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 IlJbt^M:A^RKS 
 
 
 OF 
 
 
 GEORGE W. ADAMS, 
 
 
 ON THE 
 
 
 DEATH OF WASHINGTON IRVING, 
 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
 
 
 iE,-vi3Sj-(3- ij-s-CE-cjas^: oif -w^-A-smiNra-TOisr city. 
 
 
 DECEMBER 6, 1859. 
 
 
 
 WASHINGTON. 
 
 
 1860. 
 
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 GHf: 
 
 .1 S '06 
 
REIVE^RKS. 
 
 Mr. President: In seconding the resolutions which have just 
 been read, and oyo which the remarks of our senior member have 
 been so feelingly appropriate, I do so with none of that prevailing 
 egotism in associations constituted like our own, which seems to 
 make undue demonstration on an occasion like the present. 
 While, sir, the popular voice, through its instrumentalities — its 
 public meetings and its press — is even to-day repeating, and thrice- 
 repeating, its funeral panegyric in honor of the illustrious dead, 
 it is fitting that we should meet here, in our own quiet way, and 
 pay the tribute of our affection in commemoration of him who 
 has so suddenly left the walks of a noble life to commune with 
 spirits far greater and purer than our own. 
 
 It is no ordinary event which has arrested the public mind, and 
 turned it from its usual channel in the pursuits of life — even in 
 its warm religious and political contests — and caused it to reflect 
 on the touching truth — 
 
 "What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue." 
 
 While in the glory of a pride that made us joyous as the great- 
 est work of America's gifted author was finished, and in its bril- 
 liant light saw 
 
 " another morn risen on mid-noon," 
 
 we were called on to listen to the sad tidings, as rapid they came 
 in moments ticked by telegraphic time, that " Washington Irving, 
 the great American writer, is dead!" Ah ! sir, how quaintly and 
 curiously he wrote forty years ago, when he said that " Much as 
 we may think of ourselves, and much as we may excite the empty 
 plaudits of millions, it is certain that the greatest among us do 
 actually fill but an exceedingly small place in the world; and it 
 is equally certain, that even that small space is quickly supplied 
 when we leave it vacant." Of what consequence is it, said Pliny, 
 that individuals appear or make their exit ; the world is a. theatre 
 
whose 8ccac8 and actions arc constantly changing ! Never did 
 philosopher speuk more correctly, and I only wouder that so wise 
 a remark could have existed so many ages^ and mankind not have 
 laid it more to heart. 
 
 Sage follows on in the footsteps of sage; one hero just steps out 
 of his triumphal car to make way for the hero who comes after him, 
 and of the proudest monarch it id merely said, that •* He slept 
 with his fathers, and his successor reigned in his stead." " The 
 world," continued he, in this lively hit at the follies of man, *' to 
 tell the private truth, cares but little for their loss, and, if left to 
 itself, would soon forget to grieve : and though a nation has often 
 been figuratively drowned in tears on the death of a great man, 
 yet it is ten chances to one if an individual tear has l)een shed on 
 the occasion, excepting from the forlorn pen of some hungry au- 
 thor. It is the historian, the poet, the biographer, who have the 
 whole burden of grief to sustain ; who, kind souls, like underta- 
 kers in England, act the part of chief mourners, who inflate a na- 
 tion with sighs it never heaved, and deluge it with tears it never 
 dreamt of >shedding." 
 
 While it may be thus, sir, with those of ephemeral notoriety, 
 it is not so with those who have, in the blushing dawn of our own 
 Rc'public, come upon the stage of action in the Republic of Let- 
 ters; not so with those who have contributed to that nation's 
 greatness, which now mourns at its loss. That loss becomes deeper 
 when the reflected fact comes home that, unlike our own author's 
 prophecy, no one comes after to fill the vacant seat in the tri 
 umphal car. The time is, indeed, past, .when the mere record of 
 the historian suffices as he writes of a nation's loss ! — when, with 
 an almost Pharisaical observance, we throw up our hands, in mock 
 pit}', exclaiming, *' How are the mighty fallen !" and give our brief 
 tribute to the dead by noting for the hour a mere remembrance of 
 the fact. ^When, in the rich harvest of death, the good and great 
 are falling around us — the statesman, the poet, and the historian — 
 it behooves us to pause in the strife as the older pillars of all that 
 makes a Republic great are crumbling, and show that we are bound 
 to the germ from which we sprang, although now, in the quaint- 
 ness of Indian rhetoric, " It is an aged hemlock; it is dead at the 
 top;" for there is more than a mere political significance in the 
 
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 fact that, while the literary character of a country distinguishes 
 it from all others, it also binds it together in a cordial bond of 
 union, caused by a common sympathy in the educated hearts of its 
 millions. So it is with the writings of him for whom we mourn. 
 It needed no Pericles to pronounce the honors of the Athenian 
 dead, nor dops it need any American to pronounce those of Wash- 
 ington Irving ; for in the great history which Irving had just com- 
 pleted, ere the 
 
 "Flying of the sear and yellow leaf," 
 
 he reaped such golden honors as a grateful people ever pour out 
 at the shrine of the works of a master mind. It was a touching 
 saying of the G-recian orator, that "this whole earth is the sepul- 
 chre of illustrious men. Nor is it the inscriptions on the col- 
 umns of their native soil alone that show their merit, but the 
 memorial of them, better than all inscriptions in every foreign 
 nation, reposited more durably in universal remembrance than on 
 their own tombs." 
 
 It has long been conceded that Irving was a national writer ; 
 that no sect, no one idea, so to speak, confined his usefulness; for 
 he has sought his inspiration from the woods and streams, the 
 lakes and prairies of his native land. The sentiments he incul- 
 cated became national, because true and popular, in every sense of 
 that term. In him we challenge a critical examination. Second 
 to none, standing at the head of American literature, a native of 
 a State of which we are all proud, — we may say of him, with 
 touching sincerity — 
 
 " Man is tlie nobler growth our realms supply, 
 And souls are ripened in our northern sky." 
 
 When the infant Republic stood up at the commencement of 
 the present century in the majesty of its right, exhausted in 
 power and influence, a mere germ of the parent stem, which it in vain 
 had endeavored to crush, boasting of no Elizabethean or Augus- 
 tine«Bge, it presented to the world, at the dawn of the 18th cen- 
 tury, such master minds as that of Washington Irving. In 1802 
 the rich vein of humor and invention which appeared in the "Jona- 
 than Oldstyle" letters presented rare claims to public attention, 
 and were the first indications of the valuable intellect which he 
 
possc'ssoJ. But after Europoun travel of u tew years, when lie 
 returucd to his home and wrtUo the sparkling " Sulamagundi Pa- 
 pers," "it at once decided his position as a shrewd observer of 
 society, a pointed and vigorous satirist, a graphic delineator of 
 manners, and a quaint and moral teacher, whose joyous humor 
 most graciously tempered the bitterness of his wit." Passing 
 from these, however, and looking at the appearance of the Knick- 
 erbocker, our minds are involuntarily present, as it were, at scenes 
 of which he wrote, and which gave promise, as it has been ob- 
 served, " of future golden harvests which has been more than 
 redeemed in the richness and beauty of the varied productions of 
 his genius." The Knickerbocker ! Whose mind has not revelled 
 in the fascination which its pages afford ? Who has not become 
 riveted to the incomparable introductory, where he explains his 
 reasons for his novel history ? and, in closing, asks the reader 
 to indulge him a moment, "while he lays down his pen, skips to 
 some little eminence at the distance of two or three hundred years 
 • ahead, and, casting a bird's-eye glance over the waste of years 
 that is to roll between, discover myself — little I — at this moment, 
 the progenitor and precursor of them all, posted at the head of 
 all these literary worthies, with my book under my arm and New 
 York on my back, pressing forward, like a gallant commander, to 
 honor and immortality!" "For such," said he, "are the vain 
 imaginings that will now and then enter into the brain of the 
 author — that irradiate, as with celestial light, his solitary chamber, 
 cheering his weary spirits, and animating him to persevere in his 
 labors !" The memory of " Diedrich Knickerbocker" will never 
 be forgotten in the busy streets of Manhattan, while Trinity stands 
 pointing heavenward, or the noble Hudson, that laves the soil 
 which gave him birth, continues to exist. Its marts will seem to 
 forever retain the inspiring fact that a man of such genius once 
 trod its pavements. 
 
 The " Sketch Book" is one of the most attractive of his works, 
 and gives abundant evidence of the depth of his genius j for who 
 that has ever read the Legend of Sleepy Hollow does not at times 
 wander back in dreamy silence at the habits and customs of the 
 burghers of the Hudson, of whom his magic pen has woven so 
 many interesting sketches ? The Sketch Book, Bracebridge Hall, 
 
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 and Tales of a Traveler, besides many fugitive pieces, all attest 
 the varied character of his writings and the beat of his mind. 
 " The Alhambra," with its semi-romantic narrative, entrances the 
 mind with the ingenuity displayed in its conception and the vivid- 
 ness with which it is related, as the reader wanders in mute admi- 
 ration among its splendid ruins. "The Biography of Columbus," 
 " The Adventures of a Trapper in the Far West," and the greatest 
 of all his historical works — " The Life of Washington" — but 
 evince the nationality and line of his writings, to which I have 
 alluded. Truly has it been remarked that " this singular univer- 
 sality has given him the freedom of the whole literary world. As 
 he everywhere Ends himself at home, his fame is not the monop- 
 oly of any nation. He has circles of admirers around the hearth- 
 stones of every cultivated people. Even the English, who are 
 slow to recognise a melody in their own language when spoken by 
 a transatlantic tongue, have vied with his countrymen in rendering 
 homage to his genius." His writings are free from prejudice. 
 There are no morbid appeals ; no high colorings to allure the 
 fancy. Exerting a healthful and moral influence, he has never 
 become one of those reformers whose works passed away with every 
 change of public opinion. Indeed, he seems to have drunk deep — 
 
 "At Siloa's brook, that flowed 
 Fast by the oracles of God." 
 
 It is not my purpose, Mr. President, to further allude to his pro- 
 ductions, as it would be but useless repetition; for he is indeed a 
 wayward scholar in his country's literature who is not familiar 
 with the writings of Irving. It is enough for me to say, that 
 while his dust lies mingled with " the clods of the valley," they, in 
 the touching language of the Psalmist, " Shall not be forgotten and 
 out of mind." 
 
 While we are attracted by the public results of our author, it is 
 pleasant to know that in the quiet walks of life he was all that man 
 could desire. Generous to a fault, with the habits of a well-educated 
 gentleman, neither intruding on thfe public prominently, nor seek- 
 ing an exclusiveness, we might say'that, 
 
 ■ His life was gentle, 
 
 And the elements so mixed in him, 
 That nature might stand up and say 
 To all the world, This was a man." 
 
LIBRflRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 971 338 6 
 
 His oiBeial honors were limited to the mission at Spain and that 
 
 of ? " ' ; ;,,„ at London; but whi!'' ! 
 
 main :; . ^ , was never a violent parti- ti 
 
 Born at the inception of the Kspublic, ho loved it with a fond pride, 
 and gloried in the i ' ' lor of its perpetuity, which hi ^ > ! 
 lived to pee. His i i love of country are shown in i 
 
 grand monument whioh bis genius has erected in its honor. It 
 was not of that kind which seeks to show itself in hi^h places. His 
 "Life of Washington," bis bes' work, which be finished but a short 
 time before his death, a living historian pronounces a most inval- 
 uable work to the country, *'for it gives," said he, "to the universal 
 mind for the first time a Uvinrj presence of Washintjtoiii To the 
 plurality of readers, hitherto Washington has been a historical 
 abstraction, hidden in the heavy reading of statistics and State 
 papers. By Irving, they are now made acquainted with him, in 
 flesh and blood as it were — a Vr'ashington so pictured that all can 
 admire and revere him with hunan sympathy.",. In the languuL'c 
 of another, "There is a beaiit:/ul propriety in the still more 
 timate connection of the name of Washington Irving with that ol 
 the Father of his Country. It is meet that the most permanent 
 and precious memorial of the first Chief of the American Repub- 
 lic should be presented by the Patriarch of American Letters. It 
 is a fitting close of his bright tareer before the public — the melo- 
 dious swan of bis historic muse " 
 
 Washington Irving died on rhe banks of the Hudson, and was 
 buried in his own Sleepy Hollow, near the place which he desig- 
 nated as "ono of the quietest spots of the world." The pilgrim, in 
 visiting it, will understand how so peaceful a spirit as his found in- 
 spiration in those quiet glades. He sank quietly to rest beneath his 
 own roof, in the heart of his fajpily, at the autumnal season, when 
 nature was hushed in that lovely valley, and hi«i intellect was clear 
 and unclouded. His own wish, expressed in former years, so simple 
 and touching in its nature, was, that " this frail compound of dust 
 which, while alive, may have given birth to naught but unprofit- 
 able weeds, may form an hu«ble sod of the valley, from whence 
 may spring many a sweet wild flower to adorn his beloved island, 
 
 Mnvlnilliii) /"