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for the father, such was his surprise, such his amazement, such his rapture, that, forgetting where he was, and the character which he was filling, tears of ecstasy streamed down his cheeks, without the power or inclination to repress them. The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered, that they lost sight, not only of the act of 1748, but that of 1758, also; for thoughtless even of the admitted right of the plaintiff, they had scarcely left the bar, when they returned with a verdict of one penny damages. A motion was made for a new trial; but the court, too, had now lost the equipoise of their judgment, and overruled the motion by a unanimous vote. The verdict and judgment overruling the motion, were followed by redoubled acclamations, from within and from without the house. The people, who had with difficulty kept their hands off their champion, from the moment of closing his harangue, no sooner saw the fate of the cause finally sealed, than they seized him at the bar, and in spite of his own exertions, and the continued cry of "order" from the sheriffs and the court, they bore him out of the courthouse, and raising him on their shoulders, carried him about the yard, in a kind of electioneering triumph.

O! what a scene was this for a father's heart! so sudden; so unlooked for; so delightfully overwhelming! At the time, he was not able to give utterance to any sentiment; but, a few days after, when speaking of it to Mr. Winston, he said, with the most engaging modesty, and with a tremour of voice, which showed how much more he felt than he expressed, "Patrick spoke in this cause near an hour! and in a manner that surprised me! and showed himself well-informed on a subject, of which I did not think he had any knowledge!"

I have tried much to procure a sketch of this celebrated speech. But those of Mr. Henry's hearers who survive, seem to have been bereft of their senses. They can only tell you, in general, that they were taken captive; and so delighted with their captivity, that they followed implicitly whithersoever he led them; that, at his bidding, their tears flowed from pity, and their cheeks flushed with indignation: that when it was over, they felt as if they had just awaked from some ecstatic dream, of which they were unable to recall or connect the particulars. It was such a speech as they believe had never before fallen from the lips of man; and to this day, the old people of that county cannot conceive that a higher compliment can be paid to a speaker, than to say of him, in their own homely phrase :-" He is almost equal❘ to Patrick, when he plead against the parsons."



THE mansion house at Monticello was built and furnished in the days of his prosperity. In its dimensions, its architecture, its arrangements and

ornaments, it is such a one as became the character and fortune of the man. It stands upon an elliptic plain, formed by cutting down the apex of a mountain; and, on the west, stretching away to the north and the south, it commands a view of the Blue Ridge for a hundred and fifty miles, and brings under the eye one of the boldest and most beautiful horizons in the world: while on the east, it presents an extent of prospect bounded only by the spherical form of the earth, in which nature seems to sleep in eternal repose, as if to form one of her finest contrasts with the rude and rolling grandeur on the west....

Approaching the house on the east, the visiter instinctively paused, to cast around one thrilling glance at this magnificent panorama: and then passed to the vestibule, where, if he had not been previously informed, he would immediately perceive that he was entering the house of no common man. In the spacious and lofty hall which opens before him, he marks no tawdry and unmeaning ornaments: but before, on the right, on the left, all around, the eye is struck and gratified with objects of science and taste, so classed and arranged as to produce their finest effect. On one side, specimens of sculpture set out, in such order, as to exhibit at a coup d'œil, the historical progress of that art; from the first rude attempts of the aborigines of our country, up to that exquisite and finished bust of the great patriot himself, from the masterhand of Caracci. On the other side, the visiter sees displayed a vast collection of specimens of Indian art, their paintings, weapons, ornaments, and manufactures; on another, an array of the fossil productions of our country, mineral and animal; the polished remains of those colossal monsters that once trod our forests, and are no more; and a variegated display of the branching honours of those "monarchs of the waste," that still people the wilds of the American continent.

From this hall he was ushered into a noble saloon, from which the glorious landscape of the west again bursts upon his view; and which, within, is hung thick around with the finest productions of the pencil-historical paintings of the most striking subjects from all countries, and all ages; the portraits of distinguished men and patriots, both of Europe and America, and medallions and engravings in endless profusion.

While the visiter was yet lost in the contemplation of these treasures of the arts and sciences, he was startled by the approach of a strong and sprightly step, and turning with instinctive reverence to the door of entrance, he was met by the tall, and animated, and stately figure of the patriot himself-his countenance beaming with intelligence and benignity, and his outstretched hand, with its strong and cordial pressure, confirming the cour. teous welcome of his lips. And then came that charm of manner and conversation that passes all description-so cheerful-so unassuming-so free, and easy, and frank, and kind, and gay-that even the young, and overawed, and embarrassed visiter at once forgot his fears, and felt himself by the side of an old and familiar friend.


[Born 1772.]

THE late Mr. Justice Story, in dedicating to | The period in which he was in Congress was

JOSIAH QUINCY his Miscellaneous Writings, remarks "that few persons have acquired so just a distinction for unspotted integrity, fearless justice, consistent principles, high talents, and extensive literature," and that "still fewer possess the merit of having justified the public confidence by the singleness of heart and purpose with which they have devoted themselves to the best interests of society." Everybody who is acquainted with the venerable statesman and scholar will acknowledge that this praise is deserved.

Josiah Quincy, the third of these names, is of the fifth generation from Edmund Quincy, who came from England with the Rev. John Cotton in 1633; and is the son of Josiah Quincy, the associate of Otis and Warren, whose premature death was one of the severest losses sustained by the country in the beginning of the revolution. May the spirit of liberty rest upon him," the dying patriot wrote in his will, and left him as a specific legacy the works of Tacitus and Cato, Sydney, Bacon and Locke.


He was graduated at Harvard University in 1780, and in 1804 commenced his public life as a member of the Massachusetts senate. In the same year he was elected to the national House of Representatives, in which he continued until March, 1813, when he declined further service in that body. He however accepted a seat in the legislature of the state, and was a senator from 1813 to 1820, and from the last year to 1822 a member of the lower house, of which he was twice chosen speaker. In 1822 he became judge of the municipal court of Boston, and was mayor of that city from 1823 to 1828, when he declined being again a candidate for the office. From 1829 to 1845 he was president of Harvard University, and was succeeded, upon his resignation, in the last year, by Edward Everett.

Mr. Quincy is an "old federalist," a term which is commonly given as a reproach, and received, where it is merited, as an honour.

one of extraordinary interest, when party spirit ran high, and decision, boldness and energy were indispensable qualities for politicians of either side. He was equal to the emergency, and sustained himself on all occasions with manly independence, sound argument, and fervid declamation. One of his most effective speeches was made in the House of Representatives in November, 1808, on a resolution to resist the edicts of Great Britain and France; but this is less celebrated than his speech in 1811 on the bill for the admission of Louisiana. If this bill passes, he said, "the bonds of this Union are virtually dissolved; the states which compose it are free from their moral obligations, and it will be the right of all and the duty of some to prepare definitely for a separation, peaceably if we can, forcibly if we must." Before such an act, he thought, the bands of the constitution were no more than flax before the fire, or stubble before the whirlwind. The tree has since then become dry, yet the Union is not dissolved.

War, right or wrong, always commands the suffrages of the rabble, for to them, as surely as to carrion birds, it furnishes occupation and subsistence. Mr. Quincy rarely referred to himself, but in his speech on the army bill, in 1813, alluding to the charges of vulgar calumny by which the imaginations of most men are affected, he said, "It is not for a man whose ancestors have been planted in this country for almost two centuries....who is conscious of being rooted in the soil as deeply and as exclusively as the oak which shoots among its rocks.... to hesitate or swerve a hair's breadth from his country's true interests, because of the yelpings, the howlings and the snarlings of that hungry pack which corrupt men keep directly or indirectly in pay, with the view of hunting down every man who dare develope their purposes, a pack composed of some native curs, but for the most part of hounds and spaniels of very recent importation, whose backs are seared

with the lash and whose necks are sore with the collars of their former masters." In and out of Congress he was faithful to what he deemed the true interests of the people, and laboured zealously to bring men and measures to the bar of public opinion.

Mr. Quincy has published between thirty and forty speeches, orations, addresses, and miscellaneous tracts; the Life of Josiah Quincy, junior, (his father,) in one octavo volume; the Life of James Grahame, the historian, (in the Massachusetts Historical Collections); and The History of Harvard University, in two large octavo volumes, which appeared in 1840. In the History of Harvard University, the progress of that dis

| tinguished seat of learning, which has had so great and beneficent an influence upon the character and condition of this nation, is traced with minuteness and fidelity through the two centuries which had elapsed since its formation. His style is perspicuous and elegant, and the narrative animated, generally well proportioned, and interesting. It is a work of much ability and labour, which may be regarded, for the amount of biographical information it contains, and its numerous judicious sketches of character, as a Gallery of New England's Worthies. Since resigning the presidency of the university Mr. Quincy has lived in retirement at his seat in the neighbourhood of Boston.



WHEN I contemplate the character and consequences of this invasion of Canada, when I reflect upon its criminality, and its danger to the peace and liberty of this once happy country, I thank the great Author and source of all virtue, that through his grace, that section of country in which I have the happiness to reside, is in so great a degree free from the iniquity of this transgression. I speak it with pride, the people of that section have done what they could, to vindicate themselves and their children from the burden of this sin. That whole section has risen, almost as one man, for the purpose of driving from power by one great constitutional effort the guilty authors of this war. If they have failed, it has been, not through the want of will or of exertion, but in consequence of the weakness of their political power. When in the usual course of divine providence, who punishes nations as well as individuals, his destroying angel shall, on this account, pass over this country; and sooner or later, pass it will; I may be permitted to hope that over New England his hand will be stayed. Our souls are not steeped in the blood which has been shed in this

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caught her as she was sporting on the beach. They courted her whilst she was spreading her nets upon the rocks. But an embargo liberty; a hand-cuffed liberty; a liberty in fetters; a liberty traversing between the four sides of a prison and beating her head against the walls, is none of our Its parentoffspring. We abjure the monster. age is all inland.



WHEN we revert to the time and the circumstances in which the foundations of Harvard Col lege were laid, we seem to read not so much the history of real events as the legends of the heroic age and the fictions of romance. The founders of Massachusetts left their native land, and crossed unknown seas to desert wildernesses, bringing with them their household loves and domestic hopes, for the sake of attaining the right to wor ship God according to the dictates of their own consciences. To place the protection of that right on the basis of sound human learning and faithful intellectual research, they first bade to rise the sanctuaries of religion, and, close by their sacred altars, this temple of science; thus establishing here, in the language of the master genius of their age, "a secure harbour for letters, which, as ships, pass through the vast seas of time, and make ages so distant to participate of the wisdom, the illumination, and inventions the one of the other." What scene more sublime, what more glorious? What can the mind conceive, indicating firmer purpose, wiser forecast, purer intent, bolder daring? They lived not for themselves, but for us, for their posterity! They erected institutions, not for the comfort and pleasure of the passing day, but for the safety, glory, and hope of their own and all future time.


[Born 1779. Died 1843.]

THIS illustrious person, though chiefly distinguished as an artist, entitled himself to an enviable and enduring reputation by various works in literature, which, particularly those executed in his mature years, have much of the character and excellence of his pictures. Some specimens of his poems, which are chiefly on subjects connected with his other art, may be found in The Poets and Poetry of America, in which volume are also contained more particulars than will here be given of his life.

WASHINGTON ALLSTON was born in Georgetown, South Carolina, on the fifth of November, 1779. His family is respectable, and several members of it have been distinguished in the public service. When he was seven years old he was removed to Newport, Rhode Island, where he continued at school until 1796, when he was transferred to Harvard College. At Newport he became acquainted with Malbone, whose beautiful miniatures were then beginning to attract attention, and was smitten with the love of art, so that meeting him again in Boston, during his freshman year in college, he determined to adopt his profession. Under the casual direction of Malbone he devoted as much time to painting as he could borrow from his other pursuits, until he graduated, when he sold his paternal estate for the purpose of studying in Europe, and sailed for London. West was then president of the Royal Academy, and he received his young countryman very kindly. In a few months he became an exhibitor, and sold one of his pictures. In 1804 he went to Paris, and studied in the Louvre and Luxembourg; and proceeded to Italy, where he remained four years with Coleridge and our own Irving for companions, and Thorwaldsen for a fellow student. At Rome, on account of his fine colouring, they called him the American Titian.

In 1809 Allston returned to Boston, where he remained nearly three years, marrying in this period a sister of Dr. Channing; and in

1811 he went again to England. One of his first works after his arrival was the great picture of The Dead Man Revived by Elijah's Bones, which obtained a prize of two hundred guineas from the British Institution, and is now in the Pennsylvania Academy. While it was in progress he was seized with a dangerous illness, and retired from London to Cliffton, a rural town, where on his recovery he painted portraits of Coleridge, Southey, and some others. When he went back to the city his wife died, suddenly, and "left me," he says in one of his letters, nothing but my art; and this seemed to me as nothing." His intellect was for a while deranged, but the assiduities of friends, and his own will triumphed, and when his mind had recovered its tone he painted The Mother and Child, now in the collection of Mr. MacMurtrie of Philadelphia; Jacob's Dream, which is owned by the Earl of Egremont; Uriel in the Sun, which was purchased by the Marquis of Stafford; and some other pic



In 1818 he came back a second time to Boston, and he resided all the rest of his life near that city. He was married to a sister of Richard H. Dana, a man of kindred genius, and had many warm friends, some of whom could have left him nothing to desire of sympathy or appreciation. Among the pictures which he painted are Rosalie Listening to Music, Ursulina, and The Spanish Maid, which he illustrated with beautiful and exquisitely finished poems; and Miriam Singing her Song of Triumph, Jeremiah Dictating to the Scribe his Prophecy of the Destruction of Jerusalem, Saul and the Witch of Endor, The Angel Liberating Peter from Prison, and Lorenzo and Jessica. In 1814 he had commenced a large picture, Belshazzar's Feast, which it was thought would be his masterpiece; but though he continued to work upon it at times for nearly thirty years, it was never finished. Of his genius as a painter I am not competent to write. As he himself said

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ousy, which is its chief purpose. Indeed if Allston had never painted Prophets, these written pictures would have established his fame as an author. The work shows how capable he was of achieving a wide and permanent literary reputation, and forms a most interesting and valuable addition to our romantic fiction.

of Monaldi, doubtless "he differed from his | truth in the development of love and jealcontemporaries no less in kind than degree. If he held any thing in common with others, it was with those of ages past, with the mighty dead of the fifteenth century, from whom he had learned the language of his art; but his thoughts and their turn of expression were his own." I may say with confidence that it is the judgment of the best critics of this age that he left no equal, in his department of art, in the world.

While in London, in 1813, Allston published a small volume entitled The Sylphs of the Seasons and other Poems, and when Mr. Dana projected The Idle Man, in 1820, he wrote for that work his romance of Monaldi. But The Idle Man, for some reason, was discontinued, and Allston's manuscript was laid aside for more than twenty years. It was finally published, in.a single volume, in 1841.

The fame of Allston's writings has been so eclipsed by that of his paintings that they are comparatively unknown.* All the specimens that I have seen of his prose indicate a remarkable command of language, great descriptive powers, and rare philosophical as well as imaginative talent. Monaldi is his principal and indeed only acknowledged performance of any length. It is a tale of Italian life written with the vigour and method of a practised romancist. The mind of the true artist appears in several discussions, which are very naturally introduced, on the merits of the old masters; and it is no less evident in the character of the hero, who is a painter, as well as in many very graphic descriptions of scenery. Some of the lights and shades of the landscape are given as they could have been only by one familiar with the practice of art. The style of Monaldi is remarkably concise and unaffected, frequently rising into eloquence and never becoming tame. Its particular merits as a story consist in the masterly analysis of human passion, the lovely unfolding of female character, and the dramatic management of events. There is great metaphysical

*Any elaborate criticism upon them will soon be superseded by the publication of his life, which is now in course of preparation by his brother in law, Dana. The long and intimate association of the poet with the artist, and his fine insight as a critic, will enable him to analyse Allston's qualifications as an author with skill and authority.

His other prose writings are chiefly on subjects connected with the arts, and are finished with the same care as his paintings.

Mr. Allston lived in retirement at Cambridgeport, occasionally going into the city, but not often. His health was feeble, for many years, but he was never idle. He spoke to me once of Dunlap's declaration, in his History of the Arts of Design, that he was indolent. "I am famous among my acquaintances," he said, "for industry: I paint every day and never pass an hour without accomplishing something." At sixty he had as many pictures in contemplation as the most ambitious artist of thirty. An ordinary lifetime would not have sufficed to finish those he had sketched upon canvas. He read much, and delighted all who saw him with his eloquent conversation. Not long before his death I dined with him, and was astonished when a companion intimated that it was after midnight. We had listened six or seven hours without a thought of the lapse of time. His manners were gentle and dignified. His dress was simple and old fashioned: a blue coat with plain bright buttons, a buff vest, and drab pantaloons. His face was thin, and serious, with remarkably expressive eyes; his hair, fine, long and silvery white, fell gracefully upon his shoulders; and his voice was soft, earnest and musical.

The evening of the ninth of June, 1843, he passed cheerfully with his friends. At about eleven o'clock he laid his hands upon the head of a young relative, begged her to live as near perfection as she could, and blessed her fervently. He then retired into his painting room, where he was found a little while afterward, seated before one of his pictures, dead. He was buried by torchlight, in the beautiful cemetery of Mount Auburn, in the presence of a large concourse who had gathered to pay their last tribute to the great genius whose works had added so much to the national glory.

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