence was then and there born.’ He afterwards adds, ‘Every man of an immensely crowded audience appeared to me to go away, as I did, ready to take arms against writs of assistance.’ Speaking of this discourse on another occasion, he said, ‘that James Otis, then and there, first breathed into this nation the breath of life.’ In 1764, he married Abigail Smith, second daughter of the Rev. William Smith, of Weymouth, and grand-daughter of colonel Quincy, of Mount Wollaston, a lady every way worthy of her husband, endowed by nature with a countenance singularly noble and lovely, and with a mind whose fine powers were improved by an excellent education. Her ardor in the cause of her country was as elevated as his own, and her piety unaffected and exemplary. About a year afterwards, Mr. A. published in the Boston Gazette several pieces, under the title of ‘An Essay on Canon and Feudal Law,’ which were reprinted in London, in 1768, and called ‘A Dissertation on Canon and Feudal Law.’ It is, perhaps, not the smallest proof of its merit, that it was there attributed to Gridley, who at that time enjoyed the highest reputation for ability. The friends of the colonies in England termed it ‘one of the very best productions ever seen from North America.’ The name of the real author was afterwards divulged, in 1783, when it was published in Philadelphia, by Robert Bell, in a pamphlet form, with lord Sheffield’s observations on the commerce of the American States, and entitled ‘An Essay on Canon and Feudal Law, by John Adams, Esq.’ It seems to have been the principal object of the author to extinguish, as far as possible, the blind and almost superstitious veneration of his countrymen for the institutions of the parent country, by holding up to their abhorrence the principles of the canon and feudal law, and showing to them the conspiracy which existed between church and state, for the purpose of oppressing the people. He inculcates the sentiments of genuine liberty, as well as the necessity of correct information on the part of his fellow-citizens, in order that they might be prepared to assert and maintain their rights by force, if force should ever become necessary. It was indeed a work eminently calculated to excite the people of America to resist, at all hazards, any infringement of their liberties. In December, 1765, Mr. A. was engaged, as counsel with Mr. Gridley and Mr. Otis, to support, before the governor and council, a memorial presented to the former, from the town of Boston, praying that the courts, which had been closed on account of the opposition to the stamp act, might again be opened. Through their united exertions, the petition was successful. In the same year, he removed to Boston, where he continued in the practice of his profession on a very extensive scale. After he had resided there about two years, the crown officers of the province, thinking, perhaps, that his patriotism was not without its price, made him an offer, through Mr. Sewall (between whom and himself an intimate friendship subsisted, formed at the time when he was studying with colonel Putnam), of the office of advocate-general in the court of admiralty, the most lucrative post in the gift of the governor. This office also was one which conducted its incumbents directly to the highest provincial honors. He refused it, however, as he says in his preface to the late edition of Novanglus, ‘decidedly and peremptorily, though respectfully.’ In 1769, he was appointed chairman of the committee chosen by the town of Boston, for the purpose of drawing up instructions to their representatives, to resist the encroachments of the British government. His colleagues were R. Dana and Jos. Warren. At the time they were thus employed, the metropolis was invested by an armed force, both by sea and land, and the state-house surrounded by a military guard, with cannon pointed at the door. Large majorities of both houses of parliament had signified their approval of the measures adopted by the king; had promised him their support, and besought him to prosecute, within the realm, all those who had been guilty of treasonable acts, in Massachusetts, since the year 1767, in accordance with the decree of parliament of the 35th of Henry VIII. Nevertheless, the committee performed their task with undaunted firmness, and reported the instructions which, no doubt, contributed to produce the strong resolutions subsequently adopted by the legislature of Massachusetts. It was on account of these instructions and resolutions, that the provincial garrison was withdrawn, by order of the governor, from the castle, and regular troops, in the pay of the crown, substituted. The instructions also formed one of the specific charges made against the colony by the committee of the lords of council for plantation affairs, to the lords of council, July 6, 1770.

A striking example of the firmness and uprightness of Mr. A. occurred during the course of that year. He had, hitherto, been very active in stimulating the people of his province to the strenuous maintenance of their rights, and had thereby aided in producing an excitement greater than he could have wished, and which he found it necessary to counteract. The people of Boston had become exasperated at the idea of a garrison placed in their city, and were extremely hostile to the soldiers composing it. These feelings led to an attack upon a party of them under the command of captain Preston, March 5. They fired on the assailants in self-defense, and killed several of them. The soldiers were immediately arraigned before the civil authority, and Mr. Adams, in conjunction with Josiah Quincy and Mr. Sampson S. Blowers, was requested to aid them upon their trial. Although the minds of the people were inflamed almost to madness, and the defense of the accused seemed to involve a certain loss of popularity, Mr. A. immediately undertook to act as their advocate. Mr. A. was no demagogue; he saw that the honor of his country was at stake, and he rejoiced, as has been well said, in the opportunity of showing to the world, that the cause of America did not depend upon a temporary excitement, which could stifle the voice of justice, but upon the sober, steady, persevering determination of the people to support their rights. The cause was conducted by him and his colleagues with great ability, and the soldiers were all acquitted save two, who were found guilty of manslaughter, received a slight branding as a punishment, and were then discharged. Scarcely any thing which occurred during the revolution confers more honor upon the national character, and did more service to the cause of America, than this triumph of justice. Mr. A. soon received a proof that the public confidence in him was not diminished, by his election, in May, 1770, to the legislature of his state, as one of the representatives of the town of Boston. His conduct in this new situation displayed the same patriotism, courage and hostility to the despotism of the mother country, by which he had always been distinguished. He took a prominent part in every public measure, and served on several committees, who reported some of the most important state papers of the time; among which were the address and protest to the governor against the removal of the general court from Boston to Cambridge. In Bradford’s History of Massachusetts, we find the following account of a controversy in which Mr. A. was engaged in the year 1773. ‘The ministerial regulation for paying the salary of the judges, which rendered them wholly dependent on the crown, was the occasion of a learned and able discussion in the public papers, by William Brattle, senior member of the council, and John Adams. The essays of the latter were written with great learning and ability, and had a happy effect in enlightening the public mind on a question of very great importance. It subjected him, indeed, to the displeasure of governor Hutchinson and the ministerial party; and at the next election in May, when chosen by the assembly into the council, the governor gave his negative to the choice. These essays were published in the Boston Gazette of February, 1773, under Mr. Adams’ proper signature, and would make a pamphlet of 50 or 60 pages.’ In 1774, he was again rejected by governor Gage, and soon afterwards he was appointed one of the committee of the town of Boston, who prepared the celebrated resolutions on the Boston port-bill. June 17, of this year, governor Gage, having dissolved the assembly, this body, before separating, passed a resolution to appoint a committee to meet other committees from other colonies, for the purpose of consulting upon their common interests, and, in consequence, Mr. Thomas Cushing, Mr. Samuel Adams, Mr. John Adams and Mr. Robert Treat Paine were elected to the first continental congress, which met at Philadelphia in the following September. Soon after Mr. A. was chosen, an incident occurred which gives an idea of his feelings on contemplating this great and daring national movement. His friend Sewall, who had taken the ministerial side in politics, and was at that time attorney-general of the province, hearing of his election, invited him to a morning walk, in the course of which he endeavored to dissuade him from his purpose of assuming the seat in congress to which he had been appointed. He told him that the determination of Great Britain to pursue her system was fixed; that her power was irresistible, and would involve him in destruction, as well as all his associates who persevered in opposition to her designs. ‘I know,’ replied he, ‘that Great Britain has determined on her system, and that very determination determines me on mine. You know that I have been constant and uniform in opposition to her designs. The die is now cast. I have passed the Rubicon. Sink or swum, live or die, survive or perish with my country, is my fixed, unalterable determination.’ On bidding him adieu, Mr. A. said to his friend, ‘I see we must part, and with a bleeding heart I say, I fear forever. But, you may depend upon it, this adieu is the sharpest thorn on which I ever set my foot.’ Mr. A. took his seat in congress, September 5, 1774, the first day of their session, and was soon chosen a member of some of the most important committees, such as that which drew up the statement of the rights of the colonies, and that which prepared the address to the king. He and his colleagues carried with them the character of being so thoroughly desirous of independence, that, before they arrived at Philadelphia, warning had been given to them, by many of the most respectable inhabitants of the Middle States, not to utter a word on that subject, as it was as unpopular as the stamp act itself. Almost all the delegates from the other colonies were impressed with the idea that England could be brought to terms, without resorting to a declaration of independence. Washington alone, of the Virginia delegation, was doubtful whether the measures adopted by congress would be efficacious in attaining the object for which they were designed. In one of his letters, Mr. A. says, that Richard Henry Lee used the following language to him, when they parted: ‘We shall infallibly carry all our points; you will be completely relieved; all the offensive acts will be repealed; the army and fleet will be recalled, and Britain will give up her foolish project.’ On his return to Massachusetts, he became engaged in a controversy with his friend Sewall, who was writing a series of essays under the appellation of Massachusettensis, for the purpose of vindicating the cause of the government party. Mr. A.’s papers were published in the Boston Gazette, with the signature of Novanglus, and exhibit the cause of America in the most triumphant and favorable light. When Mr. A. resumed his seat in congress the following year, hostilities had in reality commenced between Great Britain and the colonists, though as yet not openly declared, and the blood of numbers of brave men had stained the plains of Lexington and Concord. On receiving the account of this battle, congress determined upon war. It was necessary to fix upon some one for the post of commander-in-chief of the troops which were ordered to be raised. The eyes of all the New England delegation were turned upon General Ward, then at the head of the army in Massachusetts. At a meeting of them, when that officer was proposed for nomination, Mr. A. alone dissented, and urged the selection of George Washington, one of the representatives from Virginia. He was resisted, and left the meeting with the declaration that Washington on the next day should be nominated. He was accordingly nominated, at the instigation of Mr. A., by governor Johnstone of Maryland, and chosen without an opposing voice. Five days after the appointment of General Washington, Mr. Jefferson made his first appearance on the floor of congress, having been chosen by the people of Virginia to fill the place of Patrick Henry, who had lately been elected the governor of that province. Between this distinguished man and Mr. A. a friendship speedily arose, which subsisted, with a short interruption, during the remainder of their lives. When Mr. A. returned to Massachusetts, after the dissolution of the congress of 1775, the post of chief justice of the state was offered to him, which he declined, on account of his belief that he should be able to render more effectual service to the cause of his country in its national councils. At the time that he resumed his seat in them in 1776, hostilities were active between Great Britain and the colonies. But the object of the latter was as yet merely to resist the authority assumed by the parent country to impose taxes upon them at pleasure. Few persons entertained the idea of a dissolution of connexion; very few, even of the delegates in congress, seemed to desire it; but among those few John Adams was the foremost. We have already mentioned its unpopularity. As soon as Mr. A. was suspected in Philadelphia of being an advocate of that measure, he was represented constantly in the most odious light, and even pointed at and avoided on appearing in the streets. Still, however, he persevered, made every day proselytes, and, May 6, 1776, moved in congress a resolution, which was, in fact, a virtual declaration of independence, recommending to the colonies ‘to adopt such a government as would, in the opinion of the representatives of the people, best conduce to the happiness and safety of their constituents and of America.’ This passed, after a hard struggle, on the 15th of the same month, and was the prelude to the glorious and daring resolution, moved by Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, on the 7th of June following, and seconded by Mr. A., ‘that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British crown; and that all political connexion between them and the state of Great Britain is, and of right ought to be, totally dissolved.’ The debate upon this motion was of the most animated character. It continued from the 7th to the 10th, when the further discussion of the measure was postponed to the 1st of July. A committee of five was also appointed to prepare a provisional draft of a declaration of independence. The members of it were chosen by ballot, and were Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston. Mr. Jefferson and Mr. A. were deputed a sub-committee to prepare the instrument, the former of whom, at the earnest solicitation of the latter, became its author.

On the 1st of July, Mr. Lee’s resolution was again considered, and debated during that and the following day, when it was finally adopted. The draft of the declaration was then submitted for the purpose of undergoing an examination in detail. It was passed on the 4th of the same month, as prepared by Mr. Jefferson, with only a few alterations, which were made through a prudent deference to the views of some of the states. Mr. A. always preferred the draft as it originally stood. The declaration was not adopted without serious opposition from many members of the congress, including John Dickinson, one of the ablest men in that assembly. But their arguments were completely overthrown by the force and eloquence of Mr. A., whose speech on the subject of independence is said to have been unrivaled. Mr. Jefferson himself has affirmed, ‘that the great pillar of support to the declaration of independence, and its ablest advocate and champion on the floor of the house, was John Adams.’ Speaking of his general character as an orator, the same illustrious man observed, that he was ‘the Colossus of that congress: not graceful, not elegant, not always fluent in his public addresses, he yet came out with a power, both of thought and expression, which moved his hearers from their seats.’ Mr. Silas Deane, who was a commissioner with Dr. Franklin and Mr. Arthur Lee, at the court of Versailles, having been recalled, Mr. A. was chosen, Nov. 28, 1777, to fill his place. By this appointment, he was released from the laborious and important duties of chairman of the board of war, which post he had filled since June 13, 1776. It is stated that he was a member of ninety committees, twice as many as any other representative, except Richard Henry Lee and Samuel Adams, of twenty-five of which he was chairman, though it was the policy to put Virginia generally at the head. Among these committees were several of the greatest consequence; one of them was that which was sent to Staten Island at the request of lord Howe, who had solicited an interview with some of the members of congress, which, however, produced no effect, on account of the refusal of his lordship to consider them as commissioners from congress, and the declaration of Mr. A., that ‘he might view him in any light he pleased, except in that of a British subject.’ About two months after his appointment, Mr. A. embarked in the Boston frigate, and arrived safely at his place of destination, though an English fleet had been despatched to intercept him. The treaties of commerce and alliance with France were signed before he reached that country, and, after remaining there until the following August, he returned to the United States, the nomination of Dr. Franklin as minister plenipotentiary to the court of Versailles having superseded the powers of the commissioners. Immediately on his arrival, he was elected a member of the convention to prepare a form of government for the state of Massachusetts, and placed upon the sub-committee chosen to draft the project of a constitution, to be laid before that body. The general frame of the constitution, particularly the manner of dividing and distributing power, and the clause respecting the duty incumbent upon government with regard to the patronage of literature and the arts and sciences, were the work of his pen. Three months after his return, congress again sent him abroad with two commissions, one as minister plenipotentiary to negotiate a peace, the other to form a commercial treaty with Great Britain. He embarked in the French frigate Sensible, Nov. 17, and was forced to land at Corunna, in Spain, from which place he traveled over the mountains to Paris, where he arrived in Feb, 1780. After remaining a short time in that city, having found the French court jealous of his commission to form a treaty of commerce with Great Britain, he repaired to Holland in Aug. 1780, the same year in which congress passed a vote of approbation of his conduct, instead of recalling him, as the French minister, count de Vergennes, had solicited them to do, on account of his refusal to communicate to him his instructions about the treaty of commerce, and his opposition to a claim set up by France, that, when congress called in the old continental money at forty for one, a discrimination ought to have been made, in favor of the French holders of that paper. The June previous to his journey to Amsterdam, Mr. A. was appointed in the room of Mr. Laurens to obtain loans in Holland, and, in December of the same year, was invested with full powers to negotiate a treaty of amity and commerce with that country. Mr. A. at first had to contend with great difficulties in Holland. He was opposed by the whole influence of the British government, as well as by the power of the prince of Orange, and even, strange as it may appear, by the intrigues of France herself, the professed friend and avowed ally of the United States. He found the people of Holland entirely unacquainted with the affairs of his country, and immediately began to impart to them information concerning that subject, using, for this purpose, principally, two newspapers, one called the Leyden Gazette, and the other Le Politique Hollandois, in which he wrote various political articles. He also published a series of twenty-six letters, in answer to a set of queries proposed to him by Mr. Kalkoen, an eminent jurist of Amsterdam, containing an account of the rise and progress of the dispute with Great Britain, and of the resources, spirit and prospects of the United States. These epistles, together with some essays written by Mr. Kalkoen, drawing a comparison between the struggles of the United States for their liberty, and those formerly made by the seven United Provinces, which eventuated in their independence, had a great effect in enlightening the people of Holland, and inspired them with sentiments highly favorable to the American cause. Shortly afterwards, Dec. 21, 1780, a rupture took place between England and Holland, occasioned by the accession of the latter to the armed neutrality, and the discovery of a negotiation between Mr. Lee, the American commissioner at Berlin, and Mr. Van Berckel the pensionary of Amsterdam, for a treaty of amity and commerce. Even at this early period, he had formed an opinion decidedly in favor of the establishment of a navy, and expressed it in almost all his letters home. In July, 1781, he was summoned to Paris for the purpose of consulting upon the offer of mediation made by the courts of Austria and Russia, and suggested an answer adopted by the French court, which put an end to the negotiation on that subject; the mediating powers refusing to acknowledge the independence of the United States without the consent of Great Britain.

Oct. 19, 1781, Mr. A., in opposition to the advice of the duke de la Vauguion, the French minister at the Hague, and on his own responsibility, communicated to their high mightinesses his letters of credence, presenting to their president also, at the same time, a memorial, dated April 19th, in which he justified the declaration of independence, and endeavored to convince the people of Holland that it was for their interest to form a connection with the United States and to give them support in their difficulties. As he had not yet been acknowledged by the States General as the minister of a sovereign and independent nation, the president could not receive the memorial in form, but he engaged to make a report of the substance of what had been communicated to him by Mr. A. In the August previous, Mr. A. had received instructions to propose a triple alliance between France, the United Provinces and the United States, to exist as long as hostilities were carried on by the latter against Great Britain, one of the indispensable conditions of which, on the part of Holland, was the recognition of American independence. The alliance never was effected, but the latter object Mr. Adams accomplished. Jan. 9, 1782, not having received a reply to his memorial, he waited upon the president, and demanded a categorical answer. The States General then took the subject immediately into consideration, and Mr. A. was acknowledged, April 19, as ambassador of the United States to their high mightinesses, and three days afterwards was received as such. Having obtained assurance that Great Britain would recognize the independence of the United States, he repaired, in Oct. 1782, to Paris, whither he had refused to go before such assurance was given, to commence the negotiation for peace, and there met Dr. Franklin, Mr. Jay and Mr. Laurens, who, as well as Mr. Jefferson, had been appointed his colleagues. Their instructions, a part of which was ‘to undertake nothing without the knowledge and concurrence of the ministers of France, and ultimately to govern themselves by their advice and opinion,’ placed them almost entirely under the control of the French court. They were greatly displeased at being thus shackled, and, after a short time, finding themselves in a very embarrassing situation, they boldly determined to disobey their instructions, and act for themselves and for their country, without consulting the ministers of a supposed treacherous ally. The definitive treaty of peace was ratified Jan. 14, 1783.

After serving on two or three commissions to form treaties of amity and commerce with foreign powers, Mr. Adams, in 1785, was appointed the first minister to London. It is related that, upon his introduction to the king, the latter, knowing his disgust at the intrigues of the French court, and wishing to compliment him, expressed his pleasure at seeing a minister who had no prejudices in favor of France, the natural enemy of his crown. The reply of Mr. Adams evinced his patriotism and honesty of character. ‘May it please your majesty,’ said he, ‘I have no prejudices but for my own country.’ In 1787, whilst in London, he published his Defense of the American Constitutions against the attacks which they had sustained, and in October of that year, by his own request, he was allowed to return to the United States. Congress, at the same time that they gave him such permission, passed a resolution of thanks to be presented to him for his able and faithful discharge of the various important commissions with which he had been entrusted. Immediately after his return, Mr. Adams was elected the first vice-president of the United States under the new constitution, and reëlected as such in 1793. He discharged the duties of his office until March 4, 1797, when he succeeded to the presidency, vacated by the resignation of General Washington. This great man’s confidence he possessed in an eminent degree, and was consulted by him as often as any member of the cabinet. As the two parties in the senate were nearly balanced, Mr. Adams, while acting, ex officio, as president of that body, had often to decide questions, by his casting vote, of the highest importance, and which had excited a great deal of party feeling. One instance of this occurred, when Mr. Clarke’s resolution prohibiting all intercourse with Great Britain on account of the capture of several American vessels by British ships, and other grievances, was brought before the senate, after having been adopted by the house of representatives, April 18, 1794. Upon this bill the senators were equally divided, and Mr. Adams decided against it, thinking that it would have no good effect upon the policy of England, would injure us as much as her, and perhaps occasion a war.

In 1797, he became, we have said, president of the United States. It will not be necessary to enter into a detail of the events of his administration, as they belong rather to the department of the historian than of the biographer. It will be sufficient to mention a few important circumstances. When he commenced the discharge of the duties of his office, he found the government embroiled in a dispute with France, and, in one of his earliest communications to congress, complained, in dignified and eloquent language, of a grievous insult offered by the government of that country to the ambassador of the United States. Wishing still to preserve peace, he despatched a commission consisting of three envoys, Messrs. Pinckney, Marshall and Gerry, to France. The French government treated them in the most contumelious manner. Such, however, was the violence of party spirit, and so large a portion of the American people entertained an enthusiastic admiration of France, that even the measures which Mr. Adams then took for sustaining the national dignity had no inconsiderable effect in diminishing his popularity.

Mr. Adams was the founder of the American navy. Before his administration, scarcely an American ship of war was to be seen upon the ocean; but, during this period, by his strenuous exertions, mainly, a very respectable naval force was created. His administration, however, was not of long continuance, having pleased neither of the two great parties which divided the country (the greatest praise, perhaps, that it could receive), his measures being too strong for the democrats and too weak for the federalists. In consequence of this, after his term of four years had expired, March 4, 1801, it was found that his adversary, Mr. Jefferson, had succeeded by a majority of one vote. After his retirement to his farm in Quincy, Mr. Adams occupied himself with agricultural pursuits, obtaining amusement from the literature and politics of the day. He was nominated as governor of Massachusetts, but declined being a candidate, wishing only for repose. During the disputes with England, which occurred while Mr. Jefferson was in office, Mr. Adams published a series of letters, in a Boston paper, supporting the policy of the administration. His published writings, besides those which we have already mentioned, are ‘Discourses on Davila,’ composed in 1790, while he was vice-president, and printed in June and July of that year, in the Gazette of the United States. In 1816, Mr. Adams was chosen member of the electoral college, which voted for the elevation of Mr. Monroe to the presidency; and, the following year, sustained the greatest affliction he had ever been called upon to endure, by the loss of his wife. On this occasion, he received a beautiful letter of condolence from Mr. Jefferson, between whom and himself their former friendship, interrupted for a time by the animosities of party, had been revived. In 1820, he was elected a member of the convention to revise the constitution of his state, and chosen its president. This honor he was constrained to decline, on account of his infirmities and great age, being then 85 years old; but he attended the convention as a member, and fulfilled the duty incumbent upon him as such. After that, his life glided away in uninterrupted tranquillity, until the 4th of July, 1826, when he breathed his last with the same hallowed sentiment on his lips, which on that glorious day, fifty years before, he had uttered on the floor of congress――‘Independence forever.’ On the morning of the jubilee, he was roused by the ringing of the bells and the firing of cannon, and, on being asked by the servant who attended him, whether he knew what day it was, he replied, ‘O yes! it is the glorious 4th of July――God bless it――God bless you all.’ In the course of the day, he said, ‘It is a great and glorious day,’ and, just before he expired, exclaimed, ‘Jefferson survives.’ But Jefferson had already, at one o’clock, that same day, rendered his spirit into the hands of its Creator.

THOMAS JEFFERSON.

Thomas Jefferson, the third President of the United States of America, was born April 2, (old style,) 1743, at Shadwell, in Albemarle County, Virginia, and was the eldest of eight children. His father, though his education had been entirely neglected in early life, being a man of strong mind, acquired, by subsequent study, considerable information. He died when the subject of our sketch was about twelve years old, having previously given him every means of knowledge that could be procured, and left him a considerable estate. After going through a course of school instruction, young Jefferson entered the college of William and Mary where he remained for two years. He then commenced the study of law under the guidance of the celebrated George Wythe, by whom, in 1767, he was introduced to its practice, at the bar of the general court of the colony, at which he continued until the revolution. In 1769 he was elected a member of the provincial legislature from the county where he resided, and made a fruitless effort, in that body, for the emancipation of the slaves. By this time a spirit of opposition had been excited in the colonies to the arbitrary measures of the British government; and when the governor of Virginia dissolved the general assembly, in 1769, in consequence of the sympathy which was displayed by the majority of its members with the feelings which had been manifested in Massachusetts, they met, the next day, in the public room of the Raleigh tavern, formed themselves into a convention, drew up articles of association against the use of any merchandise imported from Great Britain, and signed and recommended them to the people. They then repaired to their respective counties, and were all reëlected, except those few who had declined assenting to their proceedings. In 1773 Mr. Jefferson associated himself with several of the boldest and most active of his companions in the house, (‘not thinking,’ as he says himself, ‘the old and leading members up to the point of forwardness and zeal which the times required,’) and with them formed the system of committees of correspondence, in a private room of the same Raleigh tavern. This system was adopted as the best instrument for communication between the different colonies, by which they might be brought to a mutual understanding, and a unity of action produced. This end was completely accomplished, as well as another object, that of exciting throughout the colonies a desire for a general congress. It was accordingly resolved that one should be held, and in Virginia a convention was assembled for the purpose of choosing delegates. Of this convention Mr. Jefferson was elected a member; but being suddenly taken ill on the road, as he was repairing to Williamsburg, its place of meeting, he sent on to its chairman, Peyton Randolph, a draft of instructions which he had prepared as proper to be given to the delegates who should be sent to congress. It was laid on the table for perusal; but, though approved by many, the sentiments contained in it were too bold to be adopted by the majority: ‘tamer sentiments,’ in his own words, ‘were preferred, and, I believe, wisely preferred; the leap I proposed being too long, as yet, for the mass of our citizens.’ The position that he maintained was, that the relation between Great Britain and the colonies was exactly the same as that between England and Scotland, after the accession of James, and until the union, and the same as her relations with Hanover, having the same executive chief, but no other political connection. In this doctrine, however, the only person who entirely concurred with him was George Wythe, the other patriots ‘stopping at the half-way house of John Dickinson, who admitted that England had a right to regulate our commerce, and to lay duties on it for the purposes of regulation, but not of raising revenue.’ Though the paper was not adopted, the convention, nevertheless, caused it to be printed in a pamphlet form, under the title of a Summary View of the Rights of British America. Having found its way to England, it was taken up by the opposition, and, with a few interpolations of Mr. Burke, passed through several editions. It procured for its author considerable reputation, and likewise the dangerous honor of having his name placed on a list of proscriptions, in a bill of attainder, which was commenced in one of the houses of parliament, but was speedily suppressed. June 21, 1775, Mr. Jefferson took his seat for the first time in congress, having been chosen to fill the place of Peyton Randolph, who had resigned. In this new capacity, he persevered in the decided tone which he had assumed, always maintaining that no accommodation should be made between the two countries, unless on the broadest and most liberal basis. After serving on several committees, he was at length appointed a member of that, whose report has linked the name of its author with the history of American independence. June 7, 1776, the delegates from Virginia, in compliance with the instructions of the convention, moved that congress should declare the United Colonies free and independent states. This gave rise to a warm and protracted debate; for as yet there were many who continued to cling to the hope of a peaceful adjustment. In the course of the discussion, it appearing that several colonies were not yet fully ripe for separation, it was deemed prudent to defer the final decision of the question for a short time; and, in the meanwhile, a committee was appointed to prepare a declaration of independence, consisting of John Adams, doctor Franklin, Roger Sherman, Robert R. Livingston, and Mr. Jefferson. The last named gentleman was requested to draw up the paper, which he did, and it was reported to the house, after receiving a few alterations from doctor Franklin and Mr. Adams. On the first of July, the day selected for deciding upon the original motion of the Virginia delegates, it was carried in the affirmative by a large majority, and two or three days afterwards by a unanimous vote. The declaration of independence was then brought before the house, by which, though generally approved, it was, in some respects, modified. Those passages, especially, which conveyed censure upon the people of England, were either greatly softened, or entirely omitted, as the idea was still entertained that the colonies possessed friends in England, whose good will it would be proper to cherish; and a clause reprobating the slave-trade was canceled, in complaisance to some of the Southern States, who were largely engaged in the traffic. The debates respecting the declaration occupied three days, on the last of which, the fourth of July, it was signed by every member present, except John Dickinson, who deemed a rupture with the mother country, at that moment, rash and premature. September 2, 1776, Mr. Jefferson retired from his seat in congress, and, on the 7th of October, took his place in the legislature of Virginia, of which he had been elected a member from his county. In this situation he was indefatigable in his labors to improve the imperfect constitution of the state, which had been recently and hastily adopted before a draft of one which he had formed on the purest principles of republicanism, had reached the convention, which was deliberating at Richmond. The chief service which he performed was as a member of a commission for revising the laws, consisting, besides himself, of Edmund Pendleton, George Wythe, George Mason, and Thomas Ludwell Lee, by whom no less than 126 bills were prepared, from which are derived all the most liberal features of the existing laws of the commonwealth. The share of Mr. Jefferson in this great task was prominent and laborious. June 1, 1779, he was chosen the successor of Mr. Henry in the office of governor of the state, and continued in it for two years, at the end of which period he resigned, ‘from a belief,’ as he says, ‘that, under the pressure of the invasion under which we were then laboring, the public would have more confidence in a military chief, and that, the military commander being invested with the civil power also, both might be wielded with more energy, promptitude, and effect, for the defense of the state.’ General Nelson was appointed in his stead. Two days after his retirement from the government, he narrowly escaped capture by the enemy, a troop of horse having been despatched to Monticello, where he was residing, for the purpose of making him prisoner. He was breakfasting, when a neighbor rode up at full speed with the intelligence that the troop was ascending a neighboring hill. He first sent off his family in a carriage, and, after a short delay for some indispensable arrangements, mounted his horse, and, taking a course through the woods, joined them at the house of a friend, a flight in which it would be difficult to discern any thing dishonorable, although it has been made the subject of sarcasm and reproach without end by the spirit of party. June 15, 1781, Mr. Jefferson was appointed minister plenipotentiary, in conjunction with others, to negotiate peace then expected to be effected, through the mediation of the empress of Russia; but he declined, for the same reason that had induced him, in 1776, to decline also the appointment of a commissioner, with doctor Franklin, to go to France in order to negotiate treaties of alliance and commerce with that government. On both occasions the state of his family was such that he could not leave it, and he ‘could not expose it to the dangers of the sea, and of capture by the British ships then covering the ocean.’ He saw, too, that ‘the laboring oar was really at home,’ especially at the time of his first appointment. But, in November, 1782, congress having received assurances that a general peace would be concluded in the winter and spring, renewed the offer which they had made the previous year; and this time it was accepted; but the preliminary articles being agreed upon before he left the country, he returned to Monticello, and was chosen (June 6, 1783) a member of congress. It was during the session at Annapolis, that, in consequence of Mr. Jefferson’s proposal, an executive committee was formed, called the committee of the states, consisting of a member from each state. Previously, executive and legislative functions were both imposed upon congress; and it was to obviate the bad effects of this junction, that Mr. Jefferson’s proposition was adopted. Success, however, did not attend the plan; the members composing the committee quarreled, and finding it impossible, on account of their altercations, to fulfill their duties, they abandoned their post, after a short period, and thus left the government without any visible head, during the adjournment of congress. May 7, 1784, congress, having resolved to appoint another minister, in addition to Mr. Adams and doctor Franklin, for negotiating treaties of commerce with foreign nations, selected Mr. Jefferson, who accordingly sailed from Boston, July 5, and arrived in Paris August 6. Doctor Franklin was already there, and Mr. Adams having, soon after, joined them, they entered upon the duties of their mission. They were not very successful, however, in forming the desired commercial treaties, and, after some reflection and experience, it was thought better not to urge them too strongly, but to leave such regulations to flow voluntarily from the amicable dispositions and the evident interests of the several nations. In June, 1785, Mr. Adams repaired to London, on being appointed minister plenipotentiary at the court of St. James, and, in July, doctor Franklin returned to America, and Mr. Jefferson was named his successor at Paris. In the February of 1786, he received a pressing letter from Mr. Adams, requesting him to proceed to London immediately, as symptoms of a better disposition towards America were beginning to appear in the British cabinet, than had been manifested since the treaty of peace. On this account he left Paris in the following March, and on his arrival in London, agreed with Mr. Adams on a very summary form of treaty, proposing ‘an exchange of citizenship for our citizens, our ships, and our productions generally, except as to office.’ At the usual presentation, however, to the king and queen, both Mr. Adams and himself were received in the most ungracious manner, and, after a few vague and ineffectual conferences, he returned to Paris. Here he remained, with the exception of a visit to Holland, to Piedmont and the south of France, until the autumn of 1789, zealously pursuing whatever was beneficial to his country. September 26 of that year he left Paris for Havre, and, crossing over to Cowes, embarked for the United States. November 23 he landed at Norfolk, Va., and, while on his way home, received a letter from President Washington, covering the appointment of secretary of state, under the new constitution, which was just commencing its operation. He soon afterwards received a second letter from the same quarter, giving him the option of returning to France, in his ministerial capacity, or of accepting the secretaryship, but conveying a strong intimation of desire that he would choose the latter office. This communication was produced by a letter from Mr. Jefferson to the president, in reply to the one first written, in which he had expressed a decided inclination to go back to the French metropolis. He then, however, consented to forego his preference, and, March 21, arrived in New York, where congress was in session, and immediately entered upon the duties of his post. It would be altogether inconsistent with our limits to give a minute account of the rest of Mr. Jefferson’s political life. This could not be done without writing the history of the United States for a certain period. We must therefore content ourselves with stating that he continued to fill the secretaryship of state, until the 31st of December, 1793, when he resigned. From that period until February, 1797, he lived in retirement. In this year he was elected vice-president of the United States, and, in 1801, was chosen president by a majority of one vote over his competitor, Mr. Adams. At the expiration of eight years he again retired to private life, from which he never afterwards emerged. The rest of his life was passed at Monticello, which was a continued scene of the blandest and most liberal hospitality. Such, indeed, was the extent to which calls upon it were made, by foreigners as well as Americans, that the closing year of his life was embittered by distressing pecuniary embarrassments. He was forced to ask permission of the Virginia legislature to sell his estate by lottery, which was granted. Shortly after Mr. Jefferson’s return to Monticello, it having been proposed to form a college in his neighborhood, he addressed a letter to the trustees, in which he sketched a plan for the establishment of a general system of education in Virginia. This appears to have led the way to an act of the legislature, in the year 1818, by which commissioners were appointed with authority to select a site, and form a plan for a university, on a large scale. Of these commissioners, Mr. Jefferson was unanimously chosen the chairman, and, Aug. 4, 1818, he framed a report, embracing the principles on which it was proposed the institution should be formed. The situation selected for it was at Charlottesville, a town at the foot of the mountain on which Mr. Jefferson resided. He lived to see the university――the child of his old age――in prosperous operation, and giving promise of extensive usefulness. He fulfilled the duties of its rector until a short period before his death, which occurred on the 4th of July, 1826, the fiftieth anniversary of the declaration of independence, and within the hour in which he had signed it.

In person, Mr. Jefferson was tall and well formed; his countenance was bland and expressive; his conversation fluent, imaginative, various and eloquent. Few men equaled him in the faculty of pleasing in personal intercourse, and acquiring ascendancy in political connection. He was the acknowledged head of the republican party, from the period of its organization down to that of his retirement from public life. The unbounded praise and blame which he received as a politician, must be left for the judgment of the historian and posterity. In the four volumes of his posthumous works, edited by his grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph, there are abundant materials to guide the literary or historical critic in forming an estimate of his powers, acquirements, feelings and opinions. His name is one of the brightest in the revolutionary galaxy. Mr. Jefferson was a zealous cultivator of literature and science. As early as 1781, he was favorably known as an author, by his Notes on Virginia. He published, also, various essays on political and philosophical subjects, and a manual of Parliamentary Practice, for the use of the Senate of the United States. In the year 1800 the French national institute chose him one of their foreign members. The volumes of posthumous works, in addition to an auto-biography of the author to the year 1790, consist principally of letters from the year 1775 to the time of his death, and embrace a great variety of subjects.

SAMUEL ADAMS.

Samuel Adams was one of the most remarkable men connected with the American revolution. He was descended from a family that had been among the early planters of New England, was born in Boston, September 27, 1722, was educated at Harvard college, and received its honors in 1740. When he took the degree of master, in 1743, he proposed the following question: ‘Whether it be lawful to resist the supreme magistrate, if the commonwealth cannot be otherwise preserved?’ He maintained the affirmative, and this collegiate exercise furnished a very significant index to his subsequent political career. On leaving the university, he engaged in the study of divinity, with the intention of becoming a clergyman, but did not pursue his design. From his earliest youth, his attention was drawn to political affairs, and he occupied himself, both in conversation and writing, with the political concerns of the day. He was opposed to governor Shirley, because he thought too much power was conferred upon him, and was the friend of his successor, Pownal, as the latter assumed the popular side. He became so entirely a public man, and discovered such a jealous, watchful and unyielding regard for popular rights, that he excited the general attention of the patriotic party, and they took the opportunity, in the year 1766, to place him in the legislature. From that period till the close of the revolutionary war, he was one of the most unwearied, efficient, and disinterested assertors of American freedom and independence. He grew conspicuous very soon after his admission into the house, of which he was chosen clerk, it being then the practice to take that officer from among the members. He obtained the same kind of influence, and exercised the same indefatigable activity in the affairs of the legislature, that he did in those of his town. He was upon every committee, had a hand in writing or revising every report, a share in the management of every political meeting, private or public, and a voice in all the measures that were proposed, to counteract the tyrannical plans of the administration. The people soon found him to be one of the steadiest of their supporters, and the government was convinced that he was one of the most inveterate of its opponents. When his character was known in England, and it was also understood that he was poor, the partisans of the ministry, who felt annoyed by the ‘disturbances in America,’ resorted to the usual practice, when the clamorous grow too troublesome, and proposed that he should be quieted by a participation in some of the good things they were enjoying. Governor Hutchinson, in answering the inquiry of a friend, why he was not silenced in this manner, wrote, with an expression of impatient vexation――‘Such is the obstinacy and inflexible disposition of the man, that he never can be conciliated by any office or gift whatever.’

He continued in the legislature till 1774, when he was sent to the first congress of the old confederation. He was subsequently chosen secretary of Massachusetts in 1775, which office was performed by deputy during his absence. He was one of the signers of the declaration of 1776, which he labored most indefatigably and unhesitatingly to bring forward. He was an active member of the convention that formed the constitution of Massachusetts; and, after it went into effect, he was placed in the senate of the state, and for several years presided over that body. In 1789, he was elected lieutenant-governor, and held that office till 1794, when, after the death of Hancock, he was chosen governor, and was annually reëlected till 1797. He then retired from public life, and died at his house in Winter street, Boston, October 2d, 1803, in the 82d year of his age. He was one of that class who saw very early, that, ‘after all, we must fight;’ and, having come to that conclusion, there was no citizen more prepared for the extremity, or who would have been more reluctant to enter into any kind of compromise. After he had received warning at Lexington, in the night of the 18th of April, of the intended British expedition, as he proceeded to make his escape through the fields with some friends, soon after the dawn of day, he exclaimed, ‘This is a fine day!’ ‘Very pleasant, indeed,’ answered one of his companions, supposing he alluded to the beauty of the sky and atmosphere. ‘I mean,’ he replied, ‘this day is a glorious day for America!’ His situation at that moment was full of peril and uncertainty, but, throughout the contest, no damage to himself or to his country ever discouraged or depressed him. The very faults of his character tended, in some degree, to render his services more useful, by concentrating his exertions, and preventing their being weakened by indulgence or liberality towards different opinions. There was some tinge of bigotry and narrowness both in his religion and politics. He was a strict Calvinist; and, probably, no individual of his day had so much of the feelings of the ancient Puritans as he possessed. In politics, he was so jealous of delegated power, that he would not have given our constitutions inherent force enough for their own preservation. He attached an exclusive value to the habits and principles in which he had been educated, and wished to adjust wide concerns too closely after a particular model. One of his colleagues, who knew him well, and estimated him highly, described him, with good-natured exaggeration, in the following manner: ‘Samuel Adams would have the state of Massachusetts govern the Union, the town of Boston govern Massachusetts, and that he should govern the town of Boston, and then the whole would not be intentionally ill-governed.’ It was a sad error of judgment that caused him to undervalue, for a period at least, the services of Washington during the revolutionary war, and to think that his popularity, when president, might be dangerous. Still, these unfounded prejudices were honestly entertained, and sprang naturally from his disposition and doctrines. During the war, he was impatient for some more decisive action than it was in the power of the commander-in-chief, for a long time, to bring about; and when the new constitution went into operation, its leaning towards aristocracy, which was the absurd imputation of its enemies, and which his anti-federal bias led him more readily to believe, derived all its plausibility from the just, generous and universal confidence that was reposed in the chief magistrate. These things influenced his conduct in old age, when he was governor of Massachusetts, and while the extreme heat of political feelings would have made it impossible for a much less positive character to administer any public concerns, without one of the parties of that day being dissatisfied. But all these circumstances are to be disregarded, in making an estimate of his services. He, in fact, was born for the revolutionary epoch; he was trained and nurtured in it, and all his principles and views were deeply imbued with the dislikes and partialities which were created during that long struggle. He belonged to the revolution; all the power and peculiarity of his character were developed in that career; and his share in public life, under a subsequent state of things, must be considered as subordinate and unimportant. His private habits were simple, frugal and unostentatious. Notwithstanding the austerity of his character, his aspect was mild, dignified and gentlemanly. He was entirely superior to pecuniary considerations, and, after having been so many years in the public service, must have been buried at the public expense, if the afflicting death of an only son had not remedied this honorable poverty.

JAMES OTIS.

James Otis, a distinguished American patriot, was born February 5, 1724-5, at Great Marshes, in what is now called West Barnstable, Mass. His family was one of the most respectable in the colony, and of English origin. In June, 1739, he entered Cambridge college. The first two years of his collegiate course are said to have been given more to amusement than to study, his natural disposition being vivacious and ardent; but subsequently he was distinguished for his application and proficiency. After finishing his course at the university, he devoted eighteen months to the pursuit of various branches of literature, and then entered upon the study of the law in 1745, in the office of Mr. Gridley. Under that eminent lawyer he employed his legal novitiate, and then went to Plymouth, where he was first admitted to the bar. The two years, however, of his residence in that town, were more occupied in study than in practice, so that, when he removed to Boston, in 1750, he was well qualified to assume a high rank in his profession. This he quickly did: his practice became very extensive. On one occasion, he went, in the middle of the winter, to Halifax, in consequence of urgent solicitation, to defend three men accused of piracy, and procured their acquittal. Although his professional engagements were so numerous, he cultivated his taste for literature, and, in 1760, published a treatise, entitled the Rudiments of Latin Prosody, with a Dissertation on Letters and the Principles of Harmony, in poetic and prosaic Composition, collected from the best Writers. He also composed a similar work on Greek prosody, which remained in manuscript, and perished with all his papers. It was never printed, as he said, because ‘there were no Greek types in the country, or, if there were, no printer knew how to set them.’

In 1755, he married Miss Ruth Cunningham, the daughter of a respectable merchant, who brought him a dowry at that time considered very large. Amid all the embarrassments which his affairs subsequently experienced, in consequence of his entire devotion to the concerns of the public, he sacredly preserved the fortune which he received with his wife, to whom it returned after his death. The public career of Mr. Otis dates from the period when he made his famous speech against the ‘writs of assistance,’ for which an application had been made, by the officers of the customs, to the superior court of Massachusetts, in pursuance of an order in council, sent from England, to enable them to carry into effect the acts of parliament regulating the trade of the colonies. When that order arrived, Otis was advocate-general, and was, consequently, requested to lend his professional assistance in the matter; but, deeming the writs to be illegal and tyrannical, he refused, and resigned his station. He was then applied to, to argue against the writs, which he immediately undertook to do, in conjunction with Mr. Thacher, and in opposition to his former preceptor, Mr. Gridley, the attorney-general. Of the discourse which he pronounced, president Adams the elder says, ‘Otis was a flame of fire; with a promptitude of classical allusions, a depth of research, a rapid summary of historical events and dates, a profusion of legal authorities, a prophetic glance of his eyes into futurity, and a rapid torrent of impetuous eloquence, he hurried away all before him. American independence was then and there born. Every man, of an immense crowded audience, appeared to me to go away as I did, ready to take arms against writs of assistance.’ The court adjourned for consideration, and, at the close of the term, the chief-justice, Hutchinson, delivered the opinion: ‘The court has considered the subject of writs of assistance, and can see no foundation for such a writ; but, as the practice in England is not known, it has been thought best to continue the question to the next term, that, in the mean time, opportunity may be given to know the result.’ When the next term came, however, nothing was said about the writs; and though it was generally understood that they were clandestinely granted by the court, and that the custom-house officers had them in their pockets, yet it is said that they were never produced or executed. Otis had now fully committed himself against the designs of the British ministry, and thenceforward bent all his energies to maintain the freedom of his country. At the next election of members of the legislature, in May, 1761, he was chosen, almost unanimously, a representative from Boston, and soon became the leader, in the house, of the popular party. For the detail of his course, during the period in which he was a representative, we must refer our readers to the biography of him by Mr. Tudor. In 1765, Mr. Otis was chosen, by the Massachusetts legislature, one of the members of a committee appointed to meet the committees of the legislatures of other colonies at New York, in consequence of the passage of the stamp-act by parliament. They met in convention October 19, in the same year, and named three committees to prepare addresses to the king, lords and commons. On the last Mr. Otis was placed. In this convention, Mr. Otis made the acquaintance of many distinguished men, from different colonies, and subsequently maintained, with several of them, a friendship and correspondence.

In May, 1767, after the repeal of the stamp-act, Mr. Otis was elected speaker of the house of representatives; but he was negatived by the governor, who entertained a peculiar animosity towards him, from his indefatigable endeavors to defeat every plan of encroachment. In the summer of 1769, the vehement temper of Mr. Otis was so much wrought upon by the calumnies which he discovered that the commissioners of the customs in Boston had transmitted to England concerning him, by which, indeed, they sought to have him tried for treason, that he inserted an advertisement in the Boston Gazette, denouncing them in severe terms. The next evening he happened to go to the British coffee-house, where one of the commissioners, a Mr. Robinson, was sitting with a number of officers of the army, navy and revenue. As soon as he entered, an altercation arose, which was quickly terminated by a blow from Robinson’s cane. Otis immediately returned it with a weapon of the same kind, when the lights were extinguished, and he was obliged to defend himself, single-handed, against numbers. After some time the combatants were separated. Robinson retreated by a back passage, and Otis was led home, wounded and bleeding. He received a deep cut on his head; and to this has been partly attributed the derangement under which he afterwards labored. Soon after this transaction, he instituted an action against Robinson, and obtained an award of £2,000 sterling damages, which, however, he gave up on receiving a written apology, in which the defendant acknowledged his fault and begged his pardon.

In 1770, he retired into the country on account of his health. At the election in 1771, he was again chosen a representative; but this was the last year that he took a part in public concerns, except occasionally to appear at a town-meeting. He withdrew, also, almost entirely, from the practice of his profession. His mind became seriously affected, and continued so, with some lucid intervals, until his death. Sometimes he was in a frenzied state; at others, he exhibited rather the eccentricity of a humorist than absolute derangement. The two last years of his life were passed at Andover. After he had been there for some time, he was supposed to be completely restored, and returned to Boston. He resumed his professional engagements, and pleaded a cause in the court of common pleas, in which he displayed considerable power, but less than was his wont. The interval of reason was not, however, of long duration, and he was induced to go back to Andover. Six weeks after his return, he was killed by a stroke of lightning, in the sixtieth year of his age, May 23, 1783.

The chief defect of Mr. Otis’ character was his irascibility. His merits are well summed up in the following extract from the work of Mr. Tudor, to which we have before alluded:――‘In fine, he was a man of powerful genius and ardent temper, with wit and humor that never failed; as an orator, he was bold, argumentative, impetuous and commanding, with an eloquence that made his own excitement irresistibly contagious: as a lawyer, his knowledge and ability placed him at the head of his profession; as a scholar, he was rich in acquisition, and governed by a classic taste; as a statesman and civilian, he was sound and just in his views; as a patriot, he resisted all allurements that might weaken the cause of that country to which he devoted his life, and for which he sacrificed it.’ It is greatly to be regretted that, during his derangement, he destroyed all his papers; sufficient evidence, however, of his power as a writer, remains in the various state papers of which he was the author whilst a member of the legislature, though they were subjected to the revising pen of Samuel Adams, whose patient temper permitted him to undergo the labor of correcting and polishing, which the ardor of the other disdained.

FISHER AMES.

Fisher Ames, one of the most eloquent of American statesman and writers, was born at Dedham, in Massachusetts, April 9th, 1758, of very respectable parents. Soon after the completion of his 12th year, he was admitted to Harvard college, with the reputation of uncommon talents and attainments. Diligence, regularity and success marked his collegiate course of four years. After receiving his degree, in 1774, the narrow circumstances of his widowed mother compelled him to postpone, for several years, the accomplishment of his original purpose of studying the law. In the interval, he acted as an assistant teacher in a public school, and continued to cultivate classical literature, to the signal improvement of his taste and fancy. At length, in 1781, he commenced the practice of the law, with the stock of knowledge which he had acquired in the office of a member of the profession, in Boston. Opportunity soon occurred for the display of his superior qualifications, both as a speaker and essay writer. The fame which followed his early efforts conduced to place him in the Massachusetts convention for ratifying the constitution, in 1788. From this sphere, in which he made a deep impression by some of his speeches, particularly that on biennial elections, he passed to the house of representatives in the state legislature. Here, he soon became so eminent as an orator and man of business, that the voters of the Suffolk district elected him their first representative in the congress of the U. States. He had not been long in that assembly before his friends and admirers were satisfied that they had not overrated his abilities. He won there the palm of eloquence, besides proving himself equal to the discussion of the deepest subjects of politics and finance, and the execution of the most arduous committee labors. He remained in congress during eight years, the whole of Washington’s administration, which he constantly and zealously defended. ‘His speech on the British treaty,’ says his distinguished biographer, doctor Kirkland, ‘was the era of his political life. For many months, he had been sinking under weakness, and, though he had attended the long and interesting debate on the question which involved the constitution and the peace of the U. States, it was feared he would be unable to speak. But when the time came for taking a vote so big with consequences, his emotions would not suffer him to be silent. His appearance, his situation, the magnitude of his subject, the force and the pathos of his eloquence, gave this speech an extraordinary power over the feelings of the dignified and numerous assembly who heard it. When he had finished, a member in opposition moved to postpone the decision of the question, that they might not vote under the influence of a sensibility which their calm judgment might condemn.’ On the retirement of Washington, Mr. A. returned to his residence at Deadham, where he occupied himself with the management of his farm and the practice of the law. The latter he relinquished in a few years, owing to the decline of his health; but he felt too deep an interest in the welfare of his country to withdraw his mind and pen from politics. He published a considerable number of essays, relating chiefly on the contest between Great Britain and revolutionary France, as it might affect American liberty and prosperity. No writer evinced more ardor for the success of Britain, or more horror of the character and tendencies of the French despotism. In 1804, Mr. A. was chosen president of Harvard college,――an honor which he declined. When Washington died, Mr. A., then a member of council of the commonwealth, was appointed to pronounce his funeral eulogy before the legislature of Massachusetts. The injury which his constitution sustained in 1795 was never fully repaired. From that period his health declined, until, at length, after an extreme debility for two years, death ended his sufferings. He expired July 4th, 1808; and, when the intelligence of this event was received, a public meeting of citizens was held, in order to testify the general respect for his character. His remains were carried to Boston, where they were interred with honors such as had not been before paid to those of any private citizen. In 1809, his works were issued in a large octavo volume, with prefatory notices of his life and character, from the pen of the reverend doctor Kirkland, president of Harvard college, who had enjoyed his personal friendship and intimacy. The volume is fraught with profound remarks, various historical lore, and eloquent declamation. Although the political interest of most of the topics is gone, there remains much to captivate and reward attention in the richness of fancy, warmth of feeling, beauty of language, and felicity of copious illustration, which distinguish almost every page. Fisher Ames left seven children and a wife, to whom he was tenderly attached. In person, he exceeded a little the middle stature, was well-proportioned and perfectly erect. His features and countenance were fine, and his manners easy and affable. Of his delivery as an orator, his biographer states, that he did not systematically study the exterior graces of speaking, but his attitude was firm, his gesticulation natural and forcible, his voice clear and varied, and his whole manner earnest and expressive. According to the same authority, all the other efforts of his mind were probably surpassed by his powers of conversation.

COLONEL AARON BURR.

Colonel Aaron Burr was born on the 6th of February 1756, at Newark, in New Jersey. His father, the Rev. Aaron Burr, was the first president of the College of New Jersey, which was opened at Newark, but was subsequently removed to Princeton; his mother was the daughter of the Rev. Jonathan Edwards, so distinguished as a metaphysician and divine, and who succeeded his son-in-law in the presidency of the College. The former died in 1757, and the latter in the following year, leaving only two children, Aaron and a daughter, afterwards the wife of Judge Tappan Reeve, of Conneticut. Colonel Burr inherited from his father a considerable property. He was graduated at Princeton when only 16 years old. When in his 20th year he joined the American army, after the battle of Bunker’s Hill, in the neighborhood of Boston. Here he volunteered to accompany General Arnold in the expedition against Quebec. This officer led the detachment under his command into Canada, by way of the Kennebec, and through the wilderness between the St. Lawrence and the settlements in the regions now constituting the state of Maine. On his arrival at Chaudière pond, Burr was sent with a communication to General Montgomery, who was advancing from the state of New York with the forces under his immediate orders; and who was so much pleased with the young messenger as to appoint him to be one of his aids-de-camp. In this capacity Burr was present at the battle of Quebec, and near the person of the General when he was killed. On his return from Canada, in May, 1776, he proceeded to the city of New York, on being ‘notified verbally, that it would be agreeable to the commander-in-chief’ that he should do so. But it would seem that Colonel (then already Major) Burr, for some reason or other, failed to make a favorable impression personally on General Washington. He, in consequence, became, in his turn, dissatisfied, and even inclined to quit the service; when through the instrumentality of Governor Hancock, he obtained the appointment of aid-de-camp to General Putnam,――an appointment which he gladly accepted.

In July 1777, he was promoted to the rank of a Lieutenant Colonel; but was obliged, in March 1779, to resign his commission in the army, on account of the impaired state of his health. He had, on various occasions, during the war, highly distinguished himself by his bravery, vigilance, and skill, and had been repeatedly selected by Washington to execute his commands on important emergencies, although that great man and admirable judge of character, had formed but a low estimate of his principles and morals. On retiring from the army, and after an interval of repose required for the restoration of his health, Colonel Burr applied himself to the study of the law, as well to provide himself with an adequate field for distinction among his countrymen in his future life, as to repair the pecuniary losses which he had incurred, during the period of his military service, by the liberality and extravagance of his expenditure. He commenced the practice of his profession at Albany, in the month of April, 1782, and married in July following. As soon as the British troops had evacuated the city of New York, at the conclusion of the war, in November, 1783, he removed thither, where he speedily acquired an extensive and lucrative practice. He was a member of the Legislature during the sessions of 1784 and 1785; but as that body met in the city where he resided, and as he took part in its deliberations only on a few of the most important questions which came before it for its decision, his professional avocations suffered scarcely any interruption; and it was only after the existing constitution of the Union went into operation that he became prominent as a party politician. In 1789, he was appointed attorney-general of the state. In January, 1791, he was elected a senator of the United States; and he took his seat in that body in the autumn of that year. He was appointed, in October, 1792, to be a judge of the supreme court of the state of New York, but declined the appointment; preferring to hold his position in the United States Senate, as one of the most prominent leaders of the party (the democratic) to which he belonged. At the presidential election which took place in the autumn of 1800, an equal number of votes were found to have been given for the two highest candidates on the list, Mr. Jefferson and Colonel Burr; and it, in consequence, devolved on the members of the House of Representatives, voting by states, to decide which of these gentlemen should hold the office of president, and which of them that of vice-president. Notwithstanding that, prior to the choice of electors, Mr. Jefferson was alone intended, by the party that nominated him, as their candidate for the presidency, it was not until after 36 ballotings that the contest was decided in his favor. From this time forth, as from the circumstances of the case might naturally have been expected, Colonel Burr lost the confidence of the majority of his former political friends; and the attempts which he made to ingratiate himself with those to whom he had been heretofore opposed were only partially successful. In 1804, he was a candidate for the office of governor of New York, but failed of being elected. He was supported by a portion of both the political parties; by a minority of the democrats, and a majority of the federalists. Of the latter party, General Hamilton had been one of those who most earnestly opposed him; and a duel took place, on the 11th of July, between these distinguished men, growing out of their rivalship and adverse relation to each other. Burr was the challenger, conceiving himself to have been injuriously spoken of at the period of the preceding election by Hamilton, who was mortally wounded in the encounter. Colonel Burr continued at his post in the Senate of the United States till within two days of the expiration of his term of service as vice-president; the last public duty of any importance performed by him having been to preside at the trial of Judge Chase, who was impeached by the House of Representatives for ‘high crimes and misdemeanors.’ It was not very long afterwards that he formed the scheme of his singular, and even yet not satisfactorily explained, western expedition, which led to his arrest, and trials at Richmond, in Virginia, in August and September, 1807, for treason first, and then for a misdemeanor. He was acquitted or both these charges. In June, 1808, he embarked from New York for England; induced to take this step, in a certain degree, by the personal and political prejudices that had been excited against him, by the death of Hamilton, and by the equivocal course he had pursued in the western country, but, in a degree also, by an expectation of being able to obtain encouragement and assistance from some of the European governments, for attempting the emancipation of the Spanish American colonies from the oppressive domination of the mother country,――a project which he had long contemplated. His efforts in this respect were, however, entirely unsuccessful; and he returned to the United States in June, 1812, after an absence abroad of 4 years. He opened an office in the city of New York, and practiced the law there, but without attracting the attention of the public to any considerable extent. In 1816, General Toledo, then in the city of New York, and whose object in visiting the United States was ‘not only to obtain the means of continuing the war (of Mexico against Spain), but to seek the person best capable of employing them,’ invited him to ‘assume the management’ of the ‘political and military affairs’ of the Mexican republic. Colonel Burr declined this invitation. But again, in 1819, he received a commission from the government of Venezuela, authorizing him to raise troops for the sea and land service of that republic, and pledging itself to pay all debts of his contracting in the exercise of the authority granted him. Colonel Burr died on the 14th of September, 1836, in the 81st year of his age, on Staten Island, where he had passed the summer for the benefit of the pure air. Agreeably to his own request, his body was conveyed to Princeton, to be there buried.

ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

Alexander Hamilton was born in 1757, in the island of Nevis. His father was a native of England, and his mother of the island. At the age of 16, he became a student of Columbia college, his mother having emigrated to New York. He had not been in that institution more than a year, before he gave a brilliant manifestation of the powers of his mind in the discussion concerning the rights of the colonies. In support of these he published several essays, which were marked by such vigor and maturity of style, strength of argument, and wisdom and compass of views, that Mr. Jay, at that time in the meridian of life, was supposed, at first, to be the author. When it had become necessary to unsheath the sword, the ardent spirit of young Hamilton would no longer allow him to remain in academic retirement; and before the age of 19, he entered the American army, with the rank of captain of artillery. In this capacity, he soon attracted the attention of the commander-in-chief, who appointed him his aid-de-camp, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel. This occurred in 1777, when he was not more than 20 years of age. From this time, he continued the inseparable companion of Washington during the war, and was always consulted by him, and frequently by other eminent public functionaries, on the most important occasions. He acted as his first aid-de-camp at the battles of Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth, and, at the siege of Yorktown, he led, at his own request, the detachment that carried by assault one of the enemy’s outworks, Oct. 14, 1781. In this affair, he displayed the most brilliant valor. After the war, colonel Hamilton then about 24, commenced the study of the law, as he had at that time a wife and family depending upon him for support. He was soon admitted to the bar. In 1782, he was chosen a member of congress from the state of New York, where he quickly acquired the greatest influence and distinction, and was always a member and sometimes chairman of those committees to which were confided such subjects as were deemed of vital interest to the nation. The reports which he prepared are remarkable for the correctness and power which characterize every effort of his pen. At the end of the session, he returned to the practice of his profession in the city of New York, and became eminent at the bar. In 1786, he was chosen a member of the legislature of his state, and was mainly instrumental in preventing a serious collision between Vermont and New York, in consequence of a dispute concerning territorial jurisdiction. He was elected a delegate of New York to the convention which was to meet at Philadelphia, in order to form a constitution for the United States. As the doors of the convention were closed during its sittings, and its records have never been given to the world, it is not possible to state the precise part which he acted in that body. It is well ascertained, however, that the country is, at least, as much indebted to him for the excellencies of the constitution, as to any other member of the illustrious assembly. Hamilton and Madison were the chief oracles and artificers. After the adoption of the constitution by the convention, he associated himself with Mr. Madison and Mr. Jay, for the purpose of disposing the public to receive it with favor. The essays which they wrote with that design, addressed to the people of New York, during the years 1787 and 1788, are well known under the name of the Federalist, and contributed powerfully to produce the effect for which they were composed. The larger portion of them was written by Hamilton. In 1788, he was a member of the state convention of New York, which met to deliberate on the adoption of the federal constitution, and it was chiefly in consequence of his efforts that it was accepted. On the organization of the federal government, in 1789, he was appointed to the office of secretary of the treasury. This was a situation which required the exercise of all the great powers of his mind; for the public credit was, at that time, in the lowest state of depression; and, as no statistical account of the country had ever been attempted, its fiscal resources were wholly unknown. But before Hamilton retired from the post, which he did after filling it during somewhat more than five years, he had raised the public credit to a height altogether unprecedented in the history of the country, and, by the admirable system of finance which he established, had acquired the reputation of one of the greatest financiers of the age. His official reports to congress are considered as masterpieces, the principles which he advocated in them still continue to exercise a great influence in the revenue department of the American government. Whilst secretary of the treasury, he was, ex officio, one of the cabinet counselors of president Washington; and such was the confidence reposed by that great man in his integrity and ability, that he rarely ventured upon any executive act of moment without his concurrence. He was one of the principal advisers of the proclamation of neutrality issued by Washington in 1793, in consequence of an attempt made by the minister of France to cause the United States to take part with his country in the war then waging between it and England. This measure he defended in a series of essays, under the signature of Pacificus, which were successful in giving it popularity. In 1795, Hamilton resigned his office, and retired to private life, in order to be better able to support a numerous family by the practice of his profession. In 1798, however, when an invasion was apprehended from the French, and a provisional army had been called into the field, his public services were again required. President Adams had offered the chief command of the provisional army to Washington, who consented to accept it on condition that Hamilton should be chosen second in command, with the title of inspector-general. This was accordingly done; and, in a short time, he succeeded in bringing the organization and discipline of the army to a high degree of excellence. On the death of Washington, in 1799, he succeeded, of course, to the chief command. The title of lieutenant-general, however, to which he was then entitled, was, from some unexplained cause, never conferred on him. When the army was disbanded, after the cessation of hostilities between the United States and France, general Hamilton returned again to the bar, and continued to practice, with increased reputation and success, until 1804. In June of that year, he received a note from colonel Burr,――between whom and himself a political had become a personal enmity,――in which he was required, in offensive language, to acknowledge or disavow certain expressions derogatory to the latter. The tone of the note was such as to cause him to refuse to do either, and a challenge was the consequence. July 11, the parties met at Hoboken, and on the first fire Hamilton fell mortally wounded, on the same spot where, a short time previously, his eldest son had been killed in a duel. He lingered until the afternoon of the following day, when he expired. The sensation which this occurrence produced throughout the United States, had never been exceeded on this continent. Men of all political parties felt that the nation was deprived of its greatest ornament. His transcendent abilities were universally acknowledged; every citizen was ready to express confidence in his spirit of honor and his capacity for public service. Of all the coadjutors and advisers of Washington, Hamilton was doubtless the one in whose judgment and sagacity he reposed the greatest confidence, whether in the military or civil career; and, of all the American statesmen, he displayed the most comprehensive understanding and the most varied ability, whether applied to subjects practical or speculative. A collection of his works was issued in New York, in three octavo volumes, some years after his death. His style is nervous, lucid and elevated; he excels in reasoning, founded on general principles and historical experience. General Hamilton was regarded as the head of the federalists in the party divisions of the American republic. He was accused of having preferred, in the convention that framed the federal constitution, a government more akin to the monarchical; he weakened the federal party by denouncing president Adams, whose administration he disapproved, and whose fitness for office he questioned. But his general course, and his confidential correspondence, show that he earnestly desired to preserve the constitution, when it was adopted, and that his motives were patriotic in his proceedings towards Mr. Adams. Certain it is that no man labored more faithfully, skillfully and efficiently, in organizing and putting into operation the federal government.

PATRICK HENRY.

Patrick Henry, the second son of John and Sarah Henry, and one of nine children, was born May 29, 1736, in the county of Hanover and colony of Virginia. Until ten years of age, Patrick Henry was sent to a school in the neighborhood, where he learned to read and write, and made some small progress in arithmetic. He was then taken home, and, under the direction of his father, who had opened a grammar school in his own house, he acquired a superficial knowledge of the Latin language. At the same time, he made a considerable proficiency in the mathematics, the only branch of education for which, it seems, he discovered, in his youth, the slightest predilection. He was passionately addicted to the sports of the field, and could not brook the confinement and toil which education required. His father, unable to sustain the expense of his large and increasing family, found it necessary to qualify his sons, at a very early age, to support themselves. With this view, Patrick was placed, at the age of fifteen, behind the counter of a trader in the country. In the next year, his father purchased a small adventure of goods for his two sons, William and Patrick, and ‘set them up in trade.’ William’s habits of idleness were such, that the chief management of their concerns devolved upon the younger brother, and that management was most wretched. One year put an end to this experiment, and Patrick was engaged, for the two or three following years, in settling the accounts of the firm as well as he could. At the early age of eighteen, he married a Miss Shelton, the daughter of a respectable farmer in the neighborhood; and, by the joint assistance of their parents, the young couple were settled on a small farm, where, with one or two slaves, Mr. Henry had to dig the earth for subsistence. His want of agricultural skill, and his unconquerable aversion to every species of systematic labor, caused him, after a trial of two years, to abandon this pursuit. His next step seems to have been dictated by absolute despair; for, selling off his little possessions at a sacrifice for cash, he entered a second time into the unauspicious business of merchandise. But the same want of method, the same facility of temper, soon became apparent. He resumed his violin, his flute, his books, his inspection of human nature, and not unfrequently shut up his shop to indulge himself in the favorite sports of his youth. His reading, however, began to assume a more serious character. He studied geography, read the charters and history of the colony, and became fond of historical works generally, particularly those of Greece and Rome, and, from the tenacity of his memory and the strength of his judgment, soon made himself master of their contents. Livy was his favorite; and, having procured a translation, he made it a rule to read it through, once, at least, in every year, during the earlier part of his life. The second mercantile experiment in a few years left him a bankrupt; every remnant of his property was gone, and his friends were unable to assist him any further. As a last effort, he determined to make trial of the law. No one expected him to succeed; his unfortunate habits were by no means suited to so laborious a profession, and the situation of his affairs forbade an extensive course of reading. After a six weeks’ preparation, he obtained a license to practice the law, being at this time of the age of four and twenty. He was, at the time of his admission to practice, not only unable to draw a declaration or a plea, but incapable, it is said, of the most common and simple business of his profession, even the mode of ordering a suit, giving a notice, or making a motion in court. For three years, the wants and distresses of his family were extreme. The profits of his practice could not have supplied them even with the necessaries of life; and he seems to have spent the greatest part of his time, both during his study of the law and the practice of the first two or three years, with his father-in-law, Mr. Shelton, who then kept a tavern at Hanover court-house. Whenever Mr. Shelton was from home, Mr. Henry supplied his place in the tavern. The controversy between the clergy on the one hand, and the legislature and people of the colony on the other, touching the stipend claimed by the former, which had created a great excitement in Virginia, was the occasion on which his genius first broke forth. The display which he made in the parsons’ cause, as it was popularly called, placed him, at once, at the head of his profession, in that quarter of the colony in which he practiced. In the year 1764, he removed to the county of Louisa, and resided at a place called the Roundabout. In the autumn of the same year, a contest having occurred, in the house of burgesses, in the case of Mr. James Littlepage, the returned member of the county of Hanover, who was charged with bribery and corruption, the parties were heard by counsel, before the committee of privileges and elections, and Henry was on this occasion employed by Mr. Dandridge, the rival candidate. Henry distinguished himself by a brilliant display on the subject of the rights of suffrage. Such a burst of eloquence, from a man so very plain and humble in his appearance, struck the committee with amazement; a deep silence took place during the speech, and not a sound but from his lips was to be heard in the room.

In 1765, he was elected member of the house of burgesses, with express reference to an opposition to the British stamp-act. After having waited in vain for some step to be taken by another, and when the session was within three days of its expected close, he introduced his celebrated resolutions on the stamp-act. After his death, there was found among his papers one sealed, and thus indorsed:――‘Enclosed are the resolutions of the Virginia assembly, in 1765, concerning the stamp-act. Let my executors open this paper.’ Within was found a copy of the resolutions in his own hand-writing. On the back of the paper containing the resolutions, is the following indorsement, also in his hand-writing:――‘The within resolutions passed the house of burgesses in May, 1765. They formed the first opposition to the stamp-act, and the scheme of taxing America by the British parliament. All the colonies, either through fear, or want of opportunity to form an opposition, or from influence of some kind or other, had remained silent. I had been for the first time elected a burgess a few days before, was young, inexperienced, unacquainted with the forms of the house, and the members that composed it. Finding the men of weight averse to opposition, and the commencement of the tax at hand, and that no person was likely to step forth, I determined to venture, and alone, unadvised, and unassisted, on a blank leaf of an old law book, wrote the within. Upon offering them to the house, violent debates ensued. Many threats were uttered, and much abuse cast on me, by the party for submission. After a long and warm contest, the resolutions passed by a very small majority, perhaps of one or two only. The alarm spread throughout America with astonishing quickness, and the ministerial party were overwhelmed. The great point of resistance to British taxation was universally established in the colonies. This brought on the war, which finally separated the two countries, and gave independence to ours. Whether this will prove a blessing or a curse, will depend upon the use our people make of the blessings which a gracious God hath bestowed on us. If they are wise, they will be great and happy. If they are of a contrary character, they will be miserable. Righteousness alone can exalt them as a nation. Reader, whoever thou art, remember this; and in thy sphere, practice virtue thyself, and encourage it in others. P. HENRY.

It was in the midst of the debate above-mentioned, that he exclaimed, ‘Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third――‘Treason!’ cried the speaker――‘Treason, treason!’ echoed from every part of the house. Henry faltered not for an instant; but taking a loftier attitude, and fixing on the speaker an eye of fire, he finished his sentence with the firmest emphasis――‘may profit by their example. If this be treason, make the most of it.’ From this period, Mr. Henry became the idol of the people of Virginia; nor was his name confined to his native state. His influence was felt throughout the continent, and he was every where regarded as one of the great champions of colonial liberty. In the year 1769, he was admitted to the bar of the general court. He wanted that learning, whose place no genius can supply to the lawyer; and he wanted those habits of steady and persevering application, without which that learning is not to be acquired. But on questions before a jury, his knowledge of human nature, and the rapidity as well as justness of his inferences, from the flitting expressions of the countenance, as to what was passing in the hearts of his hearers, availed him fully. The defense of criminal cases was his great professional forte. The house of burgesses of Virginia, which had led the opposition to the stamp-act, kept their high ground during the whole of the ensuing contest.

Mr. Henry having removed again from Louisa to his native county, in the year 1767 or 1768, continued a member of that house till the close of the revolution; and there could be no want of boldness in any body of which he was a member. He was one of the standing committee of correspondence and inquiry concerning the pretensions of the British, which was appointed by the house, March 12, 1773. He was also of the number of delegates sent by Virginia to the first general congress of the colonies, which assembled in Philadelphia, September 4, 1774. When the congress rose, he returned home, and entered the legislature of Virginia again, determined upon prosecuting the work of national independence. In this career, he became, by his zeal and efficiency, obnoxious to the royal governor, and to all who were disposed to maintain the royal cause, or who dreaded the resort to force.

When intelligence was received of the battles of Lexington and Concord in Massachusetts, Henry summoned volunteers to meet him, in order to compel the governor of Virginia (lord Dunmore) to restore a quantity of powder which the latter had caused to be taken from the public magazine at Williamsburg. This was the first military movement in Virginia. The governor issued a proclamation, calling upon the people to resist it; but Henry, at the head of a considerable corps, obliged his lordship to consent to the payment of a pecuniary compensation for the powder withdrawn. The volunteers returned in triumph to their homes. As soon, however, as all seemed again quiet, the governor sent forth, though without any effect, a violent manifesto against ‘a certain Patrick Henry, and a number of deluded followers,’ etc.

Henry took a leading party in all the subsequent measures which ended in the prostration of the royal authority, and the erection of an independent government in Virginia. The colonial convention of 1775 elected him the colonel of the first regiment, and the commander of ‘all the forces raised and to be raised for the defense of the colony.’ He soon resigned this command, from a belief that he could serve the cause of his country more effectually in the public councils than in the field. Immediately upon his resignation he was elected a delegate to the convention, and, not long after, the first governor of the commonwealth――a post in which he proved signally serviceable, by sustaining the public spirit during the revolutionary struggle, providing recruits and supplies for the continental army, and crushing the intrigues of the tories who infested Virginia. His administration was prolonged by reëlections until 1779, when he retired from the office, being no longer eligible without intermission, according to the constitution. As a member of the legislature, to which he at once returned, he continued to serve the great cause until the end of the war, when he was again elected governor of Virginia. The state of his affairs obliged him to resign the station in the autumn of 1786. In December of that year, he was appointed by the legislature one of the deputies to the convention, held at Philadelphia, for the purpose of revising the federal constitution. This appointment he declined, it being necessary for him to resume the practice of the law, in order to make some provision for his family. During the six following years, he regularly attended the courts, and his great reputation obtained for him lucrative business. His next appearance in political life was as a member of the convention, which was to decide the fate of the federal constitution in Virginia. Some of the features of that instrument inspired him with fears for the liberties of the country. All his great powers of eloquence and his personal influence were exerted to procure the rejection of it. The amendments proposed by Virginia originated in the objections so vehemently and plausibly urged by him and his associates. He became, nevertheless, a convert to the excellence of the system, and an earnest federalist, in the twofold acceptation of the term. In the spring of 1791, he bade a final adieu to public life, and, in 1794, to the bar, at which he had gained some brilliant triumphs, which are commemorated by his distinguished biographer William Wirt (Life of P. Henry, Philadelphia, 1817). In 1796, the post of governor of the state was once more tendered to him and refused. In the following year, his health began to decline, and continued to sink gradually until the moment of his death, which took place on the 6th of June. Mr. Henry, by his two marriages, was the father of fifteen children. By his first wife, he had six, of whom two only survived him; by his last, he had six sons and three daughters, all of whom, together with their mother, were living at his death. He had been fortunate during the latter part of his life; and, chiefly by the means of judicious purchases of lands, left his family, large as it was, not only independent, but rich. In his habits of living he was remarkably temperate and frugal. He seldom drank any thing but water; and his table was furnished in the most simple manner. His morals were strict. As a husband, a father, a master, he had no superior. He was kind and hospitable to the stranger, and most friendly and accommodating to his neighbors. He was nearly six feet high; spare, and what may be called raw-boned, with a slight stoop of the shoulders; his complexion was dark, sun-burned, and sallow, without any appearance of blood in his cheeks; his countenance grave, thoughtful and penetrating, and strongly marked with the lineaments of deep reflection: the earnestness of his manner, united with an habitual contraction or knitting of his brows, and those lines of thought with which his face was profusely furrowed, gave to his countenance, at some times, the appearance of severity. Henry was gifted with a strong and musical voice, and a most expressive countenance, and he acquired particular skill in the use of them. His style of speaking, to judge from the representations of his hearers, was altogether more successful than that of any of his cotemporaries. He could be vehement, insinuating, humorous and sarcastic by turns, and always with the utmost effect. He was a natural orator, of the highest order, combining imagination, acuteness, dexterity and ingenuity, with the most forcible action and extraordinary powers of face and utterance. As a statesman, his principal merits were sagacity and boldness. His name is brilliantly and lastingly connected with the history of his country’s emancipation.

JOHN HANCOCK.

John Hancock, was born at Quincy, near Boston, and was the son and grandson of an eminent clergyman, but, having early lost his father, was indebted for his liberal education to his uncle, a merchant of great wealth and respectability, who sent him to Harvard university, where he was graduated in 1754. He was then placed in the counting-house of his benefactor, and not long afterwards visited England, where he was present at the coronation of George III, as little prescient as the monarch himself of the part which he was destined to act in relation to the English government. On the sudden demise of his uncle, in 1764, he succeeded to his large fortune and extensive business; both of which he managed with great judgment and munificence. As a member of the provincial legislature, he exerted himself with zeal and resolution against the royal governor and the British ministry, and became so obnoxious to them, in consequence, that in the proclamation issued by general Gage, after the battle of Lexington, and a few days before that of Bunker hill, offering pardon to the rebels, he and Samuel Adams were especially excepted, their offenses being ‘of too flagitious a nature to admit of any other consideration than that of condign punishment.’ This circumstance gave additional celebrity to these two patriots, between whom, however, an unfortunate dissention took place which produced a temporary schism in the party which they headed, and a long personal estrangement between themselves. In fact, they differed so widely in their modes of living and general dispositions, that their concurrence in political measures may be considered one of the strongest proofs of their patriotism. Hancock was a magnificent liver, lavishly bountiful, and splendidly hospitable; Samuel Adams had neither the means nor the inclination for pursuing a similar course. He was studiously simple and frugal, and was of an austere, unbending character.

Hancock was president of the provincial congress of Massachusetts, until he was sent as a delegate from the province to the general congress at Philadelphia, in 1775. Soon after his arrival there, he was chosen to succeed Peyton Randolph as president of that assembly, and was the first to affix his signature to the declaration of independence. He continued to fill the chair until the year 1779, when he was compelled by disease to retire from congress. He was then elected governor of Massachusetts, and was annually chosen from 1780 to 1785. After an interval of two years, during which Mr. Bowdoin occupied the post, he was reëlected, and continued in the office until his death, Oct. 8, 1793, at the age of 56 years. In the interval, he acted as president of the convention of the state for the adoption of the federal constitution, for which he finally voted. (An able sketch of his character is contained in Tudor’s Life of Otis.) The talents of Hancock were rather useful than brilliant. He seldom spoke, but his knowledge of business, and facility in despatching it, together with his keen insight into the characters of men, rendered him peculiarly fit for public life. As the president of a deliberative assembly, he excelled. His voice was sonorous, his apprehension of questions quick; he was well acquainted with parliamentary forms, and inspired respect and confidence by his attention, impartiality and dignity. In his private life, he was eminent for his hospitality and beneficence. He was a complete gentleman of the old school, both in his appearance and manners; dressing richly, according to the fashion of the day, keeping a handsome equipage, and being distinguished for politeness and affability in social intercourse. When Washington consulted the legislature of Massachusetts upon the propriety of bombarding Boston, Hancock advised its being done immediately, if it would benefit the cause, although nearly his whole property consisted in houses and real estate in that town.

ETHAN ALLEN.

Ethan Allen, a brigadier-general in the American revolutionary army, was born in Salisbury, Connecticut, but was educated principally in Vermont, to which state his parents emigrated whilst he was yet young. His education was of a limited character. In the disturbances which agitated Vermont, he took an active part against the royal authority, in favor of the Green mountain boys, the name by which the settlers in that territory were designated.

In 1775, soon after the battle of Lexington, in compliance with the request of the legislature of Connecticut, Allen collected a body of about 230 Green mountain boys, and marched against the fortresses of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, for the purpose of taking them by assault. At Castleton, he was joined by colonel Arnold, who had received directions from the Massachusetts committee of safety to raise a corps of men for the same purpose, but, failing to accomplish that object, he determined to proceed with the small force of colonel Allen. They arrived at the lake opposite to Ticonderoga, on the evening of May 9, and, having with great difficulty procured boats, landed 83 men on the other shore during the night. The day beginning to dawn, however, Allen was obliged to attack the fort before his rear could cross the lake, having previously animated his soldiers, by a harangue, which he concluded with saying, ‘I now propose to advance before you, and in person to conduct you through the wicket-gate; but, inasmuch as it is a desperate attempt, I do not urge on any one contrary to his will. You that will undertake voluntarily, poise your fire-locks.’ They all immediately poised their fire locks. He then advanced at the head of the centre file to the wicket-gate, where a sentry snapped his fusee at him, and retreated through the covered way, followed by Allen, who formed his men upon the parade. The apartments of the commanding officer having been pointed out to him by a sentry who asked quarter, he instantly repaired thither, and, holding his sword over captain de Laplace, whom he found undressed demanded, the surrender of the fort. The latter asking him by what authority, ‘I demand it,’ said Allen, ‘in the name of the great Jehovah, and of the continental congress.’ De Laplace was constrained to comply with the summons, and the fort, with its stores and garrison, was given up. On the same day, also, Allen obtained possession of Crown Point, and soon after captured a sloop-of-war, the only armed vessel on lake Champlain, and thus accquired the entire command of the lake.

In the following autumn, he was twice despatched into Canada, to engage the inhabitants to lend their support to the American cause. In the last of these expeditions, he formed a plan, in concert with colonel Brown, to reduce Montreal. September 10, 1775, Allen accordingly crossed the river, at the head of 110 men, but was attacked, before Brown could join him, by the British troops, consisting of 500 men, and, after a most obstinate resistance, was taken prisoner. The events of his captivity he himself has recorded in a narrative compiled by him after his release, in the most singular style, but apparently with great fidelity. For some time he was kept in arms, and treated with much severity. He was sent to England as a prisoner, with an assurance, that, on his arrival there, he would meet with the halter. During the passage, extreme cruelty was exercised towards him and his fellow-prisoners. They were all, to the number of 34, thrust, hand-cuffed, into a small place in the vessel, enclosed with white-oak plank, not more than 20 feet wide by 22 long. After about a month’s confinement in Pendennis castle, near Falmouth, he was put on board a frigate, January 8, 1776, and carried to Halifax. Thence, after an imprisonment of five months, he was removed to New York. On the passage from Halifax to the latter place, Allen was treated with great kindness by captain Smith, the commander of the vessel, and evinced his gratitude by refusing to join in a conspiracy to kill the British captain and seize the frigate. His refusal prevented the execution of the plan. He remained at New York for a year and a half, sometimes in confinement, and sometimes at large, on parole. On May 6, 1778 Allen was exchanged for colonel Campbell, and immediately afterwards repaired to the head-quarters of General Washington, by whom he was received with much respect. As his health was impaired he returned to Vermont, after having made an offer of his services to the commander-in-chief, in case of his recovery. His arrival in Vermont was celebrated by the discharge of cannon; and he was appointed to the command of the state militia, as a mark of esteem for his patriotism and military talents. A fruitless attempt was made by the British to bribe him to lend his support to a union of Vermont with Canada. He died suddenly at his estate in Colchester, February 13, 1789.

General Allen was a man of strong and enterprising, but haughty and restless mind. Although his education had been circumscribed, he was daring in his pretensions to knowledge, and bold and peremptory in his assertions. Besides the narrative of his captivity, which we have noticed, and a number of pamphlets in the controversy with New York, he published a ‘Vindication of the Opposition of the Inhabitants of Vermont to the Government of New York, and their right to form an independent State,’ 1779, and a work, entitled, ‘Allen’s Theology, or the Oracles of Reason,’ the first formal publication in the United States openly directed against the Christian religion. Allen was a confirmed infidel. He adopted some of the most fantastical and absurd notions imaginable, believing, with Pythagoras, that the soul of man, after death, would live again in beasts, birds, fishes, etc. He often told his friends, that he himself would live again under the appearance of a large white horse. However, there is an anecdote extant, which proves that he professed to entertain those ideas more from an affectation of singularity, than from conviction. Whilst sitting in his library, conversing with a physician by the name of Elliot, Allen was informed that his daughter was dying, and desired to speak with him. He immediately repaired to her chamber, followed by Dr. Elliot. His wife was distinguished for her piety, and had instructed her daughter in the principles of Christianity. As soon as her father stood at her bedside, she said to him, ‘I am about to die; shall I believe in the principles you have taught me, or shall I believe in what my mother has taught me?’ He became greatly agitated; his chin quivered; his whole frame shook; and, after waiting a few moments, he replied, ‘Believe what your mother has taught you.’

BENEDICT ARNOLD.

Benedict Arnold was one of the most distinguished generals in the American army during the earlier part of the contest of the colonies with Great Britain, and subsequently infamous as a traitor to his country, was born in Connecticut, of obscure parentage, and received an education suitable to an humble condition. The occupations of his youth were not fitted to prepare him for the functions which he was called upon to exercise in the sequel. At first a dealer in horses, he sustained losses in his trade. Eager for renown, greedy of money, the troubles of his country inspired him with the hope of acquiring fame and fortune by the profession of arms: accordingly, on the breaking out of the revolutionary war, he embraced the cause of his countrymen with enthusiasm, and took the command of a company of volunteers at New Haven. He soon won a high military reputation. Washington, encouraged by secret advices that the Canadians were inclined to make part of the Union, projected the surprise of Quebec. This hazardous undertaking required leaders at once active, vigilant, bold, and inflexibly patient. He committed it to Montgomery and colonel Arnold, as the most capable. He exhorted them, with extreme earnestness, to treat the Canadians as friends, as fellow-citizens, and to punish severely the least irregularities of the soldiery. Arnold began his march in the month of September. He conducted his small force through deserts which man had never before penetrated. The river of Kennebeck had overflowed its banks; he crossed it by swimming, or on rafts. Unknown streams presented a new obstacle: he diverted their course. The snow fell in abundance; a few hours of sun during the day were insufficient to thaw the ice formed in the long and severe nights of the northern autumn; but nothing could arrest his progress. He was always in the van with the pioneers, who cut a passage through this wild country, and, at the end of each march, had arrived before the enemy knew of his approach. He thus put in practice a maxim which he was fond of repeating: ‘In war, expedition is equivalent to strength.’ The last division, conducted by a man less resolute and persevering, returned; while he, at the head of the two first, sustained the courage of the soldiers, who were exhausted by fatigue, hunger and every species of suffering. After two months of toil, all impediments were overcome, and he encamped before the fortress, but with a band so much enfeebled, that he was obliged to await the arrival of Montgomery, who approached by another route. Montgomery died gloriously in an assault, December 31, 1775. Arnold was severely wounded in the leg, and forced to convert the siege into a blockade. He was not, however, to be daunted by any reverse. From the bed to which his wound confined him, he infused into the little army, the command of which had now devolved upon him, his own spirit of determination and confidence. The enterprise failed: the courage and intelligence which he exhibited throughout, placed him, nevertheless, in the first class of American officers. He served with better fortune, and still greater distinction, in the subsequent campaigns, and bore a considerable part in that in which Burgoyne and his army were made prisoners. He fought with his usual intrepidity in the engagement which immediately preceded the capitulation. The first to throw himself into the intrenchments of the enemy, he was animating his men by his example, when a ball shattered the leg already wounded at the siege of Quebec. As he was borne from the ranks to his tent, he still issued orders for the continuance of the assault. The boldness of Arnold was so great, that he was accused of a disposition to entangle himself rashly in perilous situations; but it could not be denied, that his rapid discernment supplied him, in the midst of danger, with the surest expedients, and that success always justified his daring. The admiration of his fellow-citizens kept pace with his services. His love of glory was accompanied with an equally strong love of pleasure and dissipation, and he was very unscrupulous about the mode of obtaining the means of gratifying it. His ill-gotten wealth he squandered in frivolous expenses, or mere ostentation. Montreal, the second city of Canada, was, under his command, a scene of injustice and rapacity, and the Canadians soon abandoned the design of joining the confederation. The attempt on Canada was abandoned, and, the wounds of Arnold being not yet healed, he could be invested only with some stationary command. Washington, though he detested his vices, did not wish to leave his talents idle. The English having evacuated Philadelphia, he directed Arnold to take possession of that city with some troops of the Pennsylvania line,――a delicate charge for a man so prone to extend his powers, and define them according to his interests. It was not long before he displayed in this city a magnificence as foreign to the habits of the country, as it was unseasonable in the midst of the calamities of war. He even lodged in his house the French envoy and all his suite on their arrival. From this time, too, he began to profess an extraordinary attachment to the French, and great zeal for an alliance with them. To relieve himself from the difficulties into which his extravagance had plunged him, he resorted to the same oppression and extortion which had rendered his authority odious to the Canadians. Under pretense of the wants of the army, he forbade the shopkeepers to sell or buy; he then put their goods at the disposal of his agents, and caused them afterwards to be resold with a profit. He prostituted his authority to enrich his accomplices, and squabbled with them about the division of the prey. The citizens applied for redress to the courts of justice. But, with his military authority as his shield, he set at defiance both justice and the laws. At length, however, a representation of the grievances which the state was suffering, was made to congress by the president of the executive council of Pennsylvania, a man of firm and upright character, who had endeavored in vain to repress the overweening and predatory spirit of Arnold, and a committee was appointed to inquire into the subject. Arnold replied to the charges with arrogance. Some members of congress were of opinion that he should be suspended from his military functions until the investigation of his public conduct was brought to an issue; but the accusation had become an affair of party, and he had influence enough to cause this proposition to be set aside. Congress at length resolved to lay the complaints against him before the commander-in-chief.

As soon as Arnold saw that the resolutions of congress would be of this tenor, he resigned the command which he held in Philadelphia. He was tried before a court martial, and condemned, January 20, 1779, to be reprimanded by the commander-in-chief. Congress ratified the sentence, and Washington, having caused the culprit to appear before him, performed the task with the considerate delicacy which he thought due to so distinguished an officer. Arnold, however, quitted the army, and, thenceforth, nourished an implacable hatred towards the cause which he had so brilliantly defended. The embarrassment of his affairs was at this time such, that private aid would not suffice to extricate him. He had, some time before, formed a partnership with some owners of privateers, who paid his share of the expenses of equipment, and expected to be compensated for their advances by his countenance and protection; but the chances were adverse, and, instead of profits to be divided, there were losses to be borne. Arnold, now without credit or authority, was no longer regarded by the owners as any thing more than an ordinary partner. They exacted his proportion of the loss, and their knowledge of his difficulties only served to render them more urgent in their suit. In this extremity he tried a last resort.

Congress, at the commencement of the revolution, committed an error which proved of great detriment to the finances. It entrusted some officers with agencies which had no immediate connection with the business of command or military service. Arnold, the least proper for such trusts, was charged with considerable ones, and had large claims for moneys and stores furnished in the expedition to Canada. The commissioners to whom they were referred for settlement, reduced them very considerably. He appealed from their decision to congress, who pronounced that the commissioners had shown more lenity than rigor in the liquidation of his accounts. Disappointed in all his expectations, Arnold at last determined to betray his country, and to make his treason in a high degree useful to England, that it might procure him a full pardon for his share in the revolt of the colonies. He wished to be regarded as a subject returned to his allegiance, and worthy of the honorable rewards due to faithful and virtuous citizens. As a first step, the British commanders were to be made acquainted with his discontent, but in so guarded a manner as to leave a retreat open in case the offers which might be made to him should not prove satisfactory. Particular circumstances facilitated the communications between them.

As soon as the English commander was apprized of the disposition of Arnold, he despatched emissaries charged with such offers as were most likely to determine a man whose hesitation was only about the means and conditions. Some of Arnold’s proceedings, about this period, warrant the supposition, that he at first meant to tamper with his brother officers, but relinquished this design on more mature reflection. He took good care that nothing of his real intentions should be divined by the subaltern English agents; but there was, at New York, a man whom he thought he could trust without risk. This was Charles Beverley Robinson, an American by birth, and a colonel in the British army, whose property all lay within the United States. His mansion, situated on the Hudson, was included in the American lines, and three miles lower than the forts upon the opposite bank. The commanding officers of West Point, having found it deserted, had made it their quarters. Arnold wrote to this officer, that the ingratitude of his country, and other considerations to be afterwards disclosed, had produced a change in his political sentiments; that he aspired to merit, thenceforward, the favor of the king; that he could render signal services; and wished to enter into a correspondence on the subject with Sir Henry Clinton. This overture was well received, and, a direct communication with the English general being established, it was agreed that Arnold should dissemble, with the utmost care, his discontent; that he should make every effort to obtain a command from general Washington; that, as soon as he succeeded, he should consult with Sir Henry Clinton as to his future movements, and be guided by the instructions which would be given by him. From this time, he entirely altered his manner and language. He affected to have forgotten the affront of the reprimand, and pretended to feel a more lively attachment than ever to the cause of independence.

The country through which the Hudson flows was the principal theatre of the war. A station in this quarter would, he thought, best answer his purpose. He was well acquainted with the localities. He examined, with minute attention, in what spot, by what operations, he could most beneficially second the enterprises of the British, and which was the most important position to betray into their hands. New York was, at this time, in the hands of the British, who had assembled there the greatest part of their troops. The fortress of West Point, a military station of very great importance, is distant twenty leagues from this city. Arnold aimed at the chief command of this post, with a view of betraying it into the hands of the British, with the garrisons, and the arms and immense stores which were deposited there; for Fort Clinton contained, besides the ammunition necessary for its own defense, the stock of powder of the whole army. The command of the fort had been entrusted to general Howe, an officer of tried courage, but of limited capacity, who could be employed elsewhere without inconvenience to the service. The wounds of Arnold did not as yet allow him to mount on horseback; they did not disqualify him, however, for conducting the defense of a citadel. He had early secured the patronage of some of the leading men of the State of New York, and Washington was prevailed upon to consign West Point to him. Being a traitor to his own country, he was apprehensive lest those to whom he was about to sell himself, might prove treacherous to him. He felt anxious to receive the price of his ignominious bargain at the moment of its ratification; but he could extort nothing more than a promise of 30,000 pounds sterling, and the assurance that he should be maintained in the British army in the rank of brigadier-general, which he already held. About a month previous (July 10, 1780,) the first division of the French army arrived at Newport, in the State of Rhode Island. The situation of the English became every day more and more critical. Sir Henry Clinton had relinquished his projected expedition. He urged Arnold to fulfill his engagements, and supposed the thing easy for a general who was master of the forts and the river; but there were, in fact, numerous obstacles in the way, and of these the presence of the commander-in-chief was the most serious. Arnold knew his vigilance and activity. He insisted, therefore, with Clinton on the necessity of deliberation, adding, however, that all should be in readiness to improve the first favorable opportunity. A young officer of foreign extraction served in the British Army. He was endowed with all the qualities which render a man useful to his country, and dear to society. This was JOHN ANDRE, adjutant-general of the British army. General Sir Henry Clinton had taken him as his aid-de-camp, and did not disdain him as a counselor. To him Clinton committed the business of negotiating with Arnold. A correspondence ensued between Arnold and Andre, under the names of Gustavus and Anderson. Mercantile relations were feigned, to disguise the real object, and an American, whose dwelling stood between the lines that separated the two armies, served as a common messenger. At this period the rumor began to spread of a second division of the French army having sailed, and that Washington only awaited its arrival to begin the siege of New York. The marshal de Castries, who then administered the department of the marine with so much reputation, had, in fact, advised the French envoy of the approaching departure of a second expedition. Clinton caused Arnold to be told that it was time to act; that a day must be fixed for the surrender of the forts; and that, if time were given to the allies to effect a junction, it might no longer be in the power of Arnold himself to fulfill his engagements. He asked, also, plans of the forts, and the instructions necessary for the safe guidance of the British troops when they were sent to take possession of West Point. Arnold replied to these new importunities in the language concerted with Andre: ‘Our master goes away the 17th of this month. He will be absent five or six days. Let us avail ourselves of this interval to arrange our business. Come immediately and meet me at the lines, and we will settle definitively the risks and profits of the copartnership. All will be ready; but this inteview is indispensable, and must precede the sailing of our ship.’ It was thus that Arnold apprized Clinton of the approaching departure of the commander-in-chief. Washington had, in fact, given a rendezvous to count de Rochambeau, general of the French land forces, and to the chevalier de Ternay, commander of the squadron. They were to meet at Hartford, in Connecticut, to confer about the operations of this and the ensuing campaigns. But Arnold was not correctly advised as to the period of Washington’s departure, and the mistake led to important consequences. He had, in other letters, solicited an interview with Andre, and he now exacted it as a condition indispensable for the prosecution of the enterprise. Hitherto, everything had succeded beyond his hopes. There had been a total absence of those mysterious rumors, and vague surmises, which accompany, and seem to portend, a great conspiracy. Never had so momentous a plot been more felicitously brought so near to its execution. This profound secrecy was owing to the precaution of Arnold, in not having unbosomed himself to any of his own countrymen, and in admitting only Andre and Robinson as correspondents. He took credit for this policy, and his urgency for an interview with Andre arose chiefly from his resolution to confide to the hands of this officer alone the maps and particular information which Clinton demanded.

The 17th of September, the day specified for the departure of Washington, passed, and he was still at West Point. Arnold advertised Clinton of the delay, and explained his mistake by mentioning a circumstance which had not been before noted. The 17th fell on a Sunday,――a day which the Americans consecrated entirely to the duties of religion, and on which most of them abstained even from journeys, which, elsewhere, would be thought indispensable. Clinton admitted this explanation the more readily as he knew that Washington respected the scruples of others, and was himself very religious. To obviate untoward accidents, it was agreed that Andre should leave New York only on the 19th of September, and reach the American forts about the 20th. He accordingly embarked in the night on board the Vulture sloop-of-war. Clinton sent with him Beverly Robinson, the colonel through whom Arnold had made his first overture. He expected that the prudence of this officer would moderate the ardor of Andre. Moreover, Arnold occupied Robinson’s house, and the private affairs, which he, as a refugee, had to adjust with congress, furnished a plausible pretense for his approaching the American lines and posts. September 20, they arrived almost opposite to fort Montgomery, situated on the same side as West Point, five miles lower down. They cast anchor in sight of the nearest American redoubts, but beyond the reach of some small cannon, the only artillery of those redoubts. The Vulture got aground at low water. The movement on board, and some signals which she made, alarmed the vigilance of colonel Livingston, who commanded at Verplanck’s Point. He ascertained, on reconnoitering, that the sloop might be sunk by one or two pieces of heavy cannon; and as those of the forts which he commanded were of too small a calibre, he requested larger from Arnold. The general refused them, to the great surprise of Livingston. But tacit obedience is the life of discipline, and he acquiesced in some idle excuse. Two days elapsed after the Sunday, and still Washington had, apparently, made no preparations for departure. Arnold was himself uneasy at this disappointment; but the apprehension of exciting suspicion by too frequent communications prevented him from making it known to Clinton. The English general was informed of it through another channel. He knew the unprincipled character of Arnold, and could comprehend the probability of a snare masked by a counterfeit scheme of treason. He was the more disquieted as Andre and Robinson were already far on their way; and there was equal inconvenience in leaving them ignorant, or advising them of their danger. If Arnold were sincere in his defection, his return to New York would disconcert all Arnold’s measures, and expose him to serious risks. If he deceived the British, all the risks were for Andre and Robinson. They had not, as yet, been able to communicate with the shore, but, persuaded that Washington must have set out for Hartford, they put in execution a stratagem, arranged beforehand with Arnold, to facilitate the rendezvous. Robinson wrote to the American general, Putnam, as if to transact with him business relating to his property, and proposed an interview. In this letter was enclosed another to general Arnold, wherein Robinson solicited a conference with him, in case Putnam should be absent. The packet, being directed to Arnold, would be opened only by him; but if, perchance, it fell into other hands, the whole could be read without exciting suspicion of a plot. This letter was despatched to the shore by a flag of truce as soon as the sloop had cast anchor. It happened to be on the very day fixed by Washington for his departure. He had never meant to set out earlier, and had neither sanctioned nor contradicted the various rumors current on the subject. He left his quarters in the morning, and, on reaching the bank, found Arnold there with his barge, ready to transport him to the other side. In crossing, Washington remarked the sloop with the English flag, and took a spy-glass to observe her more narrowly. Some moments after, he gave to an officer near him, in a low voice, according to his usual mariner, an order probably of no consequence, which Arnold was unable to overhear. Arnold was guilty, and whatever he could not immediately penetrate, alarmed his fears. He supposed that the general could not remain ignorant of the circumstance of the flag of truce, and, doubtful even whether he might not be already acquainted with it, he thought it well to show him the two letters which he had received, asking him, at the same time, what course he ought to pursue. Washington, in the presence of several persons, dissuaded him from seeing Robinson, and directed him to give for answer to this officer, that his private business appertained exclusively to the jurisdiction of the civil authority. They touched the shore just as this conversation ceased. The commander-in-chief, whose presence kept Arnold in the greatest perplexity, landed, and pursued his journey to Hartford. Thus was the main obstacle removed, and the plot could proceed. The opinion uttered by Washington, in such positive terms, concerning the conference with Robinson,――the order heard by several persons present,――became, however, a law for Arnold, with respect to his ostensible conduct. It was, in this way, the first obstacle that thwarted the measures concerted between him and Andre. They could not meet publicly under the auspices of a flag of truce, and, though Andre had used this means to reach the lines, they were obliged to arrange a secret interview.

On the morning after the departure of Washington, Arnold sought out a man called Joshua Smith, well known to be devoted to the English, although he resided within the American posts. He made him the bearer of two passports to be carried on board the Vulture, one for Andre, under the fictitious name of Anderson; the other for Charles Beverley Robinson, who had not the same reason for practicing disguise. He charged him with a letter also, in which he urged them to repair to him on shore. Smith waited until nightfall, and then proceeded to the English sloop in a boat which Arnold had provided for him. Andre and Robinson expected that Arnold would himself visit them, and they were surprised when his emissary, Smith, appeared before them alone. Robinson declared that he would not go on shore, and used every effort to deter his companion; but the young man, full of impatience and ardor, saw only the chances of success, would listen to no remonstrance, and could not brook the idea, either of returning to New York without having executed his mission, or of exposing the main enterprise to miscarriage, by a caution which his rivals would infallibly stigmatise as cowardice. He put on a gray surtout, to hide his uniform, and accompanied Smith on shore. Arnold was waiting to receive him at the water’s edge. They discoursed there for some time; but, as they were liable to be surprised, Arnold led him towards the house of Smith, when he immediately laid before him plans of the forts, a memoir, composed (for a better use) by the chief engineer, Duportail, on the means of attacking and defending them, and minute instructions with respect to the measures to be taken by the British for the occupation of them, when he (Arnold) should have done his part in opening the way. They presumed that Washington had already reached Hartford, and they were right; for he was there, at the same hour, in consultation with the French commander.

Arnold and Andre, calculating anxiously the probable length of Washington’s absence, supposed he would return in three or four days, that is, on the 25th or 26th of September, and one or other of these days was fixed for the execution of the plot. It was settled that Andre should go back in all haste to New York; that the English troops, which were already embarked, under pretense of a distant expedition, should be held ready to ascend the river, and sail at the first signal; that to facilitate the reduction of West point, Arnold should march out of the forts all the troops destined for the defense, and entangle them in gorges and ravines, where he would pretend to await the English assailants, while these were to debark on another side, and enter by passes left unguarded; and, at all events, the garrison and troops were to be so distributed, that, if they did not surrender at the first summons, they must be immediately cut in pieces. He informed Andre that the chain which was stretched across the river from West point to Constitution island, forming, when perfect, an effectual bar to the passage of the river, was now no longer an impediment. He had detached a link, ostensibly to have it mended; the smiths would not return it for some days; and the two ends of the chain were held together by a fastening too weak to bear even a slight concussion. The English would know at what moment they were to advance, by the kindling of fires, in the night, under the directions of Arnold, on the adjacent eminences. A single cannon fired from their ships, to be followed by a similar discharge from the shore, would proclaim that they had perceived the signals. Other tokens agreed upon were to furnish, successively, information of the several distances of the British forces in their approach. When they had arrived within three miles of the fortress, two English officers, in American uniform, were to ride full gallop to Arnold’s quarters, to learn how matters stood and to hasten with the intelligence to the British naval commander. Then only was Arnold to put in motion that portion of the garrison which remained in the works, and station it at posts which would not be attacked. They agreed upon the countersign to be given on the 24th and 25th. Arnold delivered to the Englishman drafts of all the works, and of the passes leading to them, several memoirs, written with his own hand, and full returns of the garrison and the forces of each division of the army. He had never before allowed a single paper to go out of his hands, which might expose him to detection. But he now saw no danger in confiding these to Andre, who was to reëmbark directly on board the sloop, and make sail for New York. Andre returned alone to the beach, whence a boat was to convey him to the Vulture. But this arrangement was defeated by an obstacle wholly unexpected. At an early hour, Livingston, still disturbed at the proximity of the sloop, had, of his own authority, caused a four-pounder to be dragged from his redoubt to a point of land from which the shot could reach the vessel. She was aground, and had already sustained some damage from the piece of the American officer, when she began to float again at the rising of the tide. Robinson took advantage of this circumstance to weigh anchor, and remove some miles lower down, beyond the reach of similar attack. This change of station attracted the notice of the master and rowers of the boat in which Andre expected to regain the sloop. They were Americans. The movements which they had witnessed for the two last days were unusual; and although men of their description, accustomed to ferry all persons indifferently from one side of the river to the other, did not affect to be of any party, they were unwilling to commit themselves. When Andre proposed to them to convey him to the sloop, they told him that it was too far, and peremptorily refused to go. He went back immediately to Arnold, and urged him to exert his authority in so serious a predicament. But the latter, perplexed at his unlooked-for-appearance, and already harassed with various disappointments, durst not attempt to compel the men, and told him he must submit to return by land; to lay aside his uniform altogether, and assume another dress. Andre changed his coat for one which Smith provided. Arnold now wished to withdraw the papers which he had entrusted to him; he thought it hazardous to send them by land. But Andre was very desirous of showing to Clinton with what punctuality he had executed his mission. These papers were a trophy of which he would not, therefore, allow himself to be dispossessed. He observed to Arnold, that danger of any kind could now no longer be in question, except so far as to show that they both despised it; and added, that he would keep the papers, which brought him into greater peril than Arnold, and, to allay his fears, would secrete them in his boots. Arnold submitted, and, leaving Andre in Smith’s house, returned to his quarters, from which he had been absent since the day before. The Patrol, spread through the whole neighborhood, made it imprudent for Andre to begin his journey before twilight. He was accompanied by Smith: each had a passport from Arnold, ‘to go to the lines of White plains, or lower, if the bearer thought proper; he being on public business.’ They were accosted, at Compond, by an American officer of militia, who told them that it was too late for them to reach, that evening, any other quarters. In order not to awaken his suspicions, they resolved to pass the night there. The next day, 23d, they crossed the Hudson to King’s ferry, pushing forward when they were not observed, and slakening their pace to conceal their eagerness, wherever they were likely to be seen. By means of their passports, they traversed all the American posts without molestation. They arrived, uninterrupted, a little beyond Pine’s bridge, a village situated on the Croton: they had not, however, crossed the lines, although they could descry the ground occupied by the English videttes. Smith, looking all around, and perceiving no one, said to Andre, ‘You are safe――good bye,’ and retook, at full speed, the road by which they had come. Andre, on his part, believing himself out of danger, and all further precaution superfluous, put spurs to his horse. He had proceeded four leagues onward with the same good fortune; he could see the Hudson once more, and was about entering Tarrytown, the border village, when a man, armed with a gun, sprung suddenly from the thickets, and seizing the reins of his bridle, exclaimed, ‘Where are you bound?’ At the same moment, two others ran up, who were armed in like manner, and formed, with the first part of the patrol of volunteer militia that guarded the lines. They were not in uniform, and Andre, preöccupied by the idea that he was no longer on enemy’s ground, thought that they must be of his own party. It did not, therefore, occur to him to show him his passport, which was sufficient to deceive Americans, and could not alter his destination, if those who arested him were of the English side. Instead of answering their question, he asked them, in his turn, where they belonged to. They replied, ‘To below,’――words referring to the course of the river, and implying that they were of the English party. ‘And so do I,’ said Andre, confirmed in his mistake by this stratagem. ‘I am,’ continued he, in a tone of command, ‘an English officer on urgent business, and I do not wish to be longer detained.’ ‘You belong to our enemies,’ was the rejoinder, ‘and we arrest you.’ Andre, struck with astonishment at this unexpected language, presented his passport; but this paper, after the confession he had just made, only served to render his case more suspicious. He offered them gold, his horse, and promised them large rewards, and permanent provision from the English government, if they would let him escape. These young men, whom such offers did but animate the more in their duty, replied, that they wanted nothing. They drew off his boots, and detected the fatal papers. They no longer hesitated to carry him before colonel Jameson, who commanded the out-posts. When questioned by that officer he still called himself Anderson, the name mentioned in his passport, and evinced no discomposure; he had recovered all of his presence of mind, and, forgetful of his own danger, thought only of Arnold’s, and of the means of extricating him. To apprise him of it safely, he begged Jameson to inform the commanding officer of West Point that Anderson, the bearer of his passport, was detained. Jameson thought it more simple to order him to be conducted to Arnold. He was already on the way, and the thread of the conspiracy was about to be resumed in the interview of the accomplices, when the American colonel, recollecting that the papers found upon the prisoner were in the hand-writing of Arnold himself, and adverting to the several extraordinary features of the business, sent, in all haste, after the pretended Anderson, and had him conveyed, under guard, to Old Salem. He despatched, at the same time, an express to Washington, charged with a letter containing a circumstantial account of this affair, and with the drafts and other papers taken from the prisoner. But the commander-in-chief, who set out on the same day, the 23d of September, to return to his army, had pursued a different route from that by which he went to Hartford, and the messenger was compelled to retrace his steps without having seen him. This delay proved the salvation of Arnold.

Jameson was a gallant soldier, but a man of an irresolute temper, and no great sagacity; moreover, treachery on the part of Arnold appeared impossible to one of an ingenuous and honorable character. He began to view his first suspicions as an outrage to an officer distinguished, as Arnold was, by so many noble exploits, and, wishing to reconcile the deference due to him with the performance of his own duty, he wrote him, that Anderson, the bearer of his passport, had been arrested on the 23d. Arnold did not receive this intimation until the morning of the 25th. It was on a Monday; and the same day, or the one following, had been selected for the consummation of the plot. Until that moment, he had believed success infallible. The exhilaration which this belief produced was even remarked, and he ascribed it to his expectation of the speedy arrival of his general, ‘for whom he had pleasant news.’ He was busy with the appropriate arrangements for the reception of a body of more welcome visitors, when he received the letter of Jameson. Those who were present on the occasion recollected, afterwards, that he could not, at first, conceal his dismay and extreme agitation; but that, recovering himself quickly, he said, in a loud voice, that he would write an answer; and, dismissing all about him, withdrew, to reflect on the course which it was best to adopt. The entrance of two American officers, however, interrupted his musings. They were sent by the commander-in-chief, and informed Arnold, that he had arrived that morning at Fishkill, a few leagues from West Point; that he was to have set out a few hours after them, and could not be far distant. Thus did the most alarming circumstances rapidly succeed each other. The traitor had no resource but a precipitate flight. Suppressing his emotion, he told the two officers that he wished to go and meet the general alone, and begged them not to follow him. He then entered the apartment of his wife, exclaiming――‘All is discovered:――Andre is a prisoner:――The commander-in-chief will know every thing:――The discharge of cannon, which you hear, is a salute, and announces that he is not far off:――Burn all my papers:――I fly to New York.’ He embraced her, as well as their infant child, whom she carried in her arms, and, solely intent on his escape, left her, without waiting for her reply, mounted the horse of one of the two officers, and rushed towards the Hudson, which was not far from his house. He had taken the precaution to have always ready a barge well-manned: he threw himself headlong into it, and caused the boatmen to make for the English sloop, with all possible dispatch. The barge, bearing a flag of truce, was still visible from the heights when Washington arrived. The two officers related to him what they had witnessed. Arnold had absconded. His wife, in the agonies of despair, seemed to fear for her infant, and maintained an obstinate silence. No one knew how to explain these extraordinary incidents. The commander-in-chief repaired, without delay, to the fort of West Point, where, however, he could learn nothing of a decisive import. But some orders, issued by Arnold the day before, redoubled his suspicions: he returned to the quarters of the general, and at this instant Jameson’s messenger presented himself, and delivered the packet with which he was charged. Washington seemed, for a few minutes, as it were, overwhelmed by the discovery of a crime which ruined the fame of an American general, and wounded the honor of the American army. Those who were near him anxiously interrogated his looks in silence, which he broke by saying,――‘I thought that an officer of courage and ability, who had often shed his blood for his country, was entitled to confidence, and I gave him mine. I am convinced now, and for the rest of my life, that we should never trust those who are wanting in probity, whatever abilities they may possess. Arnold has betrayed us.’ Meanwhile, the precautions required by the occasion were every where taken. General Heath, a faithful and vigilant officer, was substituted for Arnold at West Point; the commanders of the other posts were admonished to be on their guard. Greene, who had been invested with the command of the army during the absence of Washington, recalled within the forts the garrisons which the traitor had dispersed, and marched a strong division near to the lines. Hamilton lost not an instant in repairing to King’s Ferry, the last American post on the side of New York. He had the mortification to learn, that a very short time before his arrival, Arnold’s barge had glided by with the swiftness of an arrow, and was then getting along side the Vulture, some miles lower down, opposite Teller’s Point,――an anchorage situated at the head of the great basin of the Hudson, which is called Tappan bay. Livingston had remarked the barge that carried the fugitive, and, his suspicions being roused by the strange movements of the two or three days previous, would have stopped it, had not the sailors of his spy-boats been ashore when it passed. Messengers were sent to all the states of the Union, and to the French general, to inform them of this event. The express which bore the news to congress traveled with such rapidity, that he reached Philadelphia on the same day that the discovery was made in the camp. The magistrates were immediately directed to enter the house of Arnold, and to seize and examine his papers. They found nothing there relating to the conspiracy; but he had left memoranda which furnished ample proof that he was guilty of the extortions and peculations of which he had been accused two years before.

Jameson caused his unknown prisoner to be strictly guarded. The latter at first suppressed his true name, from consideration for Arnold; but, the day after his capture, supposing that the American general had had time to make his escape, he said to Jameson,――‘My name is not Anderson; I am major Andre.’ The death of Andre, though ignominious, was happiness in comparison with the life of Arnold. Upon his establishment in the army of Great Britain, he found it necessary to make some exertions to secure the attachment of his new friends. With the hope of alluring many of the discontented to his standard, he published an address to the inhabitants of America, in which he endeavored to justify his conduct. He had encountered the dangers of the field, he said, from apprehension that the rights of his country were in danger. He had acquiesced in the declaration of independence, though he thought it precipitate. But the rejection of the overtures made by Great Britain, in 1778, and the French alliance, had opened his eyes to the ambitious views of those who would sacrifice the happiness of their country to their own aggrandizement, and had made him a confirmed loyalist. He artfully mingled assertions, that the principal members of congress held the people in sovereign contempt. This was followed, in about a fortnight, by a proclamation, addressed ‘to the officers and soldiers of the continental army,’ who have the real interest of their country at heart, and who are determined to be no longer the tools and dupes of congress and of France. To induce the American officers and soldiers to desert the cause which they had embraced, he represented that the corps of cavalry and infantry, which he was authorized to raise, would be upon the same footing with the other troops in the British service; that he should with pleasure advance those whose valor he had witnessed: and that the private men, who joined him, should receive a bounty of three guineas each, besides payment at the full value for horses, arms, and accoutrements. His object was the peace, liberty and safety of America. These proclamations did not produce the effect designed, and in all the hardships, sufferings and irritations of the war, Arnold remains the solitary instance of an American officer who abandoned the side first embraced in the contest, and turned his sword upon his former companions in arms. He was soon despatched, by Sir Henry Clinton, to make a diversion in Virginia. With about 1700 men, he arrived in the Chesapeake in January 1781, and, being supported by such a naval force as was suited to the nature of the service, he committed extensive ravages on the rivers, and along the unprotected coasts. It is said, that, while on this expedition, Arnold inquired of an American captain, whom he had taken prisoner, what the Americans would do with him, if he should fall into their hands. The officer replied, that they would cut off his lame leg, and bury it with the honors of war, and hang the remainder of his body in gibbets.

After his recall from Virginia, he conducted an expedition against New London in his native state of Connecticut. He took fort Trumbull, Sep. 6, with inconsiderable loss. On the other side of the harbor, lieutenant-colonel Earyre, who commanded another detachment, made an assault on fort Griswold, and, with the greatest difficulty, entered the works. An officer of the conquering troops asked who commanded. ‘I did,’ answered colonel Ledyard, ‘but you do now,’ and presented him his sword, which was immediately plunged into his own bosom. A merciless slaughter now commenced of the brave garrison, who had ceased to resist, and the greater part were either killed or wounded. After burning the town, and the stores which were in it, Arnold returned to New York in eight days. He survived the war but to drag on, in perpetual banishment from his native country, a dishonorable life amid a nation that imputed to him the loss of one of the brightest ornaments of its army――the lamented Andre. He transmitted to his children a name of hateful celebrity. He obtained only a part of the debasing stipend of an abortive treason. His complaints soon caused it to be known, that all the promises by which he had been inveigled were not fulfilled. But baffled treason appears always to be overpaid, and the felon is the only one who thinks he experiences injustice. He enjoyed, however, the rank of brigadier-general; but the officers of the British army manifested a strong repugnance to serve with him. He possessed their esteem while he fought against them; they loaded him with contempt when treason brought him over to their side. He resided principally in England after the conclusion of the war, was in Nova Scotia, and afterwards to the West Indies, where he was taken prisoner by the French, from whom he escaped, and, returning to England, died in Gloucester place, London, June 14, 1801.

HORATIO GATES.

Horatio Gates was born in England, in 1728. He early embraced the career of arms, and rose to the rank of major by the force of merit alone. At the capture of Martinico, he was to aid general Monkton, and, after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, was stationed at Halifax in Nova Scotia. Seven years afterwards, he was again called into active life, by the breaking out of a new war, and was with Braddock when that unfortunate commander was defeated, in 1755. In consequence of a severe wound which he received in the battle, he was for some time debarred from active service; and, at the conclusion of the peace, he repaired to his native country. He soon, however, returned, and purchased an estate in Virginia, on which he resided until the commencement of the revolutionary war in 1775, when he was appointed adjutant-general by congress, with the rank of brigadier. In July, 1775, he accompanied the commander-in-chief to Massachusetts, where he continued until June in the following year, when he received the chief command of the army which had just retreated from Canada. This gave great umbrage to general Schuyler, who had hitherto superintended the forts and garrisons of New York, and now expressed his determination to resign, unless the injury were redressed. Congress, in consequence, endeavored to reconcile the pretensions of the two generals, by assigning to them authorities in some measure independent of each other. Schuyler was directed to provide and equip a naval armament, in order to obtain and preserve the command of the lakes and rivers which maintained the communications between Canada and the maritime and Hudson country, and Gates was enjoined to coöperate in this service as far as laid in his power. But they were only able to equip about 15 vessels, half of which were little better than boats, which were placed under the command of Arnold, who was opposed by a much superior force under Carleton. The first step of Gates occasioned some surprise and much clamor. The American forces had retreated to Crown Point, where such ravages were made among them by the small-pox, that Gates abandoned that fortress, and concentrated his army at Ticonderoga. This movement, which opened to the enemy the whole navigation of lake Champlain, was greatly condemned by Washington and all the field-officers. The unexpected retreat of general Carleton relieved them from the necessity of defending Ticonderoga. After this retreat, Gates marched with a considerable detachment to the assistance of general Washington, and continued with him, during his operations in the middle colonies, until the spring of 1777, when he resumed his command on the northern frontier. Here he was shortly afterwards superseded by Schuyler. But in August following, when Burgoyne had obtained possession of Ticonderoga, defeated St. Clair, occupied fort Ann and Skeensborough, and had arrived at fort St. Edward, on the upper branches of the Hudson, Gates was reinstated in the command. At fort St. Edward, Burgoyne remained for some time, in order to collect necessaries, and then, passing the Hudson, encamped at Saratoga. Gates immediately put himself in motion with an equal force, and, Sep. 19, an almost general engagement took place without any decisive result. Oct. 8, another action occurred, in which the British were totally defeated, and, on the 16th, Bugoyne surrendered with his whole army. This was, perhaps, the most important achievement of the whole war, or the one which had the greatest effect in giving it a favorable result.

About this time, when the popularity of general Gates was at its highest point, intrigues were commenced for elevating him to the station occupied by Washington, which were as shameful as they were unsuccessful. How far he himself was engaged in them, or whether he was concerned in them at all, it is not in our power to state; nor should we wish to enter into any details respecting it.

In June, 1780, Gates received the chief command of the southern districts. In this quarter, the affairs of the colonies were in a very bad condition. Charleston had been taken, and general Lincoln captured. When Gates assumed the command of the southern army, it scarcely amounted to 1500 men, badly supplied in every respect. After collecting all the troops he could, and equipping them as well as he was able, he advanced against the enemy, whom he met, August 16, under Cornwallis, at Camden, where the Americans were totally defeated. About fifty days after this disaster, general Greene was sent to supersede Gates, whose conduct was subjected to the investigation of a special court. After a long and tedious inquiry, he was finally acquitted, and reinstated in his command in 1782; but, in the interim, the war had been brought to a glorious termination by the capture of Cornwallis. When peace was made, he retired to his Virginia estate, and, in 1790, removed to New York, having first emancipated all his slaves, and provided for such of them as could not provide for themselves. On his arrival at New York, he was presented with the freedom of the city, and, in the year 1800, was chosen a member of the state legislature, in consequence of the critical balance of parties at that time, but resigned the seat as soon as the purpose for which he accepted it was gained. He died April 10, 1806, in the 78th year of his age.

General Gates possessed a handsome person, rather inclined to corpulency in the middle of his life; was courteous in his manners, and kind and generous in his disposition. He was a classical scholar and a sincere Christian.

THADDEUS KOSCIUSKO.

Thaddeus Kosciusko, the last generalissimo of the republic of Poland, one of the noblest characters of his age, was descended from an ancient and noble, though not rich family, in Lithuania, aad was born in 1756. He was educated in the military school at Warsaw. The prince Adam Czartoriski, perceiving his talents and industry, made him second lieutenant in the corps of cadets, and sent him, at his own expense, to France, where he studied drawing and the military art. After his return, he was made captain. But the consequences of an unhappy passion for the daughter of Sosnowski, marshal of Lithuania (who was afterwards married to the prince Jos. Lubomirski), obliged him to leave Poland. Solitary studies, particularly in history and mathematics, and an elevated character, prepared him for the struggle for freedom, in which he engaged under Washington, who made him his aid. He distinguished himself particularly at the siege of Ninety-Six, and was very highly esteemed by the army and the commander-in-chief. He and Lafayette were the only foreigners admitted into the Cincinnati. Kosciusko received the rank of general, and, in 1786, returned to Poland. When the Polish army was formed (1789), the diet appointed him a major-general. He declared himself for the constitution of May 3, 1791, and served under prince Joseph Poniatowski. In the campaign of 1792, he distinguished himself against the Russians at Zieleneck and Dubienka. At the latter place, under cover of some works which he had thrown up in the course of 24 hours, he repulsed, with 1000 men, three successive attacks of 18,000 Russians, who prevailed only after the loss of 4,000 men. Kosciusko retired without having suffered severely. When king Stanislaus submitted to Catharine, he, with sixteen other officers, left the army, and was, therefore, obliged to retire from Poland. He went to Leipsic; and the legislative assembly of France, at this time, gave him the rights of a French citizen. The Poles becoming impatient under the oppression of Russia, some of Kosciusko’s friends in Warsaw determined to make an effort for the liberation of their country. They chose Kosciusko as their general, and made him acquainted with their plans. He imparted them to the counts Ignatius, Potocki and Kolontai in Dresden, who thought the enterprise injudicious. Kosciusko, however, went to the frontier, and sent general Zajonczeck and general Dzialynski into the Russian provinces of Poland, to prepare everything in silence. But when the Polish army was merged, in part, in the Russian, and the remainder reduced to 15,000 men, the insurrection broke out before the time fixed on. In Posen, Madalinski forcibly opposed the dissolution of his regiment. All now flew to arms; the Russian garrison was expelled from Cracow. Just at this moment, Kosciusko entered the city. The citizens now formed the act of confederation of Cracow (March 24, 1794), and Kosciusko, at their head, called upon the Poles to restore the constitution of May 3. Kosciusko then advanced to meet the Russian forces. Without artillery, at the head of only 4,000 men, part of whom were armed only with scythes and pikes, he defeated 12,000 Russians at Raclawice (April 4, 1794.) His army was now increased to 9,000 men, and he formed a junction with general Grochowski.

In the mean time, the Russian garrisons of Warsaw and Wilna had been put to death, or made prisoners. Kosciusko checked the outbreak of popular fury, sent troops against Volhynia, and organized the government at Warsaw. He marched out of the city, with 13,000 men, to oppose 17,000 Russians and Prussians, attacked them at Szezekocini, June 6, but was defeated after an obstinate conflict. He retreated to his entrenched camp before Warsaw. The Prussians took Cracow. Disturbances broke out, in conseqence, in Warsaw, June 28. The people murdered a part of the prisoners, and hung some Poles who were connected with the Russians. But Kosciusko punished the guilty, and restored order. The king of Prussia now formed a junction with the Russians, and besieged Warsaw with 60,000 men. Kosciusko, however, kept up the courage of his countrymen. After two months of bloody fighting, he repelled, with 10,000 men, a general assault. All Great Poland now rose, under Dombrowski, against the Prussians. This circumstance, together with the loss of a body of artillery, compelled the king of Prussia to raise the siege of Warsaw. Thus this bold general, with an army of 20,000 regular troops and 40,000 armed peasants, maintained himself against four hostile armies, amounting together to 150,000 men.

His great power consisted in the confidence which his fellow-citizens reposed in him. The nephew of the king, once his general, served under him. Kosciusko had unlimited power in the republic, but he displayed the integrity of Washington, and the activity of Cæsar. He attended to procuring supplies, superintended the raising and payment of money, and prevented plundering and fraud, and was equally active in the council and the field. His days and nights, all his powers, were devoted to his country. He secured the administration of justice, abolished bondage, and finally restored to the nation, May 29, in the supreme national council which he established, the great power which had been delegated to him. Catharine at length decided the contest by an overwhelming superiority of numbers. Suwaroff defeated the Poles under Sierakowski at Brzec, in Volhynia, September 18th and 19th. Repnin penetrated through Lithuania, and formed a union with Suwaroff; general Fersen was to support them with 12,000 men. To prevent this, Kosciusko marched from Warsaw with 21,000 men. Poninski was to have supported him with his division; but the Russians intercepted the messenger. The united Russian armies under Fersen attacked the Poles, who were not more than one-third as strong as the Russians, October 10, at Macziewice (about 50 miles from Warsaw); they were three times repulsed, but, on the fourth attack, they broke through the Polish lines. Kosciusko fell from his horse covered with wounds, exclaiming ‘Finis Poloniæ’ and was made prisoner by the enemy. In losing him, his country lost all. Suwaroff stormed Praga November 4; Warsaw capitulated on the 9th; Madalinski left Great Poland; an Austrian army appeared before Lublin. But the noble efforts of the conquered had awakened the regard of Europe towards the unhappy country, and the dearest hopes of the nation――the restoration of their monarchy, with a free constitution――found a powerful support in public opinion. Catharine caused the hero and his noble colleagues, who were prisoners of war, to be thrown into a state prison. Paul I gave them their liberty, and distinguished Kosciusko by marks of his esteem. He presented his own sword to the general, who declined it with these words――‘I no longer need a sword, since I have no longer a country.’ To the day of his death, he never again wore a sword. Paul then presented him with 1,500 peasants, and his friend Niemcewicz, the poet, with 1,000. When on the Russian frontier, Kosciusko declined this present by a letter. He and his friend now went by the way of France and London, where Kosciusko was treated with distinction, to America (1797).

His fortune was very small. On his return to his native country after the war of the revolution, he had received a pension from America, and he now found there such a reception as he deserved. In 1798, he went to France. His countrymen in the Italian army presented to him the sabre of John Sobieski, which had been found (1799) at Loretto. Napoleon afterwards formed the plan of restoring Poland to its place among the nations, and thus, at the same time, injuring Russia, and extending his own power over the east of Europe. But Kosciusko would take no part in this struggle, which was conducted by Dombrowski, in 1807-8, being prevented less by ill health than by having given his word to Paul I never to serve against the Russians. To Napoleon’s proposals he answered, that ‘he would exert himself in the cause of Poland, when he saw the country possessed of its ancient territories, and having a free constitution.’ Fouche tried every means to carry him to Poland. An appeal to the Poles, which appeared under his name in the Moniteur of November 1, 1806, he declared to be spurious.

Having purchased an estate in the neighborhood of Fontainebleau, he lived there in retirement until 1814. April 9, 1814, he wrote to the emperor Alexander, to ask of him an amnesty for the Poles in foreign lands, and to request him to become king of Poland, and to give to the country a free constitution, like that of England. In 1815, he traveled with lord Stuart to Italy, and, in 1816, he settled at Soleure. In 1817, he abolished slavery on his estate of Siecnowicze, in Poland. He afterwards lived in retirement, enjoying the society of a few friends. Agriculture was his favorite occupation. A fall with his horse from a precipice, not far from Vevay, occasioned his death, October 16, 1817, at Soleure. He was never married. In 1818, prince Jablonowski, at the expense of the emperor Alexander, removed his body, which, at the request of the senate, the emperor allowed to be deposited in the tomb of the kings at Cracow. A monument was also erected to his memory, and the women went into mourning for his loss.

NATHANIEL GREENE.

Nathaniel Greene, a major-general in the American army, was born, May 22, 1742, near the town of Warwick in Rhode Island. His father was an anchor smith, and, at the same time, a Quaker preacher, whose ignorance, combined with the fanaticism of the times, made him pay little attention to the worldly learning of his children, though he was very careful of their moral and religious instruction. The fondness for knowledge, however, of young Greene was such, that he devoted all the time he could spare to its acquisition, and employed all his trifling gains in procuring books. His propensity for the life of a soldier was early evinced by his predilection for works on military subjects. He made considerable proficiency in the exact sciences; and, after he had attained his twentieth year, he added a tolerable stock of legal knowledge to his other acquisitions. In the year 1770, he was elected a member of the state legislature, and, in 1774, enrolled himself as a private in a company called the Kentish Guards. After the battle of Lexington, the state of Rhode Island raised what was termed an army of observation, in order to assist the forces collected in Massachusetts, for the purpose of confining the British within the limits of Boston, and chose Greene its commander, with the title of major-general. His elevation from the ranks to the head of three regiments, may give some idea of the estimation in which his military talents were held. June 6, 1775, he assumed his command before the lines of Boston; and, not long afterwards, General Washington arrived, to take the command in chief of the American forces. Between these two distinguished men an intimacy soon commenced, which was never interrupted. Greene accepted a commission from congress of brigadier-general, although, under the state, he held that of major-general; preferring the former, as it promised a larger sphere of action, and the pleasure of serving under the immediate command of Washington. When the American army had followed the enemy to New York, after the evacuation of Boston, they encamped, partly in New York and partly on Long Island. The division posted upon the island was under the orders of Greene; but, at the time of its unfortunate affair with the enemy, he was suffering under severe sickness, and General Sullivan was in command. When he had sufficiently recovered his health, he joined the retreating army, having previously been promoted to the rank of major-general, and was appointed to command the troops in New Jersey destined to watch the movements of a strong detachment of the British, which had been left in Staten Island. December 26, 1776, when Washington surprised the English at Trenton, Greene commanded the left wing of the American forces, which was the first that reached the town, and, having seized the enemy’s artillery, cut off their retreat to Princeton. Next summer, Sir William Howe having embarked with a large force at New York, for the purpose of landing on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake, and thence marching to Philadelphia, Washington hastened to oppose him; and, September 11, the battle of the Brandywine took place, in which the Americans were defeated. In this affair, Greene commanded the vanguard, together with Sullivan, and it became his duty to cover the retreat, in which he fully succeeded. After General Howe had obtained possession of Philadelphia, the British army, in consequence of this victory, encamped at Germantown, where an attack was made upon it by Washington, October 4, 1777, in which Greene commanded the left wing. The disastrous issue of this attempt is well known; but it has been asserted, that the left wing was the only part of the American army which had the good fortune to effect the service allotted it that day. The next service upon which General Greene was engaged, was that of endeavoring to prevent lord Cornwallis from collecting supplies, for which he had been detached into the Jerseys, with 3000 men; but, before Greene could bring him to an action, he had received reinforcements, which gave him so great a superiority, that the American general was recalled by the commander-in-chief. In March of the following year, Greene, at the solicitation of Washington, accepted the appointment of quarter-master-general, on two conditions; that he should retain his right of command in time of action, and that he should have the choice of two assistants. At the battle of Monmouth, in the ensuing month of June, he led the right wing of the second line, and mainly contributed to the partial success of the Americans. After this, he continued engaged in discharging the duties of his station until August, when he was sent to join Sullivan, who, with the forces under his command, aided by the French fleet under D’Estaing, was preparing to make an attempt upon Newport in Rhode Island, then in possession of the enemy. The command of the left wing of the troops was assigned to Greene. The enterprise, however, failed, in consequence of some misunderstanding between Sullivan and D’Estaign; and the consequent retreat of the American army was covered by Greene, who repulsed an attack of the enemy with half their number. When General Washington, alarmed for the safety of the garrisons on the North river, repaired to West Point, he left Greene in command of the army in New Jersey. The latter had not been long in that command, before he was attacked, near Springfield, by a force much superior to his, under Sir Henry Clinton; but the enemy were repulsed, though they burned the village. This affair happened June 23. October 6, he was appointed to succeed the traitor Arnold in the command at West Point. In this station, however, he continued only until the 14th of the same month, when he was chosen by General Washington to take the place of General Gates, in the chief direction of the southern army. From this moment, when he was placed in a situation where he could exercise his genius without control, dates the most brilliant portion of Greene’s career. The ability, prudence and firmness which he here displayed, have caused him to be ranked, in the scale of our revolutionary generals, second only to Washington. December 2, 1780, Greene arrived at the encampment of the American forces at Charlotte, and, on the 4th, assumed the command. After the battle of the Cowpens, gained by Morgan, January 17, 1781, he effected a junction with the victorious General, having previously been engaged in recruiting his army, which had been greatly thinned by death and desertion; but the numbers of Cornwallis were still so superior, that he was obliged to retreat into Virginia, which he did with a degree of skill that has been the theme of the highest eulogy. He, soon afterwards, however, returned to North Carolina, with an accession of force, and, March 15, encountered Cornwallis at Guilford court-house, where he was defeated; but the loss of the enemy was greater than his, and no advantages accrued to them from the victory. On the contrary, Cornwallis, a few days afterwards, commenced a retrograde movement towards Wilmington, leaving many of his wounded behind him, and was followed for some time by Greene. Desisting, however, from the pursuit, the latter marched into South Carolina, and a battle took place, April 25, between him and lord Rawdon, near Camden, in which he was again unsuccessful, though again the enemy were prevented by him from improving their victory, and, not long after, were obliged to retire. May 22, having previously reduced a number of the forts and garrisons in South Carolina, he commenced the siege of Ninety-Six, but in June the approach of lord Rawdon compelled him to raise it, and retreat to the extremity of the state. Expressing a determination ‘to recover South Carolina, or die in the attempt,’ he again advanced, when the British forces were divided, and lord Rawdon was pursued, in his turn, to his encampment at Orangeburg, where he was offered battle by his adversary, which was refused. September 8, Greene obtained a victory over the British forces under Colonel Stewart, at Eutaw Springs, which completely prostrated the power of the enemy in South Carolina. Greene was presented by congress with a British standard and a gold medal, as a testimony of their sense of his services on this occasion. This was the last action in which Greene was engaged. During the rest of the war, however, he continued in his command, struggling with the greatest difficulties, in consequence of the want of all kinds of supplies, and the mutinous disposition of some of his troops. When peace released him from his duties, he returned to Rhode Island; and his journey thither, almost at every step, was marked by some private or public testimonial of gratitude and regard. On his arrival at Princeton, where congress was then sitting, that body unanimously resolved, that ‘two pieces of field ordnance, taken from the British army at Cowpens, Augusta, or Eutaw,’ should be presented to him by the commander-in-chief. In October, 1785, Greene repaired, with his family, to Georgia, some valuable grants of lands near Savannah having been made to him by that state. He died June 19, 1786, in his 44th year, in consequence of an inflammation of the brain, contracted by exposure to the rays of an intense sun. General Greene possessed, in a great degree, not only the common quality of physical courage, but that fortitude and unbending firmness of mind, which are given to few, and which enabled him to bear up against the most cruel reverses, and struggle perseveringly with, and finally surmount, the most formidable difficulties. He was ever collected in the most trying situations, and prudence and judgment were distinguishing traits in his character. In his disposition, he was mild and benevolent; but when it was necessary, he was resolutely severe. No officer of the revolutionary army possessed a higher place in the confidence and affection of Washington, and, probably, none would have been so well calculated to succeed him, if death had deprived his country of his services during the revolutionary struggle.

FREDERIC WILLIAM AUGUSTUS STEUBEN.

Baron Von Frederic William Augustus Steuben; a distinguished Prussian officer, who attached himself to the American cause in the revolution of 1776. He had been aid-de-camp to Frederic the Great, and had attained the rank of lieutenant-general in his army. Sacrificing his honors and emoluments in Europe, Steuben came to America in 1777, and tendered his services to congress, as a volunteer in their army, without claiming any rank or compensation. He received the thanks of that body, and joined the main army under the commander-in-chief at Valley Forge. Baron Steuben soon rendered himself particularly useful to the Americans, by disciplining the forces. On the recommendation of general Washington, congress, in May 1778, appointed the baron inspector-general of the army, with the rank of major-general. His efforts in this capacity were continued with remarkable diligence, until he had placed the troops in a situation to withstand the enemy. In the estimates of the war office, 5000 extra muskets were generally allowed for the waste and destruction in the army; but such was the exact order under the superintendence of Steuben, that in his inspection return, but three muskets were deficient, and those accounted for. A complete scheme of exercise and discipline, which he composed, was adopted in the army by the direction of congress. He possessed the right of command in the line, and at one period was at the head of a separate detachment in Virginia. At the battle of Monmouth he was engaged as a volunteer. When reviewing the troops, it was his constant custom to reward the disciplined soldier with praise, and to pass severe censure upon the negligent. Numerous anecdotes are related illustrative of the generosity, purity and kindness of his disposition. After the treacherous defection of Arnold, the baron held his name in the utmost abhorrence. One day, he was inspecting a regiment of light horse, when that name struck his ear. The man was ordered to the front, and presented an excellent appearance. Steuben told him that he was too respectable to bear the name of a traitor; and at his request the soldier adopted that of the baron, whose bounty he afterwards experienced, and brought up a son by the same name.

At the siege of Yorktown, baron Steuben was in the trenches at the head of a division, where he received the first offer of lord Cornwallis to capitulate. The marquis de Lafayette appeared to relieve him in the morning; but, adhering to the European etiquette, the baron would not quit his post until the surrender was completed or hostilities recommenced. The matter being referred to general Washington, the baron was suffered to remain in the trenches till the enemy’s flag was struck. After the capture of Cornwallis, when the superior American officers were paying every attention to their captives, Steuben sold his favorite horse in order to raise money to give an entertainment to the British officers, as the other major-generals had previously done. His watch he had previously disposed of to relieve the wants of a sick friend. On another occasion, when he desired to reciprocate the invitations of the French officers, he ordered his people to sell his silver spoons and forks saying it was anti-republican to make use of such things, and adding, that the gentlemen should have one good dinner if he ate his meals with a wooden spoon for ever after. Steuben continued in the army till the close of the war, perfecting its discipline. The silence and dexterity of his movements surprised the French allies. He possessed the particular esteem of general Washington, who took every proper opportunity to recommend him to congress; from which body he received several sums of money, that were chiefly expended in acts of charity, or in rewarding the good conduct of the soldiers.

Upon the disbandment of the continental army at Newburgh, many affectionate bonds, formed amidst the danger and hardships of a long and arduous service, were to be broken asunder for ever. At this season of distress, the benevolent Steuben exerted himself to alleviate the forlorn condition of many. He gave his last dollar to a wounded black, to procure him a passage home. Peace being established, the baron retired to a farm in the vicinity of New York, where, in the society of his friends, and the amusements of books and chess, he passed his time as comfortably as his exhausted purse would allow. The state of New Jersey had given him a small farm, and that of New York 16,000 acres of land in the country of Oneida. The exertions of colonel Hamilton and general Washington subsequently procured him an annuity of $2500, from the general government. He built a log house, and cleared 60 acres of his tract of land, a portion of which he partitioned out, on easy terms, to twenty or thirty tenants, and distributed nearly a tenth among his aid-de-camps and servants. In this situation he lived contentedly, until the year 1795, when an apoplectic attack put an end to his life, in his sixty-fifth year. An abstract of his system of military manœuvres was published in 1779. The year preceding his death, he published a letter on the established militia and military arrangements.

BARON DE KALB.

Baron De Kalb, a major-general in the American army, was born in Germany, about the year 1717. When young, he entered into the service of France, in which he continued for 42 years, and obtained the rank of brigadier-general. In 1757, during the war between England and France, he was sent, by the French government, to the American colonies, in order to learn the points in which they were most vulnerable, and how far the seeds of discontent might be sown in them towards the mother country. He was seized, while in the performance of this commission, as a suspected person, but escaped detection. He then went to Canada, where he remained until its conquest by the British, after which he returned to France. In 1777, during the war of the revolution, he came a second time to the U. States, and offered his services to congress. They were accepted, and he was soon after made a major-general. At first he was placed in the northern army, but when the danger which threatened Charleston from the formidable expedition under sir Henry Clinton, in 1778, rendered it necessary to reinforce the American troops in the south, a detachment was sent to them, consisting of the Maryland and Delaware lines, which were put under his command. Before he could arrive, however, at the scene of action, general Lincoln had been made prisoner, and the direction of the whole southern army in consequence devolved upon the baron, until the appointment of general Gates. August 15th, Gates was defeated near Camden by lord Rawdon, and in the battle, baron de Kalb, who commanded the right wing, fell, covered with wounds, while gallantly fighting on foot. A tomb was erected to his memory, by order of congress, in the cemetery of Camden.

RICHARD MONTGOMERY.

Richard Montgomery, a major-general in the army of the U. States, was born in 1737, in the north of Ireland. He embraced the profession of arms, and served under Wolfe, at Quebec, in 1759; but, on his return to England, he left his regiment, although his prospects for promotion were fair. He then removed to America, for which country he entertained a deep affection; he purchased an estate in New York, about 100 miles from the city, and married a daughter of judge Livingston. His feelings in favor of America were so well known, that, on the commencement of the revolutionary struggle, he was entrusted with the command of the continental forces in the northern department, in conjunction with general Schuyler. The latter, however, fell sick, and the chief command in consequence, devolved upon Montgomery, who, after various successes (the reduction of fort Chamblee, the capture of St. John’s, and of Montreal), proceeded to the siege of Quebec. This he commenced Dec. 1, 1775, after having formed a junction with colonel Arnold, at Point-aux-Trembles; but, as his artillery was not of sufficient calibre to make the requisite impression, he determined upon attempting the capture of the place by storm. He made all his arrangements, and advanced, at the head of the New York troops, along the St. Lawrence. He assisted, with his own hands, in pulling up the pickets that obstructed his approach to the second barrier, which he was resolved to force, when the only gun fired from the battery of the enemy killed him and his two aid-de-camps. The three fell at the same time, and rolled upon the ice formed on the river. The next day his body was brought into Quebec, and buried without any mark of distinction. Congress directed a monument, with an inscription, to be erected to his memory, and placed in front of St. Paul’s church, in New York, and, July 8, 1818, his remains were brought from Quebec, in consequence of a resolve of the state of New York, and interred near the monument. General Montgomery was gifted with fine abilities, and had received an excellent education. His military talents, especially, were great; his measures were taken with judgment, and executed with vigor The sorrow for his loss was heightened by the esteem which his amiable character had gained him. At the period of his death, he was only 38 years of age.

GILBERT MOTIER LAFAYETTE.

Gilbert Motier Lafayette, (formerly marquis de,) was born at Chavagnac, near Brioude, in Auvergne, Sept. 6, 1757, was educated in the college of Louis le Grand, in Paris, placed at court as an officer in one of the guards of honor, and, at the age of 17, was married to the granddaughter of the duke de Noailles. It was under these circumstances that the young marquis de Lafayette entered upon a career so little to be expected of a youth of vast fortune, of high rank, of powerful connections, at the most brilliant and fascinating court in the world. He left France secretly for America, in 1777, and arrived at Charleston, South Carolina, April 25, being then 19 years old. The state of this country, it is well known, was at that time most gloomy: a feeble army, without clothing or arms, was with difficulty kept together before a victorious enemy; the government was without resources or credit, and the American agents in Paris were actually obliged to confess that they could not furnish the young nobleman with a conveyance. ‘Then,’ said he, ‘I will fit out a vessel myself;’ and he did so. The sensation produced in this country, by his arrival, was very great: it encouraged the almost disheartened people to hope for succor and sympathy from one of the most powerful nations in Europe. Immediately on his arrival, Lafayette received the offer of a command in the continental army, but declined it, raised and equipped a body of men at his own expense, and then entered the service as a volunteer without pay. He lived in the family of the commander-in-chief, and won his full affection and confidence. He was appointed major-general in July, and, in September, was wounded at Brandywine. He was employed in Pennsylvania and Rhode Island in 1778, and, after receiving the thanks of his country for his important services, embarked at Boston, in January, 1779, for France, where it was thought that he could assist the cause more effectually for a time. The treaty concluded between France and America, about the same period, was, by his personal exertions, made effective in our favor, and he returned to America with the intelligence that a French force would soon be sent to this country. Immediately on his arrival, he entered the service, and received the command of a body of infantry of about 2000 men, which he clothed and equipped, in part, at his own expense. His forced march to Virginia, in December, 1780, raising 2000 guineas at Baltimore, on his own credit, to supply the wants of his troops; his rescue of Richmond; his long trial of generalship with Cornwallis, who boasted that ‘the boy could not escape him;’ the siege of Yorktown, and the storming of the redoubt, are proofs of his devotion to the cause of American independence. Desirous of serving that cause at home, he again returned to France for that purpose. Congress, which had already acknowledged his merits on former occasions, now passed new resolutions, Nov. 23, 1781, in which, besides the usual marks of approbation, they desired the American ministers to confer with him in their negotiations. In France, a brilliant reputation had preceded him, and he was received with the highest marks of public admiration. Still he urged upon his government the necessity of negotiating with a powerful force in America, and succeeded in obtaining orders to this effect. On his arrival in Cadiz, he found 49 ships with 20,000 men, ready to follow him to America, had not peace rendered it unnecessary. A letter from him communicated the first intelligence of that event to congress. The importance of his services in France may be seen by consulting his letters in the Correspondence of the American Revolution, (Boston, 1831.) He received pressing invitations, however, to revisit the country. Washington in particular, urged it strongly; and, for the third time, Lafayette landed in the United States, Aug. 4, 1784. After passing a few days at Mount Vernon, he visited Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, etc., and was everywhere received with the greatest enthusiasm and delight. Previous to his return to France, congress appointed a deputation, consisting of one member from each state, ‘to take leave of him on behalf of the country, and assure him that these United States regard him with particular affection, and will not cease to feel an interest in whatever may concern his honor and prosperity.’ After his return, he was engaged in endeavoring to mitigate the condition of the Protestants in France, and to effect the abolition of slavery. In the assembly of the notables, in 1787, he proposed the suppression of lettres de cachet, and of the state-prisons, the emancipation of the Protestants, and the convocation of the representatives of the nation. When asked by the count D’Artois, since Charles X, if he demanded the states-general――‘Yes,’ was his reply, ‘and something better.’ Being elected a member of the states-general, which took the name of national assembly (1789), he proposed a declaration of rights, and the decree providing for the responsibility of the officers of the crown. Two days after the attack on the Bastile, he was appointed (July 15) commander-in-chief of the national guards of Paris. The court and national assembly were still at Versailles, and the populace of Paris, irritated at this, had already adopted, in sign of opposition, a blue and red cockade (being the colors of the city of Paris). July 26, Lafayette added to this cockade the white of the royal arms, declaring at the same time that the tri-color should go round the world. On the march of the populace to Versailles (October 5 and 6), the national guards clamored to be led thither. Lafayette refused to comply with their demand, until, having received orders in the afternoon, he set off, and arrived at 10 o’clock, after having been on horseback from before daylight. He requested that the interior posts of the chateau might be committed to him; but this request was refused, and the outer posts only were entrusted to the national guards. This was the night on which the assassins murdered two of the queen’s guards, and were proceeding to further acts of violence, when Lafayette, at the head of the national troops, put an end to the disorder, and saved the lives of the royal family. In the morning he accompanied them to Paris. On the establishment of the Jacobin club at Paris, he organized, with Bailly, then mayor of Paris, the opposing club of Feuillans. Jan. 20, 1790, he supported the motion for the abolition of titles of nobility, from which period he renounced his own, and has never since resumed it. The constitution of a representative monarchy, which was the object of his wishes, was now proposed, and July 13, 1790, was appointed for its acceptance by the king and the nation, and, in the name of 4,000,000 national guards, Lafayette swore fidelity to the constitution. Declining the dangerous power of constable of France, or generalissimo of the national guards of the kingdom, after having organized the national militia, and defended the king from the popular violence, he resigned all command, and retired to his estates. The first coalition against France (1792) soon called him from his retirement. Being appointed one of the three major-generals in the command of the French armies, he established discipline, and defeated the enemy at Philippeville, Maubeuge and Florennes, when his career of success was interrupted by the domestic factions of his country. Lafayette openly denounced the terrible Jacobins, in his letter of June 16, in which he declared that the enemies of the revolution, under the mask of popular leaders, were endeavoring to stifle liberty under the excesses of licentiousness. June 20, he appeared at the bar of the assembly, to vindicate his conduct, and demand the punishment of the guilty authors of the violence. But the Mountain had already overthrown the constitution, and nothing could be effected. Lafayette then offered to conduct the king and his family to Compiègne. This proffer being declined, he returned to the army, which he endeavored to rally round the constitution. June 30, he was burnt in effigy at the Palais-Royal, and Aug. 5, was accused of treason before the assembly. Still he declared himself openly against the proceedings of August 10; but, finding himself unsupported by his soldiers, he determined to leave the country, and take refuge in some neutral ground. Some persons have charged general Lafayette with a want of firmness at this period; but it is without a full understanding of the situation of things. Conscious that a price was set on his head at home, knowing that his troops would not support him against the principles which were triumphing in the clubs and the assembly, and sensible that, even if he were able to protract the contest with the victorious faction, the frontiers would be exposed to the invasions of the emigrants and their foreign allies, with whom he would have felt it treason against the nation to have negotiated, he had no alternative. Having been captured by an Austrian patrol, he was delivered to the Prussians, by whom he was again transferred to Austria. He was carried, with great secrecy, to Olmutz, where he was subjected to every privation and suffering, and cut off from all communication with his friends, who were not even able to discover the place of his confinement until late in 1794. An unsuccessful attempt was made to deliver him from prison by Dr. Bollman, a German, and colonel Huger, of Charleston, S. C. His wife and daughters, however, succeeded in obtaining admission to him, and remained with him nearly two years, till his release. Washington had written directly to the emperor of Austria on his behalf, without effect; but, after the memorable campaign of Bonaparte in Italy, the French government required that the prisoners at Olmutz should be released, which was done Aug. 25, 1797, after a negotiation that lasted three months. Refusing to take any part in the revolutions of the 18th Fructidor, or of the 18th Brumaire, he returned to his estate at La Grange, and, declining the dignity of senator, offered him by Bonaparte, he gave his vote against the consulate for life, and, taking no further part in public affairs, devoted himself to agricultural pursuits. On the restoration of the Bourbons, in 1814, he perceived that their principles of government were not such as France required, and he did not therefore leave his retirement. The 20th of March, 1815, again saw Napoleon on the imperial throne, and endeavoring to conciliate the nation by the profession of liberal principles Lafayette refused, though urged, through the medium of Joseph, to see him, protested against the acte additionnel of April 22, declined the peerage offered him by the emperor, but accepted the place of representative, to which the votes of his fellow-citizens called him. He first met Napoleon at the opening of the chambers: the emperor received him with great marks of kindness, to which, however, he did not respond; but, although he would take no part in the projects of Napoleon, he gave his vote for all necessary supplies, on the ground that France was invaded, and that it was the duty of all Frenchmen to defend their country. June 21, Napoleon returned from Waterloo, and it was understood that it was determined to dissolve the house of representatives, and establish a dictatorship. Two of his counselors informed Lafayette that in two hours the representative body would cease to exist. Immediately on the opening of the session, he ascended the tribune, and addressed the house as follows: ‘When, for the first time after an interval of many years, I raise a voice which all the old friends of liberty will still recognize, it is to speak of the dangers of the country, which you only can save. This, then, is the moment for us to rally round the old tri-colored standard, the standard of ‘89, of liberty, of equality, of public order, which we have now to defend against foreign violence, and domestic usurpation.’ He then moved that the house declare itself in permanent session, and all attempts to dissolve it high treason; that whoever should make such an attempt, should be considered a traitor, etc. In the evening, Napoleon sent Lucien to the house, to make one more effort in his favor. Lucien, in a strain of impassioned eloquence, conjured the house not to compromise the honor of the French nation by inconstancy to the emperor. At these words, Lafayette rose in his place, and, addressing himself directly to the orator, exclaimed, ‘Who dares accuse the French nation of inconstancy to the emperor? Through the sands of Egypt, and the wastes of Russia, over 50 fields of battle, this nation has followed him devotedly; and it is for this that we now mourn the blood of three millions of Frenchmen.’

This appeal had such an effect on the assembly, that Lucien resumed his seat without finishing his discourse. A deputation of five members from each house was then appointed to deliberate in committee with the council of ministers. Of this deputation, general Lafayette was a member, and he moved that a committee should be sent to the emperor to demand his abdication. The arch-chancellor refused to put the motion; but the emperor sent in his abdication the next morning (June 22). A provisional government was formed, and Lafayette was sent to demand a suspension of hostilities of the allies, which was refused. On his return, he found Paris in possession of the enemy; and, a few days after (July 8), the doors of the representatives’ chamber were closed, and guarded by Prussian troops. Lafayette conducted a number of the members to the house of Lanjuinais, the president, where they drew up a protest against this act of violence, and quietly separated. Lafayette now retired once more to La Grange, where he remained till 1818, when he was chosen member of the chamber of deputies. Here he continued to support his constitutional principles, by opposing the laws of exception, the establishment of the censorship of the press, the suspension of personal liberty, etc, and by advocating the cause of public instruction, the organization of a national militia, and the inviolability of the charter.

In August, 1824, he landed at New York, on a visit to the United States, upon the invitation of the president, and was received, in every part of the country, with the warmest expressions of delight and enthusiasm. He was proclaimed, by the popular voice, ‘the guest of the nation,’ and his presence was everywhere the signal for festivals and rejoicings. He passed through the 24 states of the Union in a sort of triumphal procession, in which all parties joined to forget their dissensions, in which the veterans of the war renewed their youth, and the young were carried back to the doings and sufferings of their fathers. Having celebrated, at Bunker hill, the anniversary of the first conflict of the revolution, and, at Yorktown, that of its closing scene, in which he himself had borne so conspicuous a part, and taken leave of the four ex-presidents of the United States, he received the farewell of the president in the name of the nation, and sailed from the capital in a frigate named, in compliment to him, the Brandywine, September 7, 1825, and arrived at Havre, where the citizens, having peaceably assembled to make some demonstration of their respect for his character, were dispersed by the gendarmerie. In December preceding, the congress of the United States made him a grant of $200,000, and a township of land, ‘in consideration of his important services and expenditures during the American revolution.’ The grant of money was in the shape of stock, bearing interest at six per cent., and redeemable December 31, 1834. In August, 1827, he attended the obsequies of Manuel, over whose body he pronounced a eulogy. In November, the chamber of deputies was dissolved. Lafayette was again returned a member by the new elections. Shortly before the revolution of 1830, he traveled to Lyons, etc., and was enthusiastically received――a striking contrast to the conduct of the ministers towards him, and an alarming symptom to the despotic government. During the revolution of July, 1830, he was appointed general-in-chief of the national guards of Paris, and, though not personally engaged in the fight, his activity and name were of the greatest service. To the Americans, Lafayette, the intimate friend of Washington, had appeared, in his late visit, almost like a great historical character returning from beyond the grave. In the eyes of the French, he was a man of the early days of their revolution――a man, moreover, who never changed side or principle. His undeviating consistency is acknowledged by all, even by those who do not allow him the possession of first rate talents. When the national guards were established throughout France, after the termination of the struggle, he was appointed their commander-in-chief, and his activity in this post was admirable. August 17, he was made marshal of France. His influence with the government seems to have been, for some time, great, but whether his principles were too decidedly republican to please the new authorities (a few days after the adoption of the new charter, he declared himself against hereditary peerage, and repeatedly called himself a pupil of the American school), or whether he was considered as the rallying point of the republican party, or whatever may have been the reason, he sent in his resignation in December, 1830, which was accepted, and count Lobau appointed chief of the national guards of Paris. Lafayette declared from the tribune, that he had acted thus in consequence of the distrust which the power accompanying his situation seemed to excite in some people. On the same occasion, he also expressed his disappprobation of the new law of election. Shortly before his resignation, he exerted himself most praiseworthily to maintain order during the trial of the ex-ministers. The Poles made him first grenadier of the Polish national guards. He died at Paris, May 18, 1834. Regnault-Warin’s Memoires sur le General Lafayette (Paris, 1824), contains many facts relative to his political life in France. His secretary, M. Levasseur, published an account of his tour in the United States (Paris, 1825), which has been translated in America.

ISRAEL PUTNAM.

Israel Putnam, a distinguished soldier in the French and English wars, and subsequently in that of the revolution, was born of English parents, at Salem, in the then province of Massachusetts, Jan. 7th, 1718. Being intended for a farmer, he received only a common education. He had a strong mind, vigorous constitution, great bodily strength, enterprise and activity, excelled in athletic exercises, and, while a stripling, was ambitious of performing the full labor of manhood. He married very young, and removed, in 1739, to Pomfret, in Connecticut, where he had purchased a tract of land. During his residence there, his flocks and those of his neighbors being terribly thinned by a monstrous she wolf, Putnam with a few associates, traced the ferocious animal to a deep cavern in a rock. Into this he crept alone, with a torch in one hand and a musket in the other, and, at the utmost personal risk, destroyed the creature. When the war of 1755 broke out between France and England, he was appointed, at the age of thirty-seven, commander of a company, enlisted the necessary number of recruits from the young men in his vicinity, and joined the army then commencing the campaign near Crown Point. His services as a partisan officer were unremitting and great, and caused him to be promoted, in 1757, to the rank of major, by the legislature of Connecticut. In 1758, he fell into the Indian ambuscade, and was taken prisoner, when returning to Fort Edward from an expedition to watch the enemy’s movements near Ticonderoga. The Indians were about to burn him to death, having already tied him to a tree and set fire to a circle of combustibles around him, when he was rescued by the interposition of their leader, Molang, a famous French partisan officer. He was then carried to Ticonderoga, where he underwent an examination before the Marquis De Montcalm, who ordered him to Montreal. There he found several fellow prisoners, among whom was colonel Peter Schuyler, who immediately visited, and found him almost destitute of clothing and dreadfully wounded and bruised. The colonel supplied him with money and, having clothed himself in a decent garb, he was immediately treated with the respect due his rank. An exchange of prisoners procured Putnam his liberty. He resumed his military duties, and, having been previously appointed a lieutenant-colonel, rendered especial service at the siege of Montreal by the British, in 1760. In 1762, after war had been declared between England and Spain, he accompanied the expedition, under Lord Albemarle, against the Havana. In 1764, having been appointed colonel, he marched, at the head of a regiment, with general Bradstreet, against the savages of the western frontier. On his return from this expedition, which resulted in a treaty between the contending parties, he betook himself, once more, to a country life, filled several offices in his native town, to represent it in the general assembly. In 1770, he went, with general Lyman and some others, to explore a grant of land on the Mississippi. General Lyman died there; but Putnam returned after having made some improvements on his tract. When hostilities commenced between England and the colonies (April 18th, 1775,) Putnam received the intelligence as he was plowing in the middle of a field; he left his plow there, unyoked his team, and, without changing his clothes, set off for the scene of action. Finding the British shut up and closely invested with a sufficient force in Boston, he returned to Connecticut, levied a regiment under colonial authority, and marched to Cambridge. His colony now appointed him a major-general on the provincial staff, and congress soon after confirmed to him the same rank on the continental. About this time the British offered him the rank of a major-general in his majesty’s army, with a pecuniary remuneration for his treason; but the temptation could not influence him. In the several preparatory operations for the battle of Bunker’s hill, he took an active part. After the commencement of the retreat at the battle of Bunker’s hill, Putnam arrived on the field with a reinforcement, and performed everything to be expected from a brave and experienced officer; the enemy pursued the retreating Americans to Winter hill, but Putnam halted there, and drove them back, under cover of their ships. On the evacuation of Boston, March 17th 1776, the greater part of the forces were dispatched to New York, and Putnam was, some time after, sent thither to take upon him the command. After the disastrous action on Long Island, and general Washington’s masterly retreat from thence, Putnam was nominated to the command of the right grand division of the army. He served some time in the vicinity of New York and was sent to the western side of the Hudson, and shortly after, to suprintend the fortifications of Philadelphia. After the battles of Trenton and Princeton, he was posted at Princeton, where he continued till the ensuing spring, with a very inferior force, guarding a considerable extent of frontier, curtailing and harrassing the enemy, without sustaining the least disaster. During his stay at Princeton, by attacking the foraging parties of the enemy and assemblages of the disaffected who infested his vicinity, he captured nearly a thousand prisoners.

In the spring of 1777, he was appointed to the command of a separate army in the highlands of New York. There was no regular enemy in this neighborhood, but the country around was filled with tories, and a species of banditti, called cow-boys, who committed shocking depredations. Many of the tories clandestinely traversed the country, with messages from one British army to another, and even on recruiting expeditions for the royal service. One of them, a lieutenant in the new tory levies, was detected in the American camp, and reclaimed by governor Tryon, his commander, with threats of vengeance in case of his punishment. He received this laconic answer from general Putnam: ‘Sir: Nathan Palmer, a lieutenant in your king’s service, was taken in my camp as a spy; he was tried as a spy; he was condemned as a spy; and you may rest assured, Sir, he shall be hanged as a spy.… P. S. Afternoon. He is hanged.’ After the capture of Fort Montgomery, Putnam selected West Point as the best calculated site for a fortress to protect the river. The reputation it afterwards attained, evinced the judiciousness of this selection. After the battle of Monmouth, Putnam was posted, for the winter, at Reading in Connecticut, that he might protect the country adjoining to the Sound, and the garrison at West Point. While he was on a visit to one of his outposts governor Tryon advanced upon him with 1500 men. Putnam had with him but 150 men and two field-pieces, with which he kept the enemy at bay some time. At length, seeing the enemy preparing to charge, he ordered his men to retire to a swamp, while he plunged down a precipice so steep as to have artificial steps, nearly one hundred in number, for the use of foot passengers. The enemy’s dragoons stopped short, afraid to venture, although within a sword’s length of him. While they went round the brow of the hill to gain the valley, he raised a force sufficiently strong to pursue Tryon on his retreat. In the campaign of 1779, he commanded the Maryland line, stationed near West Point. In the autumn of this year, the American army retired into winter quarters, at Morristown, and Putnam accompanied his family into Connecticut for a few weeks. At the commencement of his journey from thence to Morristown, while on the road between Pomfret and Hartford, he was seized with an extraordinary numbness of his right hand and foot, which crept gradually upon him, until his right side became, in a considerable degree, paralyzed. This severe affliction produced a transient depression of his mind; but he conquered his dejection, and resumed his naturally cheerful temper. He was still able to walk and ride moderately, and the faculties of his mind were unimpaired. In this situation he lived to see his country enjoying that independence of which he had been so able a champion, and died at Brookline, in Connecticut, May 29th 1790, aged seventy-two years.

STEPHEN DECATUR.

Stephen Decatur, a celebrated American naval officer, was born January 5, 1779, on the eastern shore of Maryland, whither his parents had retired while the British were in Philadelphia. He entered the American navy in March, 1798, and was soon promoted to the rank of first lieutenant. While at Syracuse, attached to the squadron of commodore Preble, he was first informed of the fate of the American frigate Philadelphia, which, in pursuing a Tripolitan corsair, ran on a rock about four and a half miles from Tripoli, and was taken by the Tripolitans, and towed into the harbor. Lieutenant Decatur conceived the project of attempting her recapture or destruction. He selected, for this purpose, a ketch, and manned her with 70 volunteers. February 16, 1804, at 7 o’clock at night, he entered the harbor of Tripoli, boarded the frigate, though she had all her guns mounted and charged, and was lying within half-gun shot of the bashaw’s castle and of his principal battery. Two Tripolitan cruisers were lying within two cables’ length, on the starboard quarter and several gun-boats within half-gun-shot on the starboard bow, and all the batteries upon the shore were opened upon the assailants. Decatur set fire to the frigate, and continued alongside until her destruction was certain. For this exploit, the American congress voted him thanks and a sword, and the president immediately sent him a captaincy. The next spring, it being resolved to make an attack upon Tripoli, commodore Preble equipped six gun-boats and two bombards, formed them into two divisions, and gave the command of one of them to captain Decatur. The enemy’s gun-boats were moored along the mouth of the harbor, under the batteries, and within musket-shot. Captain Decatur determined to board the enemy’s eastern division, consisting of nine. He boarded in his own boat, and carried two of the enemy’s boats in succession. When he boarded the second boat, he immediately attacked her commander, who was his superior in size and strength, and, his sword being broken, he seized the Turk, when a violent scuffle ensued. The Turk threw him, and drew a dirk for the purpose of stabbing him, when Decatur, having a small pistol in his right pocket, took hold of it, and, turning it as well as he could, so as to take effect upon his antagonist, cocked it, fired through his pocket, and killed him. When Commodore Preble was superseded in the command of the squadron, he gave the frigate Constitution to Decatur, who was afterwards removed to the Congress, and returned home in her when peace was concluded with Tripoli. He succeeded commodore Barron in the command of the Chesapeake, after the attack made upon her by the British man-of-war Leopard. He was afterwards transferred to the frigate United States. In the war between Great Britain and the United States, while commanding the frigate United States, he fell in, Oct. 25, 1812, with the Macedonian, mounting 49 carriage-guns, one of the finest of the British vessels of her class, and captured her after an engagement of an hour and a half. When captain Carden, the commander of the Macedonian, tendered him his sword, he observed that he could not think of taking the sword of an officer who had defended his ship so gallantly, but should be happy to take him by the hand. In a letter written five days after the capture, he says, “I need not tell you that I have done every thing in my power to soothe and console captain Carden; for, really, one half the pleasure of this little victory is destroyed in witnessing the mortification of a brave man, who deserved success quite as much as we did who obtained it.” In January, 1814, commodore Decatur, in the United States, with his prize the Macedonian, then equipped as an American frigate, was blockaded at New London by a British squadron greatly superior in force. A challenge which he sent to the commander of the British squadron, sir Thomas Hardy, offering to meet two of the British frigates with his two ships, was declined. In January, 1815, he attempted to set sail from New York, which was blockaded by four British ships; but the frigate under his command, the President, was injured in passing the bar, and was captured by the whole squadron, after having maintained a running fight of two hours and a half with one of the frigates, the Endymion, which was dismantled and silenced. After the conclusion of peace, he was restored to his country, in 1815. The conduct of the Barbary powers, and of Algiers in particular, having been insulting to the United States, on the ratification of peace with Great Britain, war was declared against Algiers, and a squadron was fitted out, under the command of commodore Decatur, for the purpose of obtaining redress. In the spring of 1815, he set sail, and, June 17, off cape de Gatt, captured an Algerine frigate, after a running fight of 25 minutes, in which the famous admiral Rais Hammida, who had long been the terror of the Mediterranean sea, fell. The American squadron arrived at Algiers June 28. In less than 48 hours, Decatur terrified the regency into his own terms, which were, mainly, that no tribute should ever be required, by Algiers, from the United States of America; that all Americans in slavery should be given up without ransom; that compensation should be made for American property seized; that all citizens of the United States, taken in war, should be treated as prisoners of war are by other nations, and not as slaves, but held subject to an exchange without ransom. After concluding this treaty, he proceeded to Tunis, where he obtained indemnity for the outrages exercised or permitted by the bashaw. Thence he went to Tripoli, where he made a similar demand with like success, and procured the release of 10 captives, Danes and Neapolitans. He arrived at the United States Nov. 12, 1815, was subsequently appointed one of the board of navy commissioners, and was residing at Washington, in that capacity, when he was killed in a duel with commodore Barron, March 22, 1820, occasioned by his animadversions on the conduct of the latter. Courage, sagacity, energy, self-possession, and a high sense of honor, were the characteristic traits of Decatur. From his boyhood, he was remarkable for the qualities which presage eminence in naval warfare. He enjoyed the sea as his element. He possessed an active, muscular frame, a quick and penetrating eye, and a bold, adventurous and ambitious spirit.

COMMODORE ISAAC HULL.

Commodore Isaac Hull, was born in Connecticut, March 9th 1775. His father was an officer in the American army during the whole of the revolutionary war, and was detained for a long time a prisoner in the Jersey prison-ship. Commodore Hull’s passion for the sea was very early displayed, and became stronger as he grew up. With the hope of diverting his attention to other pursuits, he was sent by his friends to his uncle, General William Hull, at Boston, where he went to school. The object desired, however, not having been accomplished, they consented to his making a voyage. This proved a disastrous one; the vessel in which he sailed being wrecked on the coast of Ireland. He nevertheless returned home fortified in his resolution of leading the life of a seaman, which his family no longer opposed. At the age of 19, he already commanded a ship to London. On the passage of a bill by Congress for the increase of the navy, he made application for a lieutenantcy in the U. S. service, and devoted himself assiduously, while awaiting the decision of the government in his case, to the studies necessary for the naval profession. He was commissioned as a lieutenant on the 9th of March 1798, the day on which he completed his 23d year. He was ordered to the frigate Constitution, then preparing for sea at Boston. For a period of about four years, he was occupied in cruising on the West India station, for the protection of American merchantmen going to or returning from the Windward Islands. In 1808, he distinguished himself by cutting out of the harbor of Port Platte, in the island of Hayti, the French letter of marque, the Sandwich; an enterprise executed with great gallantry and spirit, and without any loss to the assailants. On the return of the Constitution to Boston, Lieutenant Hull was directed to superintend the repairs of the ship; but before this service was completed, he was ordered to proceed as first lieutenant of the frigate Adams to the Mediterranean. He subsequently commanded the schooner Enterprise of 12 guns, and rendered in her effectual aid to Captain Rodgers in the John Adams, in capturing a large corsair before the harbor of Tripoli. The next vessel that he was appointed to command was the Argus of 16 guns, which was in 1804; in which year, also, he was promoted to the rank of a master-commandant. He was made a captain in 1806. In the Argus, he cruised for some time off the coast of Morocco to watch the movements of corsairs in the ports of that state; and after rejoining Commodore Preble’s squadron off Tripoli, he was ordered to the Bay of Naples, and charged with the protection of American property in the event of the French gaining possession of that city. The next office intrusted to him was the conveying, on board of his vessel, of General Eaton and his officers to Alexandria, in Egypt. He at length returned to the United States, after an absence of four years and three months, and was immediately ordered to superintend the construction of gun-boats, in pursuance of the system adopted during the administration of President Jefferson. He was successively appointed to the command of the Norfolk Navy-Yard, and gun-boats on that station; to the command of the frigate Chesapeake; to that of the Constitution, in which vessel he conveyed to France, Mr. Barlow, the American minister to Napoleon; and to that of the navy-yard and gun-boats in the harbor of New York. At the commencement of the war of 1812, Captain Hull was appointed once more to command the Constitution frigate. He sailed in her from Annapolis on the 12th of July; and in the course of a few days an opportunity was afforded him of exhibiting a specimen of skillful seamanship and naval manœuvring, of so extraordinary a nature as to excite the admiration even of the enemy. After a chase of nearly three days, and as many nights, he succeeded in effecting his escape from a British squadron consisting of the Africa 64 gun-ship, 4 frigates and a brig. On the 19th of the following month, he had the good fortune to encounter the Guerriere, one of the frigates of this squadron, single-handed. There is, perhaps, no instance on record of a greater execution having been performed by an equal force, and in an equal time, in naval warfare, than was done by the Constitution on the present occasion. Although there was an interval of about two hours between the firing of the first and the last shot, the battle was really won in a fourth part of that time. Of the Americans 14 only, of the British 79, were killed or wounded; and while the Constitution was so little injured as to be ready to engage another frigate immediately afterwards, had she been called upon to do so, the Guerriere was completely dismasted, and reduced to a mere wreck. On his return into port, Captain Hull gave up the command of the Constitution, ‘with a feeling,’ to use the words of Mr. Cooper, ‘that was highly creditable to him, in order to allow others an equal chance to distinguish themselves; there being unfortunately many more captains than vessels in the navy at that trying moment.’ He was then appointed to the command of the navy-yard at Boston, and about a year afterwards was transferred to that at Portsmouth, in New Hampshire, where he remained until he was selected to be one of the first Navy Commissioners. After holding this office for a few months only, he accepted once more the command of the Boston station, and remained there eight years. At the expiration of this time, he was sent, in the frigate United States, to command the American squadron in the Pacific Ocean. Returning home in three or four years, he was ordered to the command of the Washington Navy-Yard. There he spent seven years, and, having obtained leave of absence, went to Europe with his family, and continued abroad two years. Upon his return, he was employed on various courts-martial, and other duties, for about 12 months. He was then appointed to the command of the line-of-battle-ship Ohio, and of the Mediterranean squadron; which cruise lasted nearly three years. Commodore Hull, finding his health to have become seriously impaired by the unremitted and arduous duties which he had been called upon to perform, asked for, and had granted to him, an unconditional leave of absence from the naval service. He established himself in the city of Philadelphia in the month of October 1842. And he died here on the 13th of February 1843. He was ever exemplary in the performance of his private, as of his public duties; and the modesty, amiability, and courtesy, of his intercourse with others, as strikingly characterized him as did his self-possession and intrepidity in danger.

OLIVER HAZARD PERRY.

Oliver Hazard Perry, a distinguished American naval officer, was born at Newport, Rhode Island, in August, 1785. His father was an officer in the United States navy, and he was early destined to follow his father’s profession. In 1798, he entered the service as a midshipman on board the sloop of war General Greene, then commanded by his father; and, when that vessel went out of commission, he was transferred to a squadron destined to the Mediterranean. He served during the Tripolitan war, and, though debarred, by his extreme youth, from an opportunity of distinguishing himself, he acquired, by his conduct, the regard and favor of his superior officers, and the friendship and esteem of his associates. Continuing sedulously attentive to his profession, he rose with sure and regular steps. In 1810, he was attached, as lieutenant-commandant, to the squadron of commodore Rodgers, at New London, and employed in cruising in the sound, to enforce the embargo act. In the following spring, he had the misfortune to be wrecked on Watch Hill reef, opposite Stonington, in consequence of having become enveloped in a thick mist, which prevented all possibility of ascertaining his course. By his intrepidity and coolness, however, he succeeded, in a great measure, in saving the guns and property, and got off all his crew. He was examined before a court of inquiry, at his own request, in relation to the loss, and not merely acquitted of all blame, but highly applauded for his conduct. He also received a very complimentary letter, on the occasion, from the secretary of the navy, Mr. Hamilton. Soon after this event, he returned to Newport, where he married the daughter of doctor Mason.

In the beginning of 1812, he was promoted to the rank of master and commander, and ordered to the command of the flotilla of gun-boats stationed at the harbor of New York. After remaining there a year, he grew tired of the irksome and inglorious nature of this service, and solicited to be removed to another of a more active kind. His request was complied with; and, as he had mentioned the lakes, he was ordered to repair to Sacket’s Harbor, lake Ontario, with a body of mariners, to reinforce commodore Chauncey. Such was his popularity amongst the sailors under his command, that, as soon as the order was known, almost all of them volunteered to accompany him. The rivers being completely frozen at the time, he was obliged, at the head of a large number of chosen seamen, to perform the journey by land, which he safely accomplished. Not long after his arrival at Sacket’s Harbor, commodore Chauncey detached him to take command of the squadron on lake Erie, and superintend the building of additional vessels. He immediately applied to increase his armament, and, with extraordinary exertions, two brigs, of twenty guns each were soon launched at Erie, the American port on the lake. When he found himself in a condition to cope with the British force on the same waters, although the latter were still superior in men and guns, he sought the contest, and, on the morning of the 10th of September, 1813, he achieved the victory which has given his name a permanent place in the history of his country. The details of this famous action, the manner in which it was brought to a fortunate issue by the intrepidity of the commander, in exposing himself in a small boat, for the purpose of shifting his flag from a vessel no longer tenable to one in which he could continue the fight, and in which he did continue it until the enemy’s pennant was lowered, are matters of history familiar to all. The merit of Perry is greatly enhanced by the reflection, that, whilst no victory was ever more decidedly the result of the skill and valor of the commander, this was the first action of any kind he had ever seen. The moderation and courtesy which he displayed towards the enemy, after the termination of the contest, were worthy of the gallantry by which it was gained, and caused the British commander, who had lost the battle by no fault of his, to say that ‘the conduct of Perry towards the captive officers and men, was sufficient of itself to immortalize him.’ In testimony of his merit, Perry was promoted to the rank of captain, received the thanks of congress and a medal, and the like marks of honor from the senate of Pennsylvania.

After the evacuation of Malden by the enemy, Perry acted as a volunteer aid to general Harrison, in his pursuit of the British, and was present at the battle of Moraviantown, October 5. At the time of the invasion of Maryland and Virginia, he commanded a body of seamen and mariners on the Potomac. He was afterwards appointed to command the Java frigate, built at Baltimore, and, on the conclusion of peace with England, sailed, in 1815, in the squadron under commodore Decatur, despatched to the Mediterranean to settle affairs between the United States and Algiers. While in that sea, some difference arose between him and Mr. Heath, commandant of marines on board his ship. This produced a courtmartial, by which both were subjected to a private reprimand from commodore Chauncey; but the affair did not terminate until a hostile meeting had taken place. The duel was fought in New Jersey, opposite to New York, in the summer of 1818. Neither party was injured, Heath having missed his aim, and Perry having fired in the air. In June, 1819, commodore Perry sailed from Chesapeake in the United States ship John Adams, for the West Indies and a cruise, with sealed orders, and was subsequently joined by other vessels, the whole under his command. His term of service, however, was near its end. In August, 1820, he was attacked by the yellow fever, and, after a few days’ illness, expired on the twenty-third of the same month, just as the vessel in which he was entered Port Spain, Trinidad. He was buried the next day with due honor; and in his own country every tribute of respect was paid to his memory. Congress made a liberal provision for the maintenance and education of his family.

JOHN MARSHALL.

John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States, was born in Fauquier county, Virginia, on the 24th of September 1755. He was the son of Colonel Thomas Marshall, a planter of a moderate fortune, who afterwards served with distinction in the American army, during the war of the Revolution; and he was the eldest of 15 children. Colonel Marshall had removed with his family to a place called ‘The Hollow’ in the mountains east of the Blue Ridge, and, from the want of schools in that neighborhood, became of necessity the first instructor of his son. Being a man of vigorous intellect, though of a comparatively limited education, he succeeded in efficiently training the opening faculties of the latter, and imbuing him with a taste for literature. At the age of 14, young Marshall was placed under the charge of a Mr. Campbell, a respectable clergyman, at the distance of 100 miles from home, and remained with him a year; and he then pursued his classical studies for another year, under the direction of a Scottish gentleman who resided in his father’s family, and had lately become the pastor of the parish to which he belonged. This was all the formal instruction which he received at this period of his life, as he was never at any college. On the breaking out of the revolutionary war, Mr. Marshall embraced with ardor the cause of his country, and was engaged in the action at the Great Bridge, where Lord Dunmore was defeated by the provincial militia. He was appointed a lieutenant in the continental army in July 1776, and promoted to the rank of a captain in May 1777. He was present at the battles of Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth, and continued to serve with distinction until the time of enlistment of the troops with which he served had expired, when he returned to Virginia. An interval of 9 or 10 months was now occupied by him in prosecuting the study of the law, which he had already previously entered upon. Having been admitted to the bar, he again joined the army in October 1780, and served under the orders of Baron Steuben, in the defense of Virginia from the invasion of a British force commanded by General Arnold. But before the renewed invasion of the State in the following year, there being more officers than was required by the Virginia line, he resigned his commission; and, on the reöpening of the courts of law after the surrender of Lord Cornwallis, he commenced the practice of his profession, in which he rose rapidly to distinction. In the course of the year 1782, Mr. Marshall was chosen first a member of the Legislature, and then of the Executive Council. On his resignation of the last-mentioned office in 1784, he was, though residing at the time in Richmond, elected a member of the Legislature from his native county of Fauquier; and in 1787, he represented the county of Henrico in the same body. We next find him, as one of the delegates to the convention of Virginia which met in June 1788 for the ratification of the constitution of the United States, ably defending against its adversaries the provisions of this instrument,――especially those relating to the powers of taxation, over the militia, and of the judiciary, granted by it to the general government. He was elected a member of the Legislature from the city of Richmond in 1789, 1790 and 1791. He declined a reëlection in 1792, and from this period until 1795, was occupied uninterruptedly in the practice of his profession. His friends were, however, unwilling in a season of great political excitement,――it was just after the conclusion of ‘Jay’s treaty,’――that he should remain abstracted from any participation in public affairs; and they, accordingly, elected him once more to the Legislature; where, if he did not succeed in preventing the adoption of resolutions approving of the votes of the senators from Virginia, against the ratification of the treaty, on the ground of its inexpediency,――to him at least it was in a great measure owing that they did not touch the constitutional objection, and that they disclaimed all intention to censure the motives of the President of the United States (General Washington) in ratifying it. The extraordinary ability displayed at this time by Mr. Marshall obtained for him a conspicuous position in every part of the country, and he came to be regarded as a proper person to fill the highest political offices. Accordingly, he was offered successively the appointments of attorney-general of the United States, and minister to France, (on the recall of Mr. Monroe, in 1796,) both of which he declined. He continued in the Legislature of Virginia, where, however, he participated in the discussions only on important questions of general policy, his attention being for the most part given to his professional business, which had now become very extensive and lucrative. On his refusal to accept of the embassy to France, General Pinckney was appointed in his stead. But the French government (the Directory) having refused to receive the latter, Mr. Adams, who was then the president, deemed it proper to make a last effort to preserve peace with France, by sending a special mission to that country. For this purpose, Mr. Marshall, in conjunction with General Pinckney and Mr. Gerry, was selected; and in the then existing critical posture of our foreign relations, he did not feel himself at liberty, as before, to decline the appointment tendered to him. The mission was unsuccessful, the American envoys not having been even received as such. Their letters, addressed to Talleyrand, the French minister of foreign affairs, are attributed to the pen of Mr. Marshall, and have been applauded as admirable specimens of diplomacy. In the summer of 1798, Mr. Marshall returned to the United States; in 1799, at the urgent request of General Washington, he became a candidate and was elected to Congress; and in 1800, he was appointed secretary of war, and then secretary of state. During the short period that he was in Congress, it is needless to say that he ranked among the ablest of that body, and on all constitutional questions above every other member. ‘When he discussed them,’ remarks Mr. Binney, in his Eulogy of Mr. Marshall, ‘he exhausted them; nothing more remained to be said, and the impression of his argument effaced that of every one else.’ The speech which he delivered on the surrender of the person of Jonathan Robbins, on the requisition of the British minister in this country, under a clause of the treaty with Great Britain, upon a charge of murder committed on board a British frigate,――which speech is believed to be the only one that he ever revised,――is thus characterized by the same gentleman: ‘It has all the merits, and nearly all the weight, of a judicial sentence. It is throughout inspired by the purest reason, and the most copious and accurate learning. It separates the executive from the judicial power by a line so distinct, and a discrimination so wise, that all can perceive and approve it. It demonstrated that the surrender was an act of political power which belonged to the executive; and by excluding all such power from the grant of the constitution to the judiciary, it prepared a pillow of repose for that department, where the success of the opposite argument would have planted thorns.’ It may be mentioned that, during his term of service in Congress, he voted for the repeal of the obnoxious section of the act commonly known by the name of the ‘Sedition Law,’ and evinced his superiority to mere considerations of party, by thus voting in opposition to all the members with whose political opinions his own generally corresponded. On the 31st of January 1800, Mr. Marshall became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, an office which he filled with the highest honor to himself, and with the greatest advantage to his country, for upwards of 36 years. ‘The decision of the Supreme Court of the United States,’ we again quote the words of Mr. Binney, ‘have raised the renown of the country, not less than they have confirmed the constitution. In all parts of the world, its judgments are spoken of with respect. Its adjudications of prize law are a code for all future time. Upon commercial law it has brought us nearly to one system, befitting the probity and interest of a great commercial nation. Over its whole path, learning and intelligence and integrity have shed their combined lustre.’ Judge Marshall was a member of the convention which met in the year 1829, for revising the constitution of Virginia. He spoke with much power on both of the great questions which divided and agitated the parties composing that body, namely, the basis of representation and the tenure of judicial office; and while he contributed, by the sound sense and moderation of his views in reference to the former, to produce a compromise between the extreme opinions entertained concerning it, he was in no ordinary degree instrumental in causing the tenure of good behavior, for the judges of the Superior Courts, to be adopted in the proposed constitution, guarded ‘by a clause against the construction which had in one instance prevailed, that the repeal of the law establishing the court, and by a mere majority, should dissolve the tenure, and discharge the judge upon the world.’ Having been for some months in feeble health, he visited Philadelphia that he might have the benefit of the most skillful medical aid, and died in that city, on the 6th of July 1835. Judge Marshall published his ‘Life of Washington’ in 1805, in 5 volumes. It was greatly improved and compressed into 2 volumes, in a second edition which appeared in 1832. The first volume of the original work was published in a separate form in 1824, under the title of ‘The History of the American Colonies.’

JOHN PAUL JONES.

John Paul Jones was born at Arbingland, in Scotland, July 6th 1747. His father was a gardener, whose name was Paul; but the son assumed that of Jones in subsequent life, for what reason is not known. Young Paul early evinced a decided predilection for the sea, and, at the age of 12, was bound apprentice to a respectable merchant of Whitehaven, in the American trade. His first voyage was to America, where his elder brother was established as a planter. He was then engaged for some time in the slave-trade, but quitted it in disgust, and returned to Scotland, in 1768, as passenger in a vessel, the captain and mate of which died on the passage. Jones assumed the command, at the request of those on board, and brought the vessel safe into port. For this service, he was appointed by the owners master and supercargo. While in command of this vessel, he punished a sailor who afterwards died of a fever at the island of Tobago――a circumstance which gave rise to an accusation against Jones, of having caused his death, by the severity of the punishment upon him; but this has been completely refuted. Jones was afterwards in command of the Betsy, of London, and remained some time in the West Indies, engaged in commercial pursuits and speculations, by which it is said he realized a handsome fortune. In 1773, he was residing in Virginia, arranging the affairs of his brother, who had died intestate and childless, and about this time took the name of Jones. In Virginia he continued to live until the commencement of the struggle between the colonies and mother country. He offered his services to the former, and was appointed first of the first lieutenants, and designated to the Alfred, on board of which ship, to use his own language in one of his letters, ‘he had the honor to hoist, with his own hands, the flag of freedom, the first time it was displayed on the Delaware.’ Soon after this, we find Jones in command of the Providence, mounting 12 four-pounders, with a complement of 70 men, cruising from the Bermudas to the Gut of Canso, and making 16 prizes in little more than six weeks. In May, 1777, he was ordered to proceed to France, where the American commissioners, Franklin, Deane and Lee, were directed to invest him with the command of a fine ship, as a reward of his signal services. On his arrival in France, he was immediately summoned to Paris by the commissioners. The object of this summons was to concert a plan of operations for the force preparing to act against the British in the West Indies, and on the coast of America. This plan, which certainly did great honor to the projector, though untoward delays and accidents prevented its immediate success, was afterwards openly claimed by Jones as his own, without acknowledging the assistance or participation of the American commissioners or the French ministry. The Ranger was then placed under his orders, with discretion to cruise where he pleased, with this restriction, however, that he was not to return to France immediately after making attempts upon the coasts of England, as the French government had not yet declared itself openly as the ally of the U. States. April 10th 1778 he sailed on a cruise, during which he laid open the weakness of the British coast. With a single ship, he kept the whole coast of Scotland, and part of that of England, for some time, in a state of alarm, and made a descent at Whitehaven, where he surprised and took two forts, with 30 pieces of cannon, and set fire to the shipping. In this attack upon Whitehaven, the house of the earl of Selkirk, in whose service the father of Jones had been gardener, was plundered, and the family plate carried off. But the act was committed without his knowledge, and he afterwards made the best atonement in his power. After his return to Brest with 200 prisoners of war, he became involved in a variety of troubles, for want of means to support them, pay his crew, and refit his ship. After many delays and vexations, Jones sailed from the road of St. Croix, August 14th, 1779, with a squadron of seven sail, designing to annoy the coasts of England and Scotland. The principal occurrence of this cruise was the capture of the British ship of war Serapis, after a bloody and desperate engagement, off Flamborough head, September 23d, 1779. The Serapis was a vessel much superior in force to Jones’ vessel, the Bon Homme Richard, which sunk not long after the termination of the engagement. The sensation produced by this battle was unexampled, and raised the fame of Jones to its acme. In a letter to him, Franklin says, ‘For some days after the arrival of your express, scarce any thing was talked of at Paris and Versailles, but your cool conduct and persevering bravery during that terrible conflict. You may believe that the impression on my mind was not less strong than on that of the others. But I do not choose to say, in a letter to yourself, all I think on such an occasion.’ His reception at Paris, whither he went on the invitation of Franklin, was of the most flattering kind. He was every where caressed; the king presented him with a gold sword, bearing the inscription, Vindicati maris Ludovicus XVI remuneratur strenuo vindici, and requested permission of congress to invest him with the military order of merit――an honor never conferred on any one before who had not borne arms under the commission of France. In 1781, Jones sailed for the U. States, and arrived in Philadelphia February 18 of that year, after a variety of escapes and rencounters, where he underwent a sort of examination before the board of admirality, which resulted greatly to his honor. The board gave it as their opinion, ‘that the conduct of Paul Jones merits particular attention, and some distinguished mark of approbation from congress.’ Congress passed a resolution, highly complimentary to his ‘zeal, prudence and intrepidity.’ General Washington wrote him a letter of congratulation, and he was afterwards voted a gold medal by congress. From Philadelphia he went to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to superintend the building of a ship of war, and, while there, drew up some admirable observations on the subject of the American navy. By permission of congress, he subsequently went on board the French fleet, where he remained until the conclusion of peace, which put a period to his naval career in the service of the U. States. He then went to Paris, as agent for prize-money, and, while there, joined in a plan to establish a fur-trade between the north-west coast of America and China, in conjunction with a kindred spirit, the celebrated John Ledyard. In Paris, he continued to be treated with the greatest distinction. He afterwards was invited into the Russian service, with the rank of rear-admiral, where he was disappointed in not receiving the command of the fleet acting against the Turks in the Black sea. He found fault with the conduct of the prince of Nassau, the admiral; became restless and impatient; was intrigued against at court, and calumniated by his enemies; and had permission, from the empress Catharine, to retire from the service with a pension, which was never paid. He returned to Paris, where he gradually sunk into poverty, neglect, and ill health, until his death, which was occasioned by jaundice and dropsy, July 18th 1792. His last public act was heading a deputation of Americans, who appeared before the national assembly to offer their congratulations on the glorious and salutary reform of their government. This was before the flight of the king. Jones was a man of signal talent and courage; he conducted all his operations with the most daring boldness, combined with the keenest sagacity in calculating the chances of success and the consequences of defeat. He was, however, of an irritable, impetuous disposition, which rendered him impatient of the authority of his superiors, while he was, at the same time, harsh in the exercise of his own; and he was deficient in that modesty which adorns great qualities and distinguished actions, while it disarms envy and conciliates jealousy. His early education was of a very limited kind. It terminated when he went to sea, at the age of twelve, but he supplied its defects by subsequent study, so as to enable himself to write with fluency, strength and clearness, and to sustain his part respectably in the polished society into which he was thrown. In his letters, he inculcates the necessity of knowledge for naval officers, and intimates that he had devoted ‘midnight studies’ to the attainment of that information which he deemed requisite in his situation. His memorials, correspondence, etc., are quite voluminous. He also wrote poetry, and in Paris was a great pretender to ton, as a man of fashion, especially after his victory over the Serapis, which, of course, gave him great eclat amongst the ladies of the French capital. At this period, he is described by an English lady then resident of Paris, as ‘a smart little man of thirty-six; speaks but little French, and appears to be an extraordinary genius, a poet as well as a hero.’ An account of his life has been written by J. H. Sherburne (Washington, 1828).

GENERAL ANDREW JACKSON.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us