Mil! ill

Yale University Library

39002014268503

liuitiiiittiiliuti Hittll t

mimiinmTnmmlill

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
THE LIBRARY ASSOCIATES

Gift of
CHARLES G. MORRIS

LEISUEE LABORS;

OB,

MISCELLAIIES

HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND POLITICAL.

BY
JOSEPH B. COBB. ''I

NEW YORK:
r. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
848 & 84S BROADWAY.
1858.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1857, hj •
D. APPLETON * COMPANY,
In the Clerk's OfOee of the District Gonrt of the United States for the Soathem
District of New York.

HON. WILLIAM L. SHAKKEY.
OF MISSISSIPPI,
Eminent alike as a jurist, a statesman, and the friend of general litera
ture, I dedicate this book, as an humble evidence of the high value I set
uTjon his friendship, and of my appreciation of those qualities of charac
ter which have drawn to him such universal attachment and respect. J. B. C.
LosGwooD, Aug-ust, 1857.

CONTENTS.

PAOB
¦ Thomas Jefferson  5
A Review of the Life and Times' of William H.
Crawford  181
Maoauxat's History of England  248
Willis's Poems  301
Longfellow's Poems  330
Slavery and the Slave Trade in the District of
oolitmbia  857
The True Isstte between Parties in the South : Union
OE Disunion  876

THOMAS JEFFEESON.*
This is quite an old book, but, under the circum
stances of the day, not too old to be examined, or
rather re-examined,^ and "brought, along ¦with its distiu-
guished subject, to the test of a critical review. For
reasons ¦which may appear during this examination, ¦we
begin by expressing our sincere regret that such a
work, in vie^w of aU its contents, was ever given to the
world ; and we are as little able to appreciate the
motive as we are to admire the taste whieh prompted
the editar to compile and publish such a series : — A
series of private papers, containing indeed many things
e?;treineiy interesting and valuable as political history,
but suggesting much that is paioful in the same con
nection, and" subjecting his venerable relative to a
criticism that might have slumbered but for this un
wary challenge. We have long been of the opuiion,
that sons or immediate Telatives of deceased statesmen,
whose lives have been commingled ¦with the fierce po
litical storms of the republic, should be the very last
persons who undertake the task of gi'ving to the world
the life, character, and correspondence of their fathers.
¦* Memoir, Correspondenee, cmd Miseellatdee, fi'om tlie papers, of
Thomas J&fferson. Edited by Thomas Jefpeksok Eakdolph. Boston
andNewTorfc. 1849.

6 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
It is, under any circumstances, and by whomsoever it
may be undertaken, a task of great delicacy, requiring
the clearest faculties of discrimination, the nicest sense
of prudence, and the most guarded vigilance. It is
rare that sons, or relatives, can lay themselves under
such restraint when their subject is -viewed only in the
light which affection dictates ; one to whose faults filial
tenderness and respect have kindly blinded them, and
whose virtues shine to their ¦vision with a lustre which
the golden eye of the world receives undazzled. De
formities appear where least expected, and are evolved
from passages and scenes which seemed to a partial
judgment only as so much that was bright and honor
able ; and while charity may lift its soft mantle to shield
the motive from harsh impeachment, it cannot disariri
criticism of its legitimate province, nor be suflfered to
detract from the truth of history. When the angler
casts Ms hook into the stream it is not for him to select
what he brings up. He must be content to abide the
issue. And while we are fully willing to allow to the
poet or the painter, aU the ind.ulgences whieh the " Ars
Poetica " claims for them oh the soote of eraft, we can
not consent to apply a like rule to biographers and
historians, nor even to those who make their appear
ance before the world under the less pretending, but
not less responsible character of editors of private
papers and correspondence. These last may, indeed,
be shielded fi-om much that the two first do not hope
to escape ; but they are fairly and fully liable in the
way of taste, judgment, and that method of argument
* which looks to attain by inferences from ingenious col
lation and compilation, the same end that might be
less easily accomplished by a different and more direct
course. We shall not deviate from the immediate objects of

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 7
this review to find fault with our editor's preface. It
does not encroach on modesty, and infringes naught of
that propriety which should govern the form of a pub
lication emanating from a source so intimately allied
with its distinguished Subject. Indeed, he could not
have said less, or said better, if he said any thing at all ;
and if Mr. Randolph could have squared his selectiop
and compilation by as perfect a rule of taste,, our pen
might never have been employed in its present task.
The life, character, and public career of Thomas
Jeferson are identified -with much that is glorious and
interesting in the early history of these United States,
and the struggle for independence that resulted in
their severance from the parent country. The first
germs of that mighty inteUect which afterwards im
pressed itself on every department .of the government,
and diffused, its influences so ¦widely through every
class of our people, were caUed into life in the da^wn
of that troubled era. Its blossoms expanded and open
ed with ¦the progress of the Revolution, and ere yet the
old Continental Congress met beneath the sycamores
of Independence Square, its fruits had ripened in the
fidlest- and most luxurious maturity. The events amidst
which he had been fijrced iuto manhood were too hur
ried and interesting, the opening scenes of the drama
too exciting and startling, and their promise too en
ticing, not to draw out in faU strength and majesty the
richest treasures of one of the master minds of the
period, and develope inthe inception those pecuhar and
vast powers, which, but for their occurrence, might
have lurked under ground for long years subsequently,
and in aU probabUity, might never have reached the same
enviable climax. Nor did he enter on the scene grudg
ingly, or by insensible degrees. His heart was fired
from the beginning, and his first advance into the very

8 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
body ofthe -inelee. He staked, all, and became at once,
and among the earliest, one of the responsible person- -
ages of the struggle. The memoir or autobiography
with which the volumes "before us open, affords a very
sufficient clew to explain this precocious ardor. , When
the great debate in the Virginia House of Burgesses
against the Stamp Act took place, Jefferson, as he tells
as himself, was yet a student of law at Williamsburgh.
Among the members who participated was Patrick
Henry. His genius had then just burst from obscurityj
and an eloquence scarcely aldti to earth had dazzled all
Virginia — an eloquence which Uves, as it must ever
live, in tradition alone. The circumstances were most
thrilling — ^the occasion one of intense anxiety. The
annunciation ofthe Stamp Act had thrown a feeling of
despondency and gloom over the entire republic.
Hearts which had never faltered, spirits which had
never quaUed, minds which had never shrunk before,
seemed now on the point .of giving way. Even the
presses, which heretofore, had sounded nothing short
of direct rebeUion, were manifestly confounded,, . and
their tone changed suddenly from resistance to con
solatory appeals and submission. It was evident that
the dreaded crisis was at hand. "It was just at
this moment of despondency in some quarters, of sus
pense in others, and surly and reluctant submission*
wherever submission appeai:ed, that Patrick Henry
stood forth tp rouse the drooping spirit of the people,
and to unite aU hearts and hands in the cause of his
country." He projected and moved the celebrated
fesolutions in opposition to the Stamp Act, and resolved
to support their adoption ¦with the full and concen
trated, force of that S;upreme oratory, which swept,
tempest-hke, from pne quarter of the confederacy > to
the other, — ^thrUUng, trumpet-toned, and resistless 

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 9
and nerved even weakness to lift an opposing voice.
Jefferson was a listener from the lobby. His- young
and ardent mind drank in eagerly the inspiring
draughts, and his bosom throbbed with emotions of
unknown, inexplicable ecstasy. The display, so splen
did, so unnaturaUy original, and so overpowering in ita
effects and influences, took his imagination, captive, aud
enchained his senses ¦with dream-Uke deUght. The
elements of sympathy were too strong to resist the
effort, and his judgnient foUowed his imagination. " He
appeared to me," says the memoir, " to speak as
Homer wrote^'' This thought gave birth to the after
man. All the entrancing pictures, and vivid scenes,
and splendid imagery of the Iliad were here brought,
by- a magic stroke, in fuU ernbodiment and bewildering
reaUty. America, oppressedr— struggUng^-imploring —
was a theme. more aUuring than "the weightier matter
of the law ; " and fancy, returned from the flaming
waUs and crimsoned rivers of Troy, found in the suf
ferings of Boston the Hving semblance of imagined
woes, and fastened there -with a tenacity that soon en
listed the strongest sympathies of his towering mind.
¦ The impression thus made was never forgotten, but
strengthened with daily reflection; and we are at no
loss to, account for that restless ardor and untiring -
energy which characterized Jefferson through every
and aU phases of the great strife tha,t followed.
Four years subsequent to this period, Jefferson had
become a member of the General Assembly. The m-
sulting and arrogant address of the British Lords and
Commons on the proceedings' in Massachusetts was the
first matter which engaged attention at the opening of
the session. Jefferson took a prominent and undis
guised part in getting up oounter fesolutions, and an
address to the King from the House of Burgesses. A
1*

10 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
dissolution by the Governor followed, but the patriots
met by concert in a haU of the Raleigh tavern, called
the Apollo, and there drew up articles of association
against any further commercial intercourse with . Great
Britain. Copies were signed and distributed amon^
the people, and the people sanctioned the proceedings,
failing to re-elect those otily who had given reluctant
assent to the course of the majority. Lord Botecourt
was excitable, a thorough Briton in feeling and prepos
session, and, as might naturally have been supposed,
violently opposed to the pretensions of the American
colonies. Angry contests followed. In the interval he
was succeeded by Lord Dunmore. ' Dumnore, already
incensed, was stUl inore impracticable, and unapproach
able, and vastly niore obstinate and imperious than
even Botecourt. As it happened, an interregnum of
comparative quiet foUowed. The Governor, ;flippant
and vaki-giorious, grew inordinately sanguine. But,
in the meanwhUe, a new storm was darkening the
horizon. In the spring of 1773 a grievance of a char
acter far more aggravating than any which had yet
been considered, became a topic of discussion in the
Assembly. This was the institution by Great Britain
of a Court of Inquiry, with power to transfer to Eng
land, persons committed for offences in the American
colonies. Opposition to this at once became universal
and alarming. It was even regarded ¦with more abhor
rence than the stamp act or the duty on^ tea. It caused
the most conservative and moderate to despair of re
conciUation ¦with the mother country. Voices -which
hitherto had been sUent, now raised the cry of resist
ance — resistance to the extremity. Fuel was added to
the flame of revolution. Rebellion seemed inevitable.
Men were con^vinced that it was the only remedy.
Then, for the first time, the star of Independence, like

THOMAS JEFFEESON. II
the first Ught of hope, appeared on the verge of the
horizon. Its genial ray, though ephemeral and meteoric
for the time, was welcomed as the beacon of safety.
Lukewarm members of the Assembly, whose courage
and whose zeal diminished as difficulties increased, were
promptly thrus^!, aside, and such spirits as Henry,, the
two Lees, Carr, and Thomas Jefferson, were placed in
the van. The crisis was soon reached. It was pro
posed and carried at a private meeting in the ApoUo,
that committees of correspondence and safety be es
tablished between the colonies. The resolutions to
this effect were drawn up, and prepared by Jefferson.
They were proposed, at his suggestion, , by Dabney
Carr, Hs brother-in-law. Of this committee, Peyton
Randolph was appointed chairman. Measures -were
forth-with taken to communicate their action to the
different colonies. Messengers were despatched, and
it is said that those from Massachusetts and Virginia,
each bearing sinular propositions and tidings, crossed"
on "their way. This presents a fair question for his
torical research. We shaU pause long enough only to
give one or two facts, and our own inference from
those faetk
There cannot,. we think, be any fair or rational doubt
as to the real source from which such proposition
PriginaUy emanated. Universal suffrage wUl Assign its
proper authorship to tihe distinguished subject of the
volumes now before us. But that a plan similar to it
in purpose, had, been pre^vdously proposed by Samuel
Adams iti Massachusetts, is a settled fact. As we in
cline to think, after a careful and minute examination
of the leading authorities, the Virginia plan of com
mittee correspondence was intended to embrace all the
colonies, ,the Massachusetts plan only the cities and
towns of that particular province. A strong proof of

12 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
this is found in the simple fact that no such plan aa
that suggested by Jefferson was ever submitted to the
Virginia Assembly as coining from Massachusetts. On
the contrary, such plan did reach, and was laid before
the Legislature of the latter colony as a suggestion
firom the Virginia Assembly. The plan of interior or
local correspondence belongs to Massachusetts. The
plan of colonial inter-communication originated in Vir
ginia. The first of these, we incline to think, was the
most prudent and practical 'method, but, the; latter
looked more to the grand ulterior result, Viz. : united
resistance to the aggressions of Britain.
These proceedings happened eariy in the spring of
1773,. In the meanwhile, events and their consequences
were rapidly combining to stir the waking spirit of^
rebellion, and clearly foreshadowed the grand issue.
The interdict of Boston harbor, or as it is commonly
called, the Port BUI, passed the British ParUament
early in the year succeeding. The news reached the
colonies in the spring, and thrUled -with electric violence
from Cape Cod to the Sa-vannah. So far from increas
ing the confusion .and dismay ¦w;hich had followed on
the passage of the Stamp Act, 6r Maying the patriotic
tumult, this intelligence served only to nerve the bolder
spirits and to re-assure the weak. It roused -the people
from their temporary lethargy, and incited them to
prepare for extreme measures. The Virginia Assembly
moved promptly and unshrinkingly up to the mark, ahd
passed a resolution setting apart ahd recommending
the first day of June, on which day the Port Bill was
to be carried into effect, for a day of fasting and prayer,
imploring Heaven to avert the horrors of civil war.
The design was obvious, and the language employed
terribly significant. The Governor promptly dissolved
them; but the spirit which animated the majority of

THOMAS JEFFEESON, 13
those -who had passed the resolution, was not so to be
subdued. Jefferson, although no orator and never essay
ing to speak, had now become the master workman in
that distinguished assembly. The worh of the House
was entrusted mainly to his discretion and guidance,
although the junior of many whose names had already
become distinguished. But his whole heart and mind,
the entire energies of his own nature, were given to
the task he had undertaken. Nothing was aUowed to
distract or seduce him from the pursuit of the grand-
object which possessed him. The attractions of a
polished society, the temptations of joyous social inter
course, the aUurements of a home made cheeirful and
happy by a lovely young wife, were aU insufficient and
powerless to divert him for an instant. It is hardly,
then, to be wondered at that a man thus sleeplessly and
entirely absorbed by the startling events now daUy
transpiring, especially when we. consider that, even at
his then early age, the evidences of that strong and
towering inteUect, which afterwards lifted its possessor
to tiie side of the greatest in the world, were already
stamped on many an enduring monument, should have
been entrusted "with the worli of a body whdse proceed
ings were giving tone to the sentiments of the entire
country. On this occasion he was ready for the emergency,
The dissolution had scarcely been announcedj before
measures were taken to hold a private meeting at the
ApoUo. The members promptly assembled, and on
that night was projected and passed the most impor
tant resolution ever adopted on the American continent.
It was the initiative step of the revolution, the one
from which aU that followed was traced, the beginning
which led to tlie glorious end. This was the proposir
tion to the -^arious colonial compiittees, that delegates

14 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
should assemble in a Cotiffress, to be holden at such
place as might be agreed on, annually, and to consider
the measures proper to be adopted for the general in
terest ; declaring further, that an attack on one colony
should be considered an attack on the whole. This
was in May. The proposition was acceded to ; dele
gates were elected in the August next ensuing, and on
the 4th of September, Philadelphia having been agreed
on as the place, the first Continental Congress assem
bled in Independence HaU. ^ Its important and splendid
proceedings are known to every reader of American
history. Jefferson was not then a member; but in
March of 1775 he was, by general consent, added to
the delegation from Virginia. A second career of ac
tion now opened before him. He had passed through
the first honorably and siiccessfuUy. Another was now
to be ventured, and an enlarged field of labor and
usefulness invited to the trial.
About this time the conciliatory propositions of old
Lord North, commonly known as the OU-ve branch,
were submitted by Gov. Dunmore to a special session
of the Virginia Assembly. It was found, on close
examination, tP contain nothing which entitled it to so
honorable a designation ; — artful, indefinite, ambiguous,
and fuU of that ministerial trickery for which the old
Premier -was so famous. Jefferson, at the solicitation
of many who dreaded its being repUed to from a lesg
resolute source, framed the answer ,of the delegates,
and, after some discussion and " a dash of cold water
here and there,'' the Assembly decided almost unani
mously to reject tlie proposition. TheyTvere, of course,
immediately dissolved, and Jefferson took his depalrture
for Philadelphia. He -was in his seat on the 21st of
June. As an evidence of the high esteem va. which his
talents were already held by the members of that

THOMAS JEFFEESON. l5
august and venertible Congress,, he was appointed two
days afterward on one of the most important commit
tees ofthe session, and, indeed, of the whole revolution.
This was to prepare a declaration of the causes of tak
ing up arms in opposition to the exactions of the British
Parliament. It was a task ofthe greatest delicacy, and,
as the premonitory step to an open and general rebeUion,
loaded -with many difficulties, especially considering the
complexion of a portion ofthe Congress. There were,
even yet, many who clung to the hope of a speedy and
satisfactory adjustment. Jefferson knew this well, and,
being a new member and comparatively a young one,
he proposed to Gov. Li-vingston to draw up the paper,
trusting alike "to the influence of his name and charac
ter, and to the admirable beauty and readiness of his
pen. Li-vingston haughtUy and somewhat impertinent
ly refused, insinuating to Jefferson that he was quite
too familiar for " a new acquaintance." The latter re
ceded -with a complimentary apology, and on the as
sembling of the committee, the duty devolved on Jef
ferson himself. Not used to shrink from responsibility,
Jefferson at once consented to undertake its prepara^
tion. Of course it was similar in its tone to those
which had pre-dously been prepared by his pen in Vir-
gkiia. Many objected, and Mr. Dickinson balked out
right. Dickinson was among the most fervent of those
who yet hoped for a reconciliation -with Great Britain,
and in deference to the scruples of one so eminently
honest, the paper was handed over to him to be put in
such shape as 'would' more approximate his peculiar
views. He presented one entirely different, and as a
mark of personal favor and indulgence, it -was accepted
and passed by Congress. Another paper from the
same source was also received and passed by Congress,
in the midst, however, of general diss.atisfaction and

16 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
disgust. This was an address to King George. Its
humiUty was inexpressibly contemptible ; but the con
script fathers of America were men of compromise and
moderation, — an example which might be patterned
wth some profit by their descendants and successors.
But the author was delighted -with its- passage, ahd
" although," says the Memoir, " out of order, he could
not refrain from rising and expressing his satisfaction,
and concluded by laying, ' There is but ,one word, Mr.
President, in the paper which I disapprove, and that
is the word Congress / ' on which Ben Han-ison arose ,
and said, ' There is but one -word in the paper, Mr.
President, which I approve of, and that is the word
Congress.'' "
On the seventh of June, 1776, the delegates from
Virginia, in accordance -with instructions,^ moved " that
the Congress should declare that these Uhited Colonies
are, and of right ought to be, free and independent
States; that, they are absolved from all aUegiance to.
the British crown, and that all political connection be
tween them and Great Britain is, and ought to be, to
tally dissolved ; and that measures should be immedi
ately, taken for procuring the assistance of foreign
powers, and a confederation be fortned to bind -the col
onies mpre closely together." The reading of such a
resolution startled the whole House. It was, in one
sense, the utterance of downright treason,. But there
was no avoiding the issue. The majority were resolved,
and the whole people caUed for action. Nor did any
body doubt for a moment the source from which the
resolution sprang. AU that was culpable and all that,
was meritorious, its odium and its popularity alike be
longed to Thomas Jefferson. Its tone, its wording, its
emphasis and expression, all bore the unmistakable
impress of his mind. He watched its fate -with intense

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 17
anxiety, and the moment of its reception was to him a,
moment of reUef and of self-congratulation. He felt
. then as if the die had been irretrievably cast, the Rubi
con passed ; that the day had at length arrived " big
¦with the fe,te of Cato and of Rome." But it encoun
tered powerful and serious opposition, and from persons .
and. quarters where persevering opposition might have
defeated its passage. Livingston, Rutledge, Dickinson,
and some others, expressed doubts as- to its necessity.,
- They argued that action then would be premature, that
the middle colonies were not ripe for revolt ; that una
nimity was the first thing to be desired ; that some dele
gates were expressly forbidden, to yield assent to any
such measure ; that France and Spain could not yet be
counted on ; that England might find the means of sat
isfying both of these powers ; and that, above all, there
was prudence in delay.
It thus became apparent that New York, New Jer
sey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, and South Car
olina, " were not matured for falUng from the parent
stem." The consideration of the resolution was, there
fore, wisely postponed untU the first of July. But a
great point had, nevertheless, been gained. Congress
agreed that a committee should be raised for the pur
pose of dra-wing up the form of a Declaration of Inde
pendence. This committee consisted of John Adams,
Benjamin FrankUn, Roger Sherman, Livingston, and
Jefferson. The latter was again selected for the duty
of preparing the draught. We approach this period of
Mr. Jefferson's pubUc career with sincere and unalloyed
pleasure. Envy does not interpose, maUce itself has
invented naught to discourage that heartfelt admiration
which ffils aU America when contemplating this grand
achievement. We feel the more gratification from the
fact that in the course of these pages, we shaU be com-

18 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
peUed to offer a contrast between this and a subsequent
period of his public life, which may not be at all favor-
able to the latter.
On the first of July, the resolution of the Virginia
delegates was taken up and considered; After some
discussion it was passed. The vote, however, was not
unanimous. Pennsylvania and South Carolina went
against it directly. The New York dele'gaition stood
off, approving the measure, but pleading the want of
necessary instructions. Delaware was divided. When,
however, the committee rose and reported td the
House, Mr. Rutledge requested that final action might
be suspended untU the next day. The suggestion was
caught at eagerly, and the request granted. No door
was closed that might preclude Unanimity. Accord
ingly, when the ultimate question came up, the dele
gates from that colony gave an affirmative vote, though
they disapproved of the terms of the resolution. The
timely arrival of a third member from Delaware, also
changed the vote of that colony ; and, in the mean
time, the Pennsylvania delegation mustering its entire
strength, cast her final vote in, favor of the resolution.
Thus, out of thirteen colonies, twelve gave their voices
for Independence, whUe New York had no authority to
vote at all. The result of this vote closed aU avenues
to a reconciliation with the mother "country, and men's
minds Were, from that auspicious day, turned whoUy to
contemplating the means and the method of -dgorous
resistance. But another, and the most important, step
remained yet to be taken. That was to pUbUsh to the.
world the Declaration of Independence. The vote on
the resolution had scarcely been announced, before a
report was caUed for from the committee which had
been previously raised and charged with the execution
of that duty; The-task of preparing the draught every

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 1 9
body knew had been assigned to Jefferson, and all eyes
were turned instantly towards his seat. The members
sat in stern and silent expectation. The galleries and
lobby, the aisles and passages of the HaU were fiUed to
overflo-wing, and trembled beneath the weight of anxious
and curious spectators. AU who were privUeged, and
many who were not, had crowded within the bar, and
occupied the floor of the House. WhUe this excitement
was at its height, Jefferson rose, holding in his hand
the consecrated scroU which spoke the voice of freedom
for a New World. AU was calmed and hushed in a
moment. We may easUy imagine the varied feelings
of that august body, and of the immense audience, as
the cleai-j full4oned voice of the young Virginian sent
forth the melodious sentences and glowing diction of
that memorable body and revered document. The an-
nunciative tone of the first paragraph excited at once
the most eager attention. The declaration of rights
foUowed, and the grave countenances of the delegates
assumed an aspect of less severe meditation, and opened
with the inspiration of kuidUng hope. The enumera
tion of -wrongs done, and of uisults perpetrated, faUs in
succinct cadences from the reader's lips, and the effect
is told on fro-wning brows and crimsoned cheeks, and
in eyes flashing with aroused anger, and the throe of
bosoms burning -with intense sympathy. And when, at
the close of this significant and -withering summary of
-Wrongs and oppressions, the reader came to the elo
quent sentence, "A prince whose character is thus
marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit
to 'be the ruler of a free people^'' a picture presents itself
to the mind's -vision fiUed -with thousands of glowing
faces, marked with emotions of heartfelt and ominous
approval. The conclusion was anticipated. The in
ward pledge of " life and fortune, and sacred honor,"

20 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
had been registered long ere it was reached in due
course, and the form pf subscription gave only the out
ward sign of sanction. When Jefferson sat down, he
took his seat crowned with a fame that will perish only
-with the earth itself, and which has linked his name
for ever with American Independence. An ecstasy of
patriotism pervaded the entire audience. Statesmen
and warriors, divipes and philosophers, old and young,
high and humble, were ' all aUke filled -with sensations
of delight, of fervor, and of buoyant hope. Nor was
night suffered to ptit an end to the joyous manifesta
tions. The people were aroused ; the spirit , of revolu
tion had diffused its heat among the masses of the city^
Bonfires were Ughted in the principal streets, and Ulu^
minated -windows sent forth their merry light ; spark
ling Ubations ¦were quaffed, and the " voluptuous swell"
of music mingled with the cry of " Freedom and the
American colonies ! "
With all its faults, with aU its susceptibiUty to criti
cism, wehave ever regarded the Declaration of Independ
ence as pne of the most remarkable and eloquent pro
ductions that ever came from a human pen. Association,
doubtless, has contributed much to induce this preposses
sion. It is right that it should do so. It is interwoven
with the dearest recollections of every true Ameri
can. It is whispered to him in the cradle ; it is learned
by. heart in the nursery — ^the boom of every cannon on
the Fourth, of July, imprints it deeper in his memory — .
it gathers accumulated force in his youth — ^it is sacredly
treasured in his old age — and yet, candor and the facts
of history compel us to the beUef^ that all the glory of
its composition should not be associated with the name
of Jefferson alone, although he himself has laid exclusive
claim to its authorship ip the epitaph prescribed to be
engraven on his tombstone. , Throwing- aside the al-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 21
leged discoveries and researches of Mr. Bancroft, we
are willing to go to the record as left by Jefferson him
self, to support the assertion stated above. The origi
nal draught was, doubtless, prepared by Jefferson, un
assisted, and without much consultation. But the orig
inal was vastly mutilated and cut down by the severer
pens of Adams and Franklin, and parts of paragraphs
suppUed anew, particularly by the latter. It was
changed both as to phraseology and sentiment, and
materiaUy unproved in point of taste. These facts wUl
be apparent to any who will examine closely the fac,
simile of the original copy appended to the memoir
of the book now under review. As it was first pre
pared, there was an unseasonable preponderance of the
iigh-sounding Johnsonian verbosity ¦without the pallia
tion of its elegance. It abounded with repetition and
unmeaning sententiousness in some parts, whUe para
graphs and sentences were prolonged to an extent
which might have startled Lord Bolingbroke himself,
who, however, would have missed the grace and poUsh
of his o^wn didactic periods. In fact,"the entire docu
ment underwent a shearing process in the revisory
hands of the author's coadjutors, and was reproduced
in a shape that has left it -without a paraUel of its kind
in the history of any other nation. Some parts of it
were reaUy objectionable, and would most certainly
have created bad blood both in the North and in the
South. We aUude to the long denunciation in the
original draught, of commerce in sliaves, and charging
that commerce as one ofthe grievances on the part of
the British monarch. Two of the Southern colonies,
Georgia and South Carolina, were clamorous for the
contmuance of this traffic. Citizens of the North were
the carriers and merchantmen, and it was, therefore, in
both cases, a question of dollars and cents. Where

22 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
great movements are contemplated, dependent on una
nimity for their success, it is hazardous and impolitic to
begin operations by a war on sectional interests. Both
Adams and Franklin knew this, and, although they
must have agreed with Jefferson in the sentiment, they
advised its total expunction. A few years later, such a
clause might have met with the heartiest reception, and
in this day would have been sanctioned by all Christen
dom. At that time it was an evil too general to be re
buked in such a document, written, as averred, mainly
with a -view to " a decent respect for the opinions of
mankind.''^ In 1776 it would have been a difficult mat
ter, if history is to be believed, to have laid a finger on
any portion of enhghtened C^iristianized mankind whp
were not equaUy obnoxious to the charge of slave-stealing
or slave-working as his Britannic Majesty. We speak
of Governments or organized Societies, else we would
pause to make an exception here in favor of the Qua
kers. This body of unpretending, consistent devotees,
are the only portion of the Christian world, so far as
we can now caU to mind, whose hands are clear of this
most abominable and nefarious traffic.
That Jefferson was thoroughly anti-slavery in his
notions, the whole of his poUtical iistory in connection
¦with the subject most conclusively estabUshes. He was
so, conscientiously and uncompromisingly. He never
dtegCnerated into rabid or radical aboUtionism, but Ms
moderation and tolerance evidently cost him many
struggles. He made known this oppositiSn to slavery
on every proper occasion, and before every legislative
body of which he became a member. We find him
meeting it at every assaUable point, heartUy endeav
oring to promote speedy emancipation, and to impede
its extension. In the first of these objects he faUed en
tirely. In the last, he met with gratifying success,-

THOMAS JEFFEES.ON. 23
through means of the celebrated Ordinance of 1787.
Among the latest records of his pen, after he had Hved
nearly fourscore yeai-s, is the emphatic prophecy, " that
emancipation must be adopted, or worse would foUoio.
That nothing was more certainly -written in the book of
fate, than that these people (the negroes) were to be
free." The manner of this expression is less that of a
phUosopher than of an enthusiast. Whenever he speaks
of slavery at aU, he speaks of it in terms never less
moderate than those quoted; and its opponents can
fortify themselves, as we think, -with no more reUable
authority than the name of him. who forms the subject
of these volumes.
On the fifth of September foUowing the declaration
of Independence, Jefferson resigned his seat in the co
lonial Congress, and became once again a delegate to
the House of Burgesses ofthe Virginia Assembly. He
entered at once upon a difficult line of duties. He in
troduced bUls establishing Courts of Justice, to regu
late titles to property, to prohibit the further importa
tion of slaves -within the colony, to institute freedom of
opinion in reUgion ; and aided in reconstructing the en
tire Statutory Code of Virginia. Soon after, he was
made Governor. He then declined, successively, three
foreign appointments from Congress. He served the
Commonwealth with distinguished abiUty during the
darkest period of the war, narrowly escaping, several
times, the dragoons of Tarleton and Simcoe. In the
spring of 1783 he was again appointed a delegate to
Congress, then in session at Annapolis. He served
about a year, when he was again appointed to a foreign
mission, and this time he accepted. On the sixth day
of July, 1784, he arrived at Paris, where he was to act,
in concert with Dr. Franklin and John Adams, in nego
tiating, and concluding a general treaty of commerce

24 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
¦with foreign nations. We design not to dweU on this
portion of his public services, as it does not come prop
erly -withui the r.ange of the object we have in view.
He remained abroad untU September of 1789. Return
ing home, he was appointed during the foUowing -win
ter to the new Department of State, under the Presi
dency of George Washington.
This ends the second and brightest, if not the most
important epoch of Jefferson's pubUc career. The
fourth and last may, indeed, have been philosophicaUy
and tranquilly passed ; but the third, on which we are
now entering, is chequered alternately with light and
gloom ; with much that is worthy of admiration, with
more, we fear, that is obnoxious to censure. We pro
ceed to the task of criticism under stern convictions of
duty, but not without reluctance.
At this date of his poUtioal history, Jefferson con
cludes his memoir. Henceforth we must look to the
Correspondence, and to what other authorities may be
found appropriate, to complete the object of our inqui
ries. Up to the year 1792, no distinct party organization
had existed. The administration, fortified in the love
and respect of the entire people, went on swimmingly.
Washington himself could not be assailed. The other
members of government were sheltered by the protect
ing jEgis of his popularity. But the gigantic financial
poUcy of Alexander HamUton began now to beget se
rious uneasiness in the minds of aU who dreaded the
centralization of power in the hands of the General Gov
ernment, and the consequent depreciation of the State
sovereignties. The State debts had been assumed, and
a large and powerful body of creditors tumed their at
tention to the Union, and not to the separate indepen
dencies. Duties were laid on imported goods, and the

. THOMAS JEFFEESON. 25
merchant ta^ansacjted his business under the authority
and patronage ofthe United States. The Bank, which
now formed the great connecting link of commerce be
tween the States, was of federal origin. The manufac
turer looked to the Union for the protection he needed ;
and the ship-o-wners and seamen looked also to the same
quarter for the same fiivor. A fierce opposition sprang
up. It found an adroit and a -willing leader in Thomas
Jefferson. He felt his, way cautiously, secretly, and by
slow degrees. But there was one material obstruction
in the way of an active and effective opposition. AU
the respectable presses in the coimtry were strongly
federal ; stout advocates of Washington's administra
tion. Nothing could be done, so long as this impedi
ment remained in the way. Jefferson soon fell upon a
plan to surmount it. His residence in France during
the revolution, and hiS' intimate acquaintance with the
revolutionary chiefs, had schooled him in those arts and
intrigues which ripen party schemes. He had his eye
now upon a man, the only man perhaps in aU America
admirably adapted to the purposes of the opposition.
A restless, narrow-minded, distempered Uttle French
man, named PhUip Freneau, was then conducting a low
and scurrUous print in the? city of New York. His
boldness and carelessness of character, together with
some fluency in the language ofthe fish-market, attract
ed the attention of those who were beginning to form
a plan of opposition to Washington's administration.
Jefferson, now Secretary of State, tempted him, by the
offer of a clerkship in his o-wn Department, to remove
to PMladelphia. The starving Frenchman, whose most
sumptuous diet had been only stale crackei-s and cheese,
of course jumped at the offer, and pledged himself to
pursue with indiscriminate rancpr, the -wisest as well as
the worst of Washington's measures. The National
.2

26 THOMAS JEFFEESON.-
Gazette was established, and a repository of more than
Augean uncleanness became the head quarters of those
who had raised their parricidal hands against the Father
of his Country. " During its shorfc-Uved existence,"
says a modem author, "it was notorious for its scan
dalous falsehoods and misrepresentations, its fiilsome
adulation of Mr. Jefferson, and its gross abuse of lead
ing federal men." The example thus conspicuously set,
has been ever since assiduously foUowed by the party
which dates' its origin at this period, and which claims
the powerful paternity of Jefferson's name and princi
ples. We shaU not contravene this claim, nor question
the authenticity of such origin. We beUeve that the
claim is weU founded, and the origin fairly attested.
But their efforts against Washington and his adminis
tration signaUy and ingloriously failed. They did npt
venture even to name the real object of assault. The
demonstration was made against Adams, the Vice
President, and Alexander Hamilton, Secretary ofthe
Treasury. Against the administration of the first they
subsequently succeeded ; whUe, in connection with the
latter, they carried their design of opposition by coup
ling his name with an undue bias in favor of England ;
thus making use of the ferocious prejudice which stUl
existed against that country. Even so late as 1848, a
distinguished statesman and Presidential .womiwee of
this sanie radical party, has condescended to aVaU him
self of this odium, supposed to be attached to HamU-
ton's name, and, in the same letter (un-wittingly, but,
doubtless), tacitly admits his Uneal party descent from
the Jacobinical faction of 1793, by claiming this period
as "the starting point of difference" bet-wixt the two
great "parties " of the present day.
In the summer of 1794 occurred the famous, or
rather infamous. Whiskey RebelUon in the State of

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 27
Pennsylvania. The law of '91 had imposed a duty on
spirits distUled -within the United States, It was vio
lently menaced and resisted by the parties interested.
Inspectors were insulted, officers of the excise tarred
and feathered, marshals attacked and fired upon. -At
length the patience of the President was exhausted ; he
marched an army into the disaffected country, and the
insurrection was speedily queUed, The opposition had
not discountenanced the course or the cause of the riot
ers. Some of their presses had openly fomented and
excited the revolt. "It was shrewdly suspected," says
the same author before quoted, " that Jefferson did not
look -with very great reprobation on the Pennsylvania in
surrection." This suspicion has not been controverted,
but rather confirmed, by the tenor of his pubhshed cor
respondence, and opens a dark and unpleasing chapter
of his pubUc history. Just previously to this nefarious
outbreak, he had given utterance to opinions in this
eonnection which would have disgraced Fouche or
Robespierre, and which cannot now be characterized
by a less mild term than atrocious. Speaking of Shay's
rebellion in Massachusetts, he had said, " God forbid
we should evew be twenty years without such a rebellion.
What country can preserve its Kberties if its rulers are
not wamed from time to time that the people preserve
the spirit of resistance? Let them take arms. The
remedy is, to set them right as to fects, pardon and
pacify them. The tree of liberty must be refreshed from
time to time with the blood of patriots and of tyrants.''^
We venture the assertion that no sentiments more
anarchical and dangerous can be found in any docu
ment of history from the period of MachiavelU's
"Prince" to Dorr's Manifesto. They are precisely the
sentiments which animated such men as Jack Cade
and Watt Tyler, and PhiUp Freneau, and CaUender,

28 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
and ^Citizen Genet. The Russian StreUtzes or the
Turkish Janizaries cannot be charged with motives
more criminal, or -with deeds more abhorrent than such
sentiments would have brought about. The only paUi-
ation for their utterance is to be found in that charity
which covers the zeal of a sincere though misguided
opposition. The French associations and prejudices of
Jefferson had seduced him into a lamentable departure
from the safe, moderate, and consistent revolutionary
principles which marked the period of 1776. He had
heard the fierce debates of the Jacobin Clubs, and
thriUed under the reeking eloquence of Danton and his
tiger-tempered coUeague. AU the murders committed
by the Revolutionary Tribunal — aM the blood which
flowed from the scaffold of the death-dealing guUlotine
— ^the horrors of the Reign of Terror — ^the sighs and
tears which had made Paris the terrestrial counterpart
of a heU, were insufficient to disgust the author of the
Declaration of American Independence, His philo
sophic eye beheld, tearless, the walking images of bro
ken hearts and crushed affections which crossed his daUy
path, and surveyed, unmoved, the moumfiil emblems
which shrouded an entire city -with funeral drapery.
Nor do we assume any too much in saying this. The
memoir before us contains nothing which can rescue its
distinguished author from the severity of the inference.
We find nothing in the Correspondence to explain the
omission. It may, therefore, be fairly supposed, that
Jefferson was not so greatly horrified at these manifold
and ceaseless atrocities as ever to think that the cause
of Liberty, thus conducted, was the cause of anarchy
and of murder. We might extend these inferences
further. During the reign of the bloody Triumvirate,
private conversations and careless expressions, uttered
even in the recesses ofthe famUy circle, were made the

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 29
plea for butchering the speakers on the foUffwing day.
It is not unUkely to suppose that Jefferson here learned
his art of noting down what occurred at dining tables,
and private parties, and social gatherings, that the
compUer of the volumes before us might afterwards
give to the world, in the shape ofthe "Ana," a method
of espionage which would have shamed even Lavalette
or Savary, and challenged attention from Bourienne
himseU". We would -willingly have drawn a veU over
this portion ofthe published poUtioal works of Thomas
Jefferson. But we consider that the worst was done
when the editor of these volumes passed the "Ana"
into the hands of the printer. It is not for us to find
fault -with the taste which prompted the pubUcation of
a private journal. Our duty and intention are, as the
undisputed right of a reviewer, to express our opinions
ofthe production. But we must not digress further.
Thus imbued with the effects, if not with the spiiit,
of Jacobinism, Jefferson had returned to America ; and
we may thus account for his opinions on Shay's Rebel
Uon, Ms supposed sympathy -with the Whiskey insur
rectionists, his intimacy -with such men as CaUender,
and Freneau, and Tom Paine, and Ms early and insidi
ous opposition to the administration of George Wash
ington. The first object of attack had been the finan
cial poUcy of Hanulton, and thus far we sanction, in
part, at least, tMs course of policy. The views and the
aims of that eminent minister have never had entirely
our poUtical sympatMes. There was, in aU Ms meas
ures, a too consoUdating tendency, wMch might have
resulted alarmingly in after days. But the thunders of
the opposition were soon turned more directly against
Washington himself by a mercUess assault on the treaty
of John Jay, wMch, it was known, had , received the
President's cordial approval. It was fought in every

30 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
way kno-wn to ParUamentary warfare, and Washington
was goaded by every means to wMch an adroit and in
ventive opposition could resort. It was wrangUngly
and factiously debated ui the Senate, and it was threat
ened -with the vengeance of the House. To cro-wn aU,
a resolution was brought forward by Li-vingston, re
questing the President " to lay before the House a copy
ofthe instructions to the Minister ofthe United States,
who negotiated a treaty -with the King of Great Brit
ain, communicated by Ms message, together with the
correspondence and other documents relative to the
said treaty." This was subsequently qualified by a
clause to the effect, " exrcepting such papers as ariy
existing negotiation may render improper to be dis
closed." To tMs resolution the President first re
sponded, "that he would take the subject into consid
eration." He finaUy refused to lay any such papers
before the House. TMs refusal stimulated the opposi
tion to increased bitterness, and " appeared," in the
language of MarshaU, "to break the last chord of that
attachment wMch had heretofore bound some of the
active leaders of the opposition to the person of the
President." Long anterior to tMs, however, Jefferson,
although StUl recognized as the head of the opposition,
had resigned Ms post of State Secretary, and from his
retirement at Monticello frilminated the signs, tokens,
and passwords of determined and ceaseless hostUity to
the poUcy of the administration. He had openly ridi
culed the course of Washington in the Whiskey Rebel
hon, and had encouraged, wMle engaged in combating,
the pretensions of citizen Genet. He now resorted to
the more candid warfare of denunciation, and directed
the whole influence of his name and the whole power
of Ms pen against the Jay treaty. But aU would not
do. The magic of Washington's popularity continued

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 31
to prevail, and it became evident that the nation fe
vered the prompt ratification of the treaty. It was
ratified, and the hopes of Jefferson and his now numer
ous friends had to be postponed for a. season.
On the 4th of March, 1797, John Adams was inau
gurated President of the Umted States, and, at the
same time, Thomas Jefferson was sworn m as Vice
President. The character of Adams, according to the
testimony of Ms best friends and warmest admirers,
was an anomaly. " Of a restless and irritable tempera
ment," says a strong federal biographer ; "jealous of
other's praise, and suspicious of their influence ; obsti
nate and yet fickle ; actuated by an ambition which
could bear neither opposition nor lukewarmness, and
vain to a degree approaching insanity, he was himself
incapable alike of concei-ving or of acting upon a settled
system of poUcy, and was to others as easy a subject
for indirect management, as he was impracticable to
more legitimate approach. With the noblest impulses
and the meanest passions, he presents a portrait wMch,
in its contradictory features, resembles more the shift
ing image of a dream than the countenance of an actual
being." It does not come -within the design of tMs article
either to endorse or to combat tMs opimon. We -wiU
barely add what the writer might properly have added,
that the patriotism and native honesty of John Adams
were sadly blurred by a bad temper and an excitable
vindictiveness. " As was Ms character, so proved the
administration of such a man ; flickering, unstable, with
out fixed rule' or defimte object." The Mtherto ob
structed road of the opposition was now fairly cleared.
The awe of Washington's great name stood no longer
in their way. The far-reaching sagacity of Jefferson
was at work, and Ms poUcy and plan of operations were

32 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
soon developed. During the stormy period of the
Revolution he and Adams had been attached and inti
mate friends. Their associations had been of a charac
ter more than usuaUy cordial and confidential. Soon
after Jefferson's return from France they feU ont, and
became partiaUy estranged. But the difference did not
quite amount to a personal quarrel, and they stiU re
mained on civU terms of intercourse. No one knew
better than Jefferson the weak points in the character
and constitution of John Adams. He beUeved firmly
in the honesty of Ms heart, but he was weU acquainted
with the instabiUty of his poUtical opinions ; with his
leaning, one day, to rank federalism, and the next, to
downright radicaUsm. " He (Adams) by turns defend
ed the mob, and advocated hereditary power." This
was an open prey to an ingenious and a watchful opposi
tion, and Jefferson did not scruple to turn his private
kaowledge and past associations to legitimate poUtical
account. We do not mean to say that he ever betrayed
confidence. Jefferson had both too much caution and
too much pride of character to act dishonorably. It
may be explained easUy on the score of ambition and
selfishness, neither of which can be denied to him in
their fuUest latitude. But the object was now to
estrange Adams from the party wMch had elected Min,
by tMs move, to weaken the federalists, to destroy the
influence of Hanulton, and clear the way for the acces
sion of Jefferson and the Democrats. The accomphsh
ment of such a plan required the most consummate ad
dress. It was not hard to perceive that such requisition
was more than fulfiUed in the person of the acknow
ledged leader of the opposition. Jefferson was just
the man to play the game wMch was now in hand. His
affectation was in bemg plain, and his plainness of ap
pearance and intercourse did amount almost to unvar-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 33
nished demagoguism. He desired to be known in
America by the same popular cognomen by which WU-
liam Pitt had been long hailed and worshipped in Eng
land, that of the " Great Commoner."^ Pitt, however,
not only was ambitious to lead, but to be thought to
lead. Jefferson, on the contrary, was neither bold
enough nor haughty enough to court the latter distinc
tion. He desired to lead, but to make others believe
that he wa,s led. This, however, was the choice rather
of poUcy than of timidity. He may have lacked candor
— ^he may have been time-serving, accommodating, and
subservient — but he was not deficient in courage. We
are told, indeed, that he had acquired, about tMs time,
a less en-viable surname than the one which distinguished
Pitt. He was caUed " The Trimmer." But aU this, as
Terry O'Rourke would say, was " a part of Ms system."
He was engaged in running a mine which, when com
pleted, was to demoUsh the federal party, and he did
not pause in Ms work or stop to defend Mmself from
mere personal attacks. He, therefore, set assiduously
about renewing Ms former intimacy with Adams. It
was very weU kno-wn that a portion of the Federalists,
with Alexander HamUton at their head, had manoeu-vred
to place Mr. Pinckney ahead of Mr. Adams on the party
ticket ; and, if possible, to give the Presidency to the
former. Adams's hot temper rose to the boiling point
when tMs was made kno-wn to Mm, and he set the
brand of his never-ending hatred on the brow of Ham
Uton. To foment tMs difference became the cMef end
of the opposition. Adams was adroitly cajoled, wMle
HamUton was stiU more virulently assailed. Jefferson
addressed to him the most seductive and weaning let
ters, and -wrote flatteringly about him to others.
Prominent ultra-democrats, his former personal friends,
crowded his reception rooms, and baited him -with a
2*

34 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
thousand tempting morsels, aU artfully directed against
the kno-wn vuMerable points of his character. The vain
old man proved an easy -victim, and fell unwarily into
the snare. He met cordially the advances of Jefferson,
took Gerry, one of the most determined Democrats,
into the closest confidence, and, in a tempest of exacer
bation and rage, drove many of the warmest Federal
ists from his councUs and Ms presence. This was pre
cisely what had been played for by the opposition.
Their point was gained, the fatal breach irrevocably
effected. In the meanwMle the difficulties -with France
assumed an alarming aspect. The conduct of i;he Di
rectory had become intolerable. They had first insult
ed the American Envoy, and then driven him from the
French territories. A special session of Congress was
caUed by the President, The FederaUsts had a clear
majority in both Houses, and the speech breathed war
and vengeance against France, and breathed them most
justly. The opposition then showed the drift of their
ppUcy. Denunciations the most irefiJ. and menacing
were hurled a,gains-t the recommendations of the Execu
tive, and against a war with repubUcan France. The
President was roused to desperation by these sudden
and -withering assaults, and foUowed up Ms recommen
dations -with aU the influence of Ms name and his offlce.
Measures were taken to prepare for hostUities ; Wash
ington was drawn from his coveted retirement to be
invested once more -with the chief generalsMp- of Ms
country's armies, and the spirit of the nation seemed
to favor the course of the Government. The result
might have been auspicious for the administration, if
matters had been suffered to remain in this situation.
But the temper ofthe President was despotic, and the
least draught of popular favor intoxicated Mm with
vamty. At the next session of Congress, at the espe-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 35
cial instance of the Executive, were passed the celebrat
ed AUen and Sedition Laws, and from that day the ad-
mimstration and poHtioal prospects of John Adams were
doomed. They were the worst laws that ever ema
nated fi-om American legislators, and their passage "was
a death blow to the Federal party. The opposition
charged upon them with concentrated, irresistible force,
and the thunders of the press were tumed to the work
of their demoUtion. The Legislatures of the different
States entered energeticaUy into the strife. The Vir
ginia and Kentucky resolutions of '98 foUowed, destined
to a notoriety co-existent with the most treasured
archives of the RepubUc. The first were prepared by
James Madison, and the last by Thomas, Jefferson. It
is foreign to the purposes we have in -view to discuss
elaborately the merits of these weU-kno-wn documents.
We shaU content ourselves -with a single remark. They
contain, m our humble judgment, much that is conserv
ative and worthy of remembrance; but they also con
tain much more that we deem dangerous, Jacobinical,
and wUdly revolutionary in tendency. The remedies
they inculcate for constitutional infractions are extreme,'
repugnant to genuine patriotism, and whoUy. unneces
sary in a government where the people hold the power
ofthe baUot box. TMs view gathers additional weight
when it is considered that an intermediate umpirage
exists in the Supreme Court. In fact, the American Con
stitution neither countenances nor -w;arrants extreme
measures in any case. If we correctly understand its
language and spirit, we should say that aU chances of
aggression, from any quarter, are amply provided for and
guarded against. Balances and checks, and legitimate
Bcmedial processes pervade its every feature. We regard
it as the mere siUy cant of suspicious, over-zealous enthu
siasts and designing demagogues, to advocate nuUificar

36 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
tion, revolution, or dissolution as ulterior or unavoida
ble remedies in cases of encroachment. The ship may
spring a leak, but the mariner does not desert and take
to the open and unfriendly seas untU the pumps have
been thoroughly tried and exhausted. It wUl then be
soon enough to take refuge in extreme measures, when
the safeguards ofthe constitution are found imavaUing.
But the Virginia and Kentucky resolutions answered
and fuUy attained the objects for wMch they were de'-
signed. They served to beat down the AUen and Se
dition laws, and formed the entering wedge to the
subversion and eradication of the old Federal party.
So far it was good. Happy would it have been for the
country if tMs good could have been effected -without
the entailment of an e-vU scarcely less deplorable than
that wMch had been crushed ! But from that day to
tMs; the objectionable doctrines taught in these papers
(especiaUy those of Jefferson) have been made the
theme and the authority of cbagitators, of aspirants, of
factionists, and of demagogues. '^ They have been leaned
upon for apology, and for shelter from obloquy and
odium. The tendency of their principles reaches and
covers anarchy itself; and justifies the overthrow of
estabUshed governments as a primary, extra-constitu
tional remedy against supposed infractions. Their ab
stractions, and, indeed, their proposed remedies, would
have appUed to the old colomal government under
Great Britain. But the miscMef was complete, when
they were offered as suggesting a method of resistance
to the authority and laws of the Govemment of the
Umted States. Their teachings were haUed by all the
discontented and revolutionary classes of that day.
The Shay rebeUiomsts, the Whiskey msurrectiomsts-,
the Jacobin clubs of PhUadelphia and other cities, the
foUowers ofthe Genet faction, and the satelUtes of Fre-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 37
neau and CaUender, received them as text-books, and
became associated in one soUd Democratic phalanx.
The Federalists shrank into disrepute, and gradually
d-windled untU they were extinguished by the proceed
ings of the Hartford Convention. Until then, or at
least, up to 1807, the radical Democratic party, found
ed and fostered by Jefferson, held undivided, undis
puted sway. But at the latter period a new party
emerged from the poUtical chaos. It was composed of
the moderate Democrats and the more Uberal portion
of the defeated Federalists. It numbered in its ranks
such men as Monroe, and Cra-wford, and Gerry, the
younger Adams, and Henry Clay — ^the dawn of whose
genius was just then irradiating the horizon. It was
the Conservative party of the country — ^the medium
spot of patriotism, beat upon'aUke by rank Federahsm
and impracticable Democracy. It gathered strength
with years, and soon numbered among its converts
James Madison, who, however, had favored it from the
first. We must here pause for the present. In some fu
ture number, the. grounds here assumed "wiU be further
elucidated. We have now brought Jefferson to the
end of the tMrd era of Ms political life, and leave him
on the eve of success and of elevation to the highest
and proudest honors of Ms country. We shaU soon re
sume the na;rrative, if permitted by health and life.
PART II.
Having, in our first number, conducted the distin
guished subject of these memoirs to the threshold of
Ms greatest poUtical elevation, we now proceed to de
picture and carefuUy analyze so much of the policy of
Ms administration as may serve to develope the object

38 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
of tMs essay, and to illustrate the representative fea
tures in the pubUc character of -the first Democratic
President. We enter upon tMs important and deUcate
task after a most agreeable interval of mutual relaxar
tion, and -with a greatly enlarged stock of material.
We have long since done, however, -with aU that can
be justly caUed disinterested and admirable in the life
and character of Jefferson. Over a space of more than
twenty years, dating from 1790, we are forced to con
template him in the character of a fierce and implaca
ble partisan chief, whose efforts and infiuence were
directed solely to the demoUtion of a hated sectj and
the aggrandizement of one of wMch he was the idol
and the head.
From the very moment that he detected the supe
rior and predominating influence of Alexander HamUton
in the councUs and poUey of Washington, Ms besetting
sin of jealousy prompted in him a spirit 'of opposition,
whose rancor has been equaUed only by the " bitter-
endism" of our day. To the sedulous transmission
of tMs spirit from the parent fountain, is to be attrib
uted, we incline to think, that radical -paitjism which
has since disfigured and marred the administration of
govemment, and entaUed upon the country a series of
principles (so caUed), wMch, if such be our fate, wfll
one day result in the disaster of secession oi* despotism.
Jefferson did not enter the WMte House in a way
very compUmentary to Ms pubUc character, or that in
dicated much personal popularity. The Electoral Col
leges gave him a meagre majority of eight votes only
over Ms federal competitors ; whilst Ms repubUcan col
league obtained the same number with himself. TMs
last was Aaron Burr, who, at a subsequent period, was
made bitterly to expiate this equalization -with the de
spotic tempered sage of MontifceUo, whose pride was

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 39
sorely touched at being thus unexpectedly leveUed -with
one who had Mtherto attracted but Uttle notice beyond
the limits of his o-wn State. From the hour when the
vote was announced in the Senate Chamber, to the
gloomy day when Burr returned frpm Europe, long
years aAerward, friendless, poverty-stricken, and broken
hearted, the envious eye of Jefferson was fixed upon him,
and misfortune and persecution, thus powerfuUy direct
ed, hunted him to a premature and unhonored obscurity.
The unrelenting hatred of Jefferson can be accounted
for in no other way, that history has so far developed.
The good fortune of Burr was Ms only offence, in this
instance ; though, as regarded others, he had an awfiil
crime to answer for. His murderous hand had laid
low the most intimate fiiend and counseUor of Wash
ington, the main author and expounder of the Consti
tution, whose profound mind and ready hand had aided
more than any other's to carry into successfiil practice
the project of our govemment. Of tMs, more anon.
Through this equaUty of votes bet-wixt the two
democratic candidates the choice of a President de
volved upon the House of Representatives. The bal
loting began on the moming of the 17th of February,
1801, and continued, -with few intervals, through a
period of seven days, without a clear result. AU
Washington was in a ferment. The gaUeries and lob
bies of the House were daUy crowded to overflowing
-with anxious spectators, and Pennsylvania avenue was
thronged -with messengers passing alternately from the
Capitol to the White House, bearing the news of each
successive baUot to its nervous occupant — Jefferson was
on the ground, presiding daUy in the Senate Chamber,
and watched the progress of the struggle -with aU the
inquietude incident to a dubious state of mind, and
-with all the eager soUcitude of an aspiring and ambi-

40 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
tious spirit. Burr designedly absented Mmself, having
first placed his poUtical fortunes m the hands and at
the discretion of a judicious personal friend. It had
been resolved at the outset that the House should
discard aU other busmess during the pendency of
the election, and that it should not adjourn untU an
election was effected. This body was composed of sm-
gular materials, in a political sense, for the business
which had now devolved upon it. The vote of the
coUeges had shown clearly that there was a democratic
majority of States. But of the one hundred and four
members who then formed the House of Representa
tives, a majority were zealous FederaUsts. The position
in which they were thus placed was one of pecuUar and
painful deUcacy. Both the candidates for Presidential
honors were Democrats, and one of tiiem the founder
and leader of that opposition party wMch, beginning
stealtMly during Washington's administration, had pur
sued federal men and federal principles -with a rancor
scarcely paraUeled in the history of faction. For these
reasons both were objectionable ; but, as may be very
weU imagined, Jefferson was -viewed, particularly, -with
strong feelings both of personal and poUtical hostiUty
by the majority in whose hands lay the issue of the
election. During two or three days, therefore. Burr
seemed to be decidedly the favorite of the FederaUsts,
and Ms prospects of success brightened in a manner
that cast dismay and gloom over the ranks of.the Jef-
fersonians. They grew outrageous in their course, and
uttered threats wMch plainly indicated the anarchical
and revolutionary tendency of their poUtical principles.
They insisted that the people intended Jefferson should
be President, they even attempted to buUy the refrac
tory members, by declaring that, if the House did not
choose Mm, an armed democratic force from the neigh-

THOMAS JEFFEESON, 41
boring States would march upon the District to compel
his election, or else, with Cromwellian intolerance, dis
solve and break up the Congress, that " better men
might occupy their places." The record of this fact is
furnished in the third volume of the work before us,
and its authenticity confirmed by Jefferson himself, in
a letter to James Monroe, dated on the fifth day of
the protracted and exciting contest. Nor is the an
nunciation of such resolves at all irreconcUable -with
the previous poUtical manifestos of our distinguished
subject, not-withstanding that the language of the Con
stitution conferring the power of choice, in such contin
gency, directly and solely on the House of Represen
tatives, is clear, pointed, and unmistakable.
Hia kno-wn sympathy -with the Shayites, the Whis
key Insurrectionists, and the Jacobin clubs of PhUar
delpMa, and Ms connection -with the Nullification Pro-
nunciamientos of the Virgima Legislature, as well as
this threat of armed resistance, show clearly enough
Ms contempt for the Constitution, and the disorganiz
ing elements wMch lay at the root of his poUtical
opimons. But tMs was only one among the exciting rumors
wMch distracted the city of Washington during that
stormy period. Various stories were afloat of bribes
and accommodating offers, of Burr's open bids, and of
Jefferson's private overtures. Among the rest it was
currently wMspered that the federal majority of the
House being unable, after repeated trials, to make
favorable terms -with either of the candidates, and find
ing that the whole power was lodged with them, had
resolved to prevent any choice, by prolonging the con
test untU after the fourth of March, or to pass a law
vesting the Executive power in some other person.
In the same letter referred to above, Jefferson declares

42 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
Ms apprehensions of such a course, and goes on to
deprecate and denounce it. " It is not improbable,'?
says a distinguished writer, "that, from the abhor
rence which some members may have felt at seeing
Mr. Jefferson in the office of President, means were
spoken of to prevent such a national disaster. Doubt
less the FederaUsts would have done any thing wMch
they believed to be constitutional and dutiful to prevent
it ; but no such propositions are supposed to have been
discussed." And, indeed, hard as the trial was to po
Utical opponents, forced thus to sign, as it were, the
warrant for their own poUtical annihilation, the records
show that the Federalists sought only the most favorable
terms in their negotiations with the friends of the two
democratic rival candidates. There was no avoiding
the issue — ^no shrinking from the responsibiUty,, and it
is clear, on a review ofthe proceedings, that an election
was determined on from the beginning.
The seventh day da-wned on the contest, and thirty-
five baUotings had been taken -without an election.
At length the struggle was terminated in a manner the
most singular, and at the instance of a personage who
might have been supposed to be the last man in the
Umted States td interfere in a contest bet-wixt Aaron
Burr and Thomas Jefferson. TMs was Alexander
HamUton. HamUton regarded Burr -with a species of
horror that seems to have proceeded less from maUgn
feeUng, than from an innate conscidusness of Ms utter
want of principle, or the least moral susceptibiUty;
Jefferson, too, had long been his poUtical adversary
and strong personal enemy, but when consulted by his
friends as to the choice of e-vUs, we are told that
HamUton unhesitatingly and most strenuously urged
that the preference should be given to the latter. This,
most probably, may have been the first link in that

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 43
fetal chain of personal animosities which ended -with
the tragedy of Hoboken.
It soon transpired that the majority had been, by
some means, sufficiently umted to bring the election to
a close, and on the seventh day, every member was in
Ms seat. The House presented a remarkable spectacle,
strongly iUustrative of the intense excitement then
pervading the whole circles of Washington society.
Many of the members were aged and infirm, and many
worn down with fatigue, were seriously indisposed, as
the array of pale faces and languid eyes plainly showed.
Some were accommodated, from pressing considera
tions of prudence, -with huge easy chairs. Others,
again, were reclining on beds or couches, almost in a
state of bodily exhaustion, induced by mental anxiety
and suffering; Indeed, we are told by a contempora
neous -writer, that one member was so prostrated as to
require the attention of his wife throughout the day's
sitting. The Departments, also, and bureaus, and var
rious offices attached, were deserted, that their incum
bents might be present at the expected finale of the
great poUtical drama wMch had created, dm-ing its
enactment of mgh seven days, an mterest of unprece
dented intensity. Numbers of grave Senators left
their seats in the Chamber to occupy the~ benches of
the lobby, or to squeeze their way among privileged
spectators who fiUed the body ofthe House ; wMle the
gaUery teemed -with countless faces, and groaned under
the weight of a crowd, the Uke of wMch had never be
fore pressed on the stately pUlars which supported it.
At length the teUers took their seats. The baUots were
deposited slowly, one by one, and then amidst a breath
less sUence that seemed ominous in view of the vast
numbers assembled, the countmg began. The repre
sentatives for sixteen States had voted. The result

44 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
showed that out of these sixteen baUots, there were
ten for Jefferson, four for Burr, and two blank. Under
these circumstances, after a struggle of seven days'
duration, and after thirty-six trials, was Thomas Jef
ferson elected President of the United States. It is
more than probable that if Burr had exerted hunself
in the least, had made the least concession, or suffered
his friends to pledge him to leniency as regarded the
distribution of offices, he would have prevaUed ; and
although it is unquestionable that Jefferson had been
intended by the people for the first office, we cannot
doubt that the choice of Burr by the House would
have been acquiesced in and 'ratified as a strictly legiti
mate and constitutional proceeding. In long after
years a simUar contest occurred in the case of John
Qumcy Adams, who having been thro-wn before the
House of Representatives with a far inferior electoral
vote to Andrew Jackson, was, nevertheless, chosen
President by that body on the first baUot ; and the
people, xmseduced by the dangerous theories which
Jefferson had inculcated previously in Ms own case,
did not " march an armed force from the neighboring
States to compel" a different choice. TMs quiet sub
mission to the constituted authority would ha^e been
the same in 1801 as in 1825, the malevolent efforts of
the Jeffersomans to the contrary not-withstanding.
The acme of poUtical elevation did not, in one sense,
operate to destroy in Jefferson that incUnation to dem
agoguism wMch had hitherto characterized Mm. The
hard struggle it had cost Ms friends to make him Presi
dent rather whetted than abated his ambition, and his
ardor for power increased in proportion as it had been
difficult to secure it. His first acts after entering the
WMte House showed that he was casting his net for
easy re-election at the end of four years. He began by

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 45
an emphatic repudiation of aU the conventional customs
and etiquette estabUshed by Washington and followed
np by John Adams. The levees and drawing-rooms of
Washington were given in a manner to impose the
highest notions of official dignity, and were subjected
to such rules of etiquette as seemed fit to govern re
ceptions at the mansion of the chief officer of the gov
ernment. Mr. Adams did not depart from these ; but
Jefferson at once abolished all ceremony, and threw
open his doors to every swaggerer who chose to in
trude. He had no regular or stated hours for visiting.
He was accessible at any hour, to any person. His
personal deportment was ever cringing, and amounted
to an excess of humUity that inspired a feeUng of dis
gust, because, among other things, it was seen that af
fectation was at the bottom of such unseemly deference.
He maintained no equipage. He rode about the ave
nues of Washington on an ugly shambling hack of a
horse, wMch, it is said, was hardly fitted to drag a tum
brils His whole address and manner indicated Ms sub
serviency to the same species of affectation that prompts
a backwoods Methodist exhorter to elongate his face,
to solemnize Ms looks, and to converse and read in a
sepulchral tone. In fact, his receptions soon became a
source of mortification to our own community, and fur
nished a subject of ridicule to European travellers. No
President has copied Ms example since, though it is not
hard to perceive that the levees at the WMte House
smack yet of the levellmg poUcy introduced by Jefifer-
son. Nor did he stop here -with what he doubtless^
deemed a system of democratic reform. It had been
the habit of Washington and Ms successor to meet per-
sonaUy the two Houses of Congress on the day of their
assemblage, and address them a speech explanatory of
affairs, and recommending what course of poUcy might

46 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
have suggested itself in the interval of their session.
TMs was the mode long sanctioned by precedent and
by parliamentary usage. It is the mode evidently sug
gested by respect as well as convenience, and which
clothes so august an occasion -with the awe and dignity
suitable to a re-assemblage of the State's and people's
representatives. But Jefferson cliose td annul the an
cient custom, and introduced the system of messages,
since practised, and wMch, of late years, has been
adopted by Presidents as aveMcle to set forth their
o-wn poUcy, to decry and calumniate their adversaries,
and to bore the Congress with tedious disquisitions,
better suited to penny lecturers or hired joumaUsts
than to the CMef Magistrate of a powerfiil nation.
We are inclined to think, therefore, that Jefferson
placed the seal of Ms displeasure on these customs more
with a view to aimiMlate aU traces oi federalism, as
represented by Washington and Adams, than from any
conscientious suggestions of reform. The Mazzei letter
had, moreover, fairly committed him to a sans calotte
species of democracy, and, although he had labored to
explain and palliate the offensive passages of that extra
ordinary document, he may yet have thdught that con
sistency required that he should renounce those " Brit
ish forms," wMch he had so bitterly condemned in
George Washington's official etiquette.
The Inaugural Address of Jefferson breathed senti
ments of poUtical tolerance, and abounded with expres
sions of political harmony, totaUy unexpected, and
wMch excited high hopes of his administrative clemen
cy. We cannot find that he ever falsified these implied
promises. The latter years of Adams's Presidency had
been marked by a ferocious and virulent proscription
of all who differed poUticaUy -with the administration,
and the last few months, especiaUy when it was fdund

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 47
that the Federal party had been beaten in the elections,
were disgraced by acts of intolerance and selfishness
that made the man and his party odious to a. majority
of the nation. Laws were passed by the Federal Con
gress which had the air of beneficiary decrees, and new
offices created, it would seem, only that the President
might fiU them -with Ms party and personal favorites, m
time to exclude such as might otherwise be appointed
by the incoming administration.
To have continued or acquiesced in tMs course of
conduct would have been the worst form of proscrip
tion. Jefferson, therefore, very properly began Ms ad
ministrative career by displacing numbers of office
holders who had been appointed mainly because of
their federal principles, and fiUed the vacancies created
with Democrats. TMs course was caUed for by com
mon fairness; and, although we must regard Jefferson
as the author of the fierce party issue that yet darkens
our poUtical system, and has converted our Presidential
elections into campaigns, and made the preparations for
them a deceitftd and despicable game, we cannot judge
him hastUy for conformmg Ms- conduct to that equaUty
in the distribution of offices which the justice of the
case required. He did not procrastinate or trifle in the
discharge of this duty, but went to the work -with
promptness and determination; and this promptness
sMelded him fi-om the annoyances and the influences of
federal " bitter-endism." The wailings of the opposi
tion prints were ndt over mere smoke or imaginary
cases, as at the beginning ofthe present WMg adnUnis-
tration. The heads ofthe Mghest in office feU first and
fastest, and the axe df justice cut its way from the Ex
ecutive Departments and from the diplomatic offices, to
the humblest post-office at a county cross road, and to
the most obscure Ught-house that lifted its beacon on

48 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
our coasts. There was no soft hesitation, no mistimed
caution, no misjudged forbearance. This is a poUcy,
under such circumstances, as weak as it is ruinous to
those who practise it. It contributes to strengthen and
to quicken opposition, whUe it discourages friends.. So
far from coaciUating poUtioal opponents, it is more apt
to induce contempt, and serves eminently to fan the
flame of a maUgnant " bitter-endism." The bold pro
ceedings of Jefferson hushed wMle they defied rabid
partisan clamor, and those who had been ostracised for
opinion's sake were placed on a footing of fuU equaUty
with the pampered favorites of the late administration.
To this conduct may be traced the primary sources of
that wonderful popularity to wMch the democratic ad
ministration soon attained, and wMch it preserved
through a series of eight eventful years, marked by
acts and measures that bUghted the prosperity of the
country, and threw gloom and distress over almost
every household. Its energy and decision inspired
confidence among friends, and drew the respect of ene
mies. Whatever, therefore, may have been the motive
which induced these removals, the act was just, deserved
by those who had indulged party asperities in their day
of power, and strictly due to those who had labored to
overthrow the reign of political intolerance and pro
scription. The war which, on Ms accession, Jefferson waged
against the Judiciary and Judicial authority and dig-
mty, was a step very full of hazard as to the probable
deleterious effects it may have produced on the public
mind, and must be heartUy condemned by aU unbiassed
Mstoriographers. It was a branch of the Govemment
wMch he had, from the first, unscrapulously denounced
and opposed, and notwithstanding Ms professed horror
at the appointment of the "midnight judges" by Ad-

THOMAS JEFFEESON, 49
ams' expiring administration, we are inclined to think
that his hostiUty against the law estabUshing federal
courts throughout the various States was superuiduced
mainly by Ms ancient prejudices and unconquerable
jealousy. He evidently had Uttle or no respect for the
proceedings of courts of law, and never hesitated to op
pose the power of the Executive as of Mgher moment
than the Judiciary arm of the Govemment. The best
evidence of this is furnished by several letters contained
in the fourth volume of the work before us, as weU as
by one among Ms first official acts. George Thompson
CaUender, the Scotch UbeUer and defamer of Washing
ton, had pubUshed, duiing the administration of John
Adams, a scurrilous book, entitled, " The Prospect be
fore us," fiUed -with the most inflammatory appeals, and
calculated, from its most atrocious inculcations, to pro
duce widespread and dangerous discontent among the
lower fioating classes of people. He was arrested un
der the Sedition Act, speedUy brought to trial, convict
ed, and sentenced to fine and imprisonment. The tri
bunal before which he had been brought was the
appointed exponent of the Constitution and law, and
was clothed -with supreme jurisdiction in such cases.
But Jefferson paid no regard to the fects, the law, or
the Court. He pardoned and released CaUender, and
ordered the U. S. Marshal for Virgima to refimd the
amount ofthe fine to wMch he had been subjected. A
letter to Mr. George Hay, the Govemment attorney,
who subsequently prosecuted Burr with such distin
guished abUity,. unfolds Jefferson's opinion of the dig-
mty of courts of law, and e-vinces in the most emphatic
manner the native despotic tendency of Ms temper and
disposition. He therein says, " In the case of CaUen
der, the judges determined the Sedition Act was vaUd,
under the Constitution, and exercised their regular
3

50 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
powers of sentencing to fine and imprisonment. But
his Executive (Thomas Jefferson) determined that the
Sedition Act was a nuUity, under the Constitution, and
exercised his regular power of proMbiting the execution
of the sentence, or rather of executing the real law."
We know of nothing in the civil administration's of
Charles the First, of CromweU, of Napoleon, or of An
drew Jackson, the dictators of modem times, more
Mgh-handed, in tone and sentiment, or more pernicious
in principle, than such declaration and' such conduct
from tMs great model Democratic President. Thje act
of pardon was allowable, and belonged to Ms office.
But a pardon under the circumstances, and -with this
declaration, was an insult to the Court and an outrage
on the supreme law df the land ; wMle the order to re- .
fund the amount of fine was a flagrant usurpation of
undelegated pdwer. By the same rule of construction
he might just as weU have directed that CaUender
should receive every doUar in the Treasury. It so hap
pened, too, that, in the end, Jefferson was caught inhis
o-wn trap. TMs low-minded Scotchman, like aU other
minions" and parasites, had Ms price, and repaid aU tMs
official Uberality by the basest ingratitude. He had
scarcely been released, or purged of the dungeon's
stench, before he appUed to be made postmaster at
Richmond. This Jefferson flatly refused to do, but, at
the same time, tendered the hardy and beggarly appU-
cant -with a loan from his private purse. CaUender ac
cepted the loan, but, dead to aU the decencies of life,
and fretting -with disappomtment (though complimented
by his eminent patron as being " a man of science "), he
no sooner pocketed the money, than in mean revenge,
he published to the world that Jefferson had been Ms
adviser and patron in aU Ms scurrilous attacks on the
two preceding administrations, had furnished him the

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 61
means of printing " The Prospect," and had encouraged
him to aU he had undertaken in his career of 'poUtical
piracies. This act of treachery, coming from a genuine
nursling of unadulterated Democracy, startled even the
"great Apostle" Mmself, and seemed to rouse and
ruffle his boasted seremty of temper under personal at
tacks and -vituperation. Jefferson was forced into the
deffensive, and -wrote several letters in explanation of
these charges, and in extenuation of his friendly con
duct towards CaUender.
" If there be any thing," says a distmguished -writer,
" wMch is capable of sustaining popular government,
and keeping their action within legitimate constitu
tional boundaries, it is a learned, self-inspecting, inde
pendent judiciary. To make the administration of jus
tice, and aU questions onthe excess of power, dependent ,
on popular excitement, is to assume that mere human
passion is the best arbiter of right and -wrong." Widely
different from tMs was the opinion of Thomas Jefferson.
His doctrines and Ms example as respects judicial tri
bunals are MgMy exceptionable, obnoxious to good
government, and dangerous m the extreme. We have
seen, in the case of CaUender, that he assumed to de
clare null and void a law constitutionally enacted and
approved, constitutionaUy adjudged, and constitution-
aUy executed. Other acts strictly in unison with tMs
may be easUy cited. The case of Duane, another
Democratic UbeUer, affords an exact paraUel. During
the trial of Aaron Burr, in which 'he was the real,
though not ostensible prosecutor, we find Mm proposing
to violate personal Uberty, by suggesting to his attor
ney that Luther Martin, who defended the prisoner
-with quite too much abiUty and boldness to suit the
purposes of Jefferson, should be arrested as particeps
criminis, and thus, as he says, "put down this unpriro-

52 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
cipM and impudent Federal ' buU dog." No more dis-
orgamzlng proposition than tMs was ever made. But
a Uttle subsequently to this, we find that, impeUed by
ungovernable vindictiveness in prosecutmg a man who
had contested with him the chair ofthe Presidency, he
asked a suspension of that great landmark of freedom,
the act of Habeas Corpus. Por arrogance sunUar to
tMs, and for attempting, among other offences,' to vio
late tMs same sacred shield of personal right, James
the Second, more than an hundred years before, had
been hurled from the throne of England, and expatri
ated for the remainder of Ms life. It -wUl be thus seen
that the sufferance of democracies, when conducted by
the popular favorite, who, whUe -writing speciously of
Hberty, outstrips the most arrogant monarch in his
stretches for dominion, affords, sometimes, an exempli
fication of passive obedience from wMch even despot
isms might learn a lesson. But the cUmax of these ihk-
Ungs of anarchy may be found in a letter from the
model Democratic President to the model Democratic
editor, who yet sur-vives to perpetuate Ms " early les
son," and to iffvor the world -with valuable reminis
cences of the epoch of " '98," and the golden age of
the Jefferson dominion. In a letter from Jefferson to
Thomas RitcMe, found in the fourth of these volumes,
we flnd the foUowmg : " The Judiciary of the United
States is a subtle corps of sappers and miners, con
stantly workmg under ground to undermine the foun
dation of our confederated RepubUo. TPe shaU see if
they are bold enough to make the stride their five law
yers have taken. If they do, then, with the editor of
our book, jT-wiU say, that against this every man should
raise Ms voice, and more than that, should lift his
arm." This completed the series of what may be
properly termed the Jeffersonian threats. In 1798 he

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 53
argued closely, in the celebrated Kentucky Resolutions,
to prove that the people might resist the Executive De
partment. He had done this once before, in the time
of Washington, by favoring the Whiskey insurrection.
In 1801 we have seen that he menaced the Legislative
Department -with "an armed force," to "compel" a
choice of himself as President. And now, in Ms old
age, he -winds up by instructing an apt disciple to " lift
his arm" against the Judiciary, the only remaining
branch ofthe Govemment.
The figurative epithet here appUed to the Supreme
Court shows emphaticaUy the abhorrence -with wMch
Jefferson regarded that august tribunal. The poUtical
reader may chance to be reminded, in this connection,
ofthe Mgh dudgeon wMch a certain distinguished Sen
ator manifested on a recent occasion, when, in Ms place,
he denounced another distinguished personage for hav
ing characterized modem Presidential candidates as
"prizefighters." It is barely probable that, notwith
standing their acknowledged erudition, neither of these
eininent mdi-viduals knew of this Ulustrious precedent
example in the vocabulary of poUtical billingsgate, else
the first, a model professor of genuine Jeffersomsm,
might have refrained from the assault, and the last, a
nuld and equable member of the body thus reviled,
would have been able eflfectuaUy to shelter Mmself with
a lawyer's most valued plea, though he flatly disclaimed
the construction appUed to his apt figure.
PART III.
Among aU the men of the Revolutionary era, Jeffer
son is- soUtary and alone m the propagation of the per
nicious doctrine of armed resistance to constituted au
thorities. They are doctrines, however, not greatly to

54 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
be wondered at in a disciple of Jacobinism, who
thought that a rebeUion, once in every t-wenty years,
was a poUtical blessing, and treated such as nothing
more than a natural exuberance of patriotism, a rekind
ling of the smouldering fires of Uberty. But the evU
influence of such teachings, in connection with one yet
so revered as the fether of progressive democracy, is
felt and seen to this day. It was exhibited clearly in
the conduct of owe,' who, in long after years, was folded
m the mantle of Jefferson, and almost adored as Ms
representative and worthy successor. The knd-wn con
tempt ofthe great apostle of Democracy for the dignity
of constituted authorities, and especiaUy for that of ju
dicial tribunals, was a carte blanche to aU the vandaUo
excesses and frantic poUtical conduct -wMch; in many
distinguished instances, have since been practised by
his partisans. . Andrew Jackson had need to appeal to
no Mgher authority than the opinion of Jefferson, when,
with the boldness of a CrdmweU, at the head of a de
voted soldiery, he imprisoned a judge in the midst of a
great city, for daring to sustain the right of Habeas
Corpus. And again, in 1834, when, as the sceptred
dictator of the WMte House, he sent his famous Pror
test Message to the Senate, claiming that he was the
direct representative of the American Pecple, and im
posing sUence on Congress as regards the acts of the
Exectltive, he had found enough, in the teachings of
Jefferson, to sanction his haughty usurpations. By
these teachings the Constitution had been reduced to a
mere charter of expediency, to be set aside in certain
emergencies, and of tMs expediency and these emergertr
cies the President was to be the sole judge. And here
we may pause to say, that the great constitutional
speech of Daniel Webster in answer to tMs Protest,
and in crushing refutation of these nefarious preten-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 56
sions, should be stereotyped on tables of gold, and bla
zoned in lasting characters on the official record-book
of the RepubUc.
The power and poHtical influence- of the Federal
party terminated, along -vrith the Federal administra
tions, in March, 1801. It has never since been resusci
tated. But the truth of history must extort the ad
mission, that Federal men originated, framed, and
carried into successful practice the Constitution of
1789, the fii-st genuine repubUcan experiment ever ven
tured. But tMs is not aU. The period durmg wMch
the FederaUsts held the ascendency in the administra
tion ofthe national government, was one of no ordinary
trial. The system itself was a novelty, founded in the
midst of dissentient opinions, and established in the face
of powerful opposition. Its parts were to be adjusted
and arranged, its proper attributes and limits settled
and defined, the relations of the indi-vidual members
¦with the whole to be harmonized, and the great and
compUcated machine to be set in motion. Besi(Jes the
necessity of thus creating from a mass of disorgamzed
materials the framework of society itself; of devising a
, system of finance by wMch, from a famUy of States
Mtherto unused to any general and common system,
revenues should be raised,- bearing equaUy upon all, and
capable of meeting debts of extraordinary magmtude
for a people whose numbers were limited, whose re
sources had not been developed, and who were already
exhausted by a long and expensive war ; of adopting
plans of State poUcy under novel circumstances and re
lations, expansive as the gro^wth of the nation, and to
be permanent as its existence ; of embodying laws ; of
rebuUding commerce from its ¦wrecks, and caUing forth
arts and manufectures where they had been unkno-wn ;
besides aU these, there were stUl other obstacles in

56 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
their path. Almost coeval -with the birth of the
American Govemment, commenced a series of wars
wMch, m extent, magnitude, objects, and in impressions
on the poHtical world, were the most gigantic in the
history of bloodshed. Institutions, hoai-y -with age and
venerable from their sanctity ; empires wMch had
seemed as permanent as the existence of man ; despot
isms, whose u-on grasp had for centuries stifled the very
breathings of Hberty ; laws, and usages stronger than
laws, wMch, for good or e-vU, had moulded men after
their own fashion ; priestcrafts and castes, obeyed by
prescription, were at once swept away before the whirl-
¦wind of revolution. The effects of this couTulsion had
not been confined to the shores of Europe or the East.
They had extended to America, also. Here, meanwhile,
the same oppodtion which had exerted itself against
the formation of a government, was contmued against
its operation. It was ¦with mutiny in the crew that the
Federalists had to steer the sMp of state through the
dangers of an unexplored ocean, in this most tremen
dous storm wMch ever devastated the civUized world.
Every measure wMch might tend to a development of
the power of the General Govemment, was resisted.
Every embarrassment was thro^wn in the way of its ac
tion. The impatience wMch naturaUy arises from new
burdens was taken advantage of, though theii- object
was to pay the price of freedom itself. Sedition was
stirred up to resist them. Falsehood and misrepre
sentation were employed ; distrust excited against tried
and firm patriots. And yet, tM-ough aU these shoals
and quicksands the two Federal administrations had
been fortunate enough to keep their course harm
lessly, and the Government was sustained in aU its
original purity. The Constitution remained intact and
unmutUated in a single feature. No emergency had

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 67
been so pressing, even through storms of insurrection
and the most difficult diplomatic negotiations, to create,
in the opmion of Washington or of Adams, any neces-
sijty to overstep the prescribed Umits ofthe law. It re
mained for the Democrats, under the ad^vice of their
anti-federal leader, to find out that occasions might
arise to justify the President in acting independent of
the Constitution, as we shaU soon see. Indeed, it is a
feet in the history ofthe Democratic party, no less true
than remarkable, that, notwithstanding they have ever
claimed to be, par excellence, the party of strict con
struction, it has so happened that every one of the four
Presidents who have been elected from their ranks
(Van Buren, perhaps, excepted) have violated leading
features ofthe Constitution, and grasped powers which
can belong only to despots. This charge has never been
made against either the two Federal, the two Whig
administrations of Madison and John Quincy Adams, or
the no-party administrations of Monroe and Tyler, if
we except the AUen and Sedition Laws of 1798. It
may be remarked, however, that these laws, if uncon
stitutional and odious, must be laid at the door of the
Congress wMch passed, as weU as of the President who
approved them. The Executive asswmed nothing. It
only put in execution a law of the people's representa
tives. But the Mstory of republics does not fumish
three bolder innovators on ¦written constitutions than
Jefferson, Jackson, and James K. Polk.
The great achievement of Jefferson's first four years
of dominion was the purchase of Louisiana. This trans
action is connected ¦with many incidents of singular
poUtical Mstory,. to wMch, as Ulustrative of pubUc feel
ing and opimon at that period, it may not be inappro
priate or unseasonable to advert. When Jefferson
ascended the Presidential steps, he was regarded -with
3*

58 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
strongly contrasted feelings by the two great parties of
the country. By his own, he was represented as the
advocate of religious freedom and of the rights of man;
the great apostle of Uberty; the friend of our revolu
tionary aUy, France; the foe of British influence; a re
former, philosopher, sage, .and genuine repubUcan.
The FederaUsts looked on Mm in a fer different Ught.
They charged him with being a revolutionist and Jaco
bin ; -with being bUndly devoted to France, and per
versely opposed to England ; -with being hostUe to the
Constitution, and the promoter of partyism ; with being
a free-thinker in ' poUtics and reUgion, whose learning
was used to pervert rather than to uphold the land
marks of -virtue and Uberty. They argued that his
messages and his -writings prove him to have had in
view, through Ms entire political and administrative
career, only three great purposes, and that Ms whole
efforts and influence were directed to their accomplish
ment. These were, say they, the aggrandizement of
France, the humiliation of England, and the demoUtion
of FederaUsts as a party, and the' ^a^atriation of aU
who held that faith. There cSri be very Uttle doubt
that Jefferson was Uable to aU three of these charges.
But it is not for us rasMy to say that the aggrandize
ment of France, or the humUiation of England, were
the sole objects of Ms foreign poUcy, or that the anni
hUation of FederaUsm was his chief object at home.
The purchase of Louisiana, or rather the circumstances
attending that purchase, have been cited as e-vidence
ofthe first proposition, and, collaterally, of the second.
The same may be said, reversely,- of the embargo and
non-intercourse laws. It is with the first of these that
we have now to do, and the facts premised wiU enable
the reader to understand more clearly, and to apply as
he may deem proper, the historical incidents belonging

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 59
to that transaction. But we must here remark, that
the purchase of that territory was the first of those
violent shocks wMch the Constitution has since repeat
edly sustained under Democratic admimstrations. The
blows have been sedulously fbUowed up since, and aU
the agitation wMch ever distracted the country, or se
riously threatened its peace, has grown out of this
Democratic prmciple and practice of territorial aggran
dizement. Louisiana, Texas, California, and New Mex
ico have come to us, for weal or for woe, through
Democratic agency, and as on them must rest the re-
sponsibUity and consequences of their annexation, so,
like-wise, let them have the credit for what benefits
have ensued or may yet ensue. But the Constitution
is not healed, its infractions are not extenuated by
pointing out and pleading the benefits, commercially
and poUticaUy, that have foUowed from the purchase
of Louisiana. The woimd has been inflicted, and the
gap fairly and -widely opened for future aggressions of
a simOar character. The sanctity of the instrument
has been repeatedly and rougMy violated, and no one
is able to teU or to foresee where the miscMef "wUl end,
or how far the precedent may be abusgd by subsequent
acts. History too truly teaches that the illegal or un
constitutional exercise of power in the best of times,
for the real benefit of the people and. ¦with their sUent
acquiescence, has hardly evei: faUed to be resorted to,
as a precedent, m the worst of times and often for the
worst party or selfish purposes. Recent political events,
under the administration of President Polk, afford, to
our own eyes, a most, striking confirmation ofthe truth
ofthe lesson.
The years 1762-63 were marked by fierce struggles
on the American continent between England, France,
and Spain. During the first year France ceded to

60 THOMAS JEFFEESON,
Spain the island of New Orleans and aU her possessions
west of the Mississippi river, and the name of Louisi
ana was thus limited to that part of the vaUey. After
the close of the Revolutionary War, in settling the
boundaries ofthe United States, some contentions arose
between our o-wn and the Spanish Government, espe
cially as regarded the free navigation ofthe Mississippi,
These differences were not adjusted untU 1795, when,
during the administration of Washington, his CathoUc
Majesty agreed bythe treaty of San Lorenzo, that "the
citizens ofthe United States shaU be permitted, forthe
space of three years from tMs time, the na-vigation of
the Mississippi, -with a right to deposit their merchan
dise and effects in the port of New Orleans." From
several causes, however, tMs treaty was not fiflfiUed
untU 1798, and, most probably, but for a change of ad-
mimstration here, a war between Spain and the United
States would have been the consequence. In 1796
Spain and the French Republic formed an alUance,
offensive and defensive; and at that time France bfegan
a series of negotiations -with a view to the recovery of
her ancient province of Louisiana. This was not effect
ed tUl 1800, under the consulate of Napoleon, when,
by the treaty of St. Edefoflso, Spam retroceded to
France the colony of Louisiana, -with the boundaries it
had when given up to Spain in 1763. Spain, however,
StiU continued to exercise, nominaUy at least, the powers
of govemment in the country, and in 1802 the Intend-
ant ofthe provmce gave notice that American citizens
would no longer be permitted to deposit their goods at
New Orleans, and this, too, -without assigmng, as by the
terms ofthe treaty of San Lorenzo, "any equivalent
estabhshment at any other place on the river." TMs
extraordinai-y violation of national faith was foUowed up
by acts of the most offensive nature. The Spaniards cap-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 61
tured and carried into their ports numbers of American
vessels, destroyed or confiscated American property,
and imprisoned the American Consul. This conduct
very justly excited the most wide-sp'ead indignation
among our western citizens, and many threatened to
march do-wn the country, and take forcible possession
of New Orleans. These outrages occurred long ante
rior to the assembly of Congress, in December, 1802,
and yet, strange to say, the executive message was en
tirely sUent on the subject. In January, 1803, the
House promptly caUed for information concerning so
deUcate a matter, and this brought the fact of treaty
violation on the part of Spain officiaUy to light. A
message was debated -with closed doors, which, as Jef
ferson must certainly have kno-wn of the outrages be
fore the session began, leaves us to deduce questionable
and unfevorable opinions of his conduct. It certainly
was strange and unaccountable, indicative of but Uttle
spirit, and shrouded -with a poUtic caution and forbear
ance that would have done honor to Louis the Elev
enth. When redress for these -wrongs and a compUance
with treaty stipulations were demanded of Spain, the
American mimster was informed that Louisiana had
been ceded to France. Jefferson then asked for two
millions of doUars, and set on foot a negotiation for the
purchase of " New Orleans and the provinces of East
and West Florida." Mr. Monroe and Mr. Livingston
were joined in the mission, and set out immediately for
Paris. About the time of the arrival of the American
Envoys, Great Britain began to manifest symptoms of
alarm at the ambitious projects and gro whig power of
Napoleon, and particularly in his acquisition of Lou
isiana, and the contemplated possession of that exten-

62 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
sive country with a large army. With tMs view the
fleet and troops under General Victor, destined for that
country, were kept so long blockaded that they were
finaUy disembarked, and turned to a different service.
The inventive genius of Napoleon suggested an imme
diate remedy. He found that it would be impossible
for Mm to occupy Louisiana, and he therefore resolved
to exchange it for money, which France needed &x
more than she needed transatlantic territory. The fit
ful peace of Amiens was drawing to its close, and the
bad faith of England was about to plunge Europe into
a war that laid low aU the Continent, that crippled her
o-wn power and nearly exhausted her means and credit,
and that carried death and devastation in its track
through a long series of ~weU nigh fifteen years. So
soon as the French Emperor had resolved on Ms course,
he convoked Ms counsel, and announced to them the
approaching rupture. This was early in March, and
Mr. Monroe had not then joined Mr. Livingston, our
Minister resident in France. The designs of the Em
peror are unfolded by the characteristic speech made
to his confidental advisers, and seem strikingly to com
port with the subsequent testimony of John Randolph,
" that France wanted money, and must 'have it." " I
-wiU not," said Napoleon, "keep a possession wMch
would not be safe in our hands, wMch would perhaps
embroU me with the Americans, or produce a coldness
between us. I -wUl make use of it, on the contrary, to
attach them to me, to embroU them -with the English,
and to raise up against the latter, enemies who -wiU
one day avenge us, if we should not succeed in aveng
ing ourselves. My resolution is taken ; I -wiU give
Louisiana to the United States. But as they have no
territory to cede to us in exchange, I -wiU demand a
sum of money towards defraying the ea^nses of the

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 63
extraordinary armament wMch I am projecting against
England.'' This declaration was made in March, only
a fews days after the memorable scene with Lord
WMtworth, the English Ambassador tp France. With
his usual impetuosity, the First Consul sent Marbois
directly to Mr. Livingston, with instructions to open
negotiations forthwith, conceming the purchase. Ac
cordingly, when Mr. Monroe arrived in Paris, he found
the business to his hands, and that, instead of the island
pf New Orleans and the smaU territory of East and
West Florida, alone, Napoleon was offering to cede
the whole extensive territory west of the Mississippi.
This was a most startUng proposition. The American
negotiators were confined by certain minute instruc
tions, and limited as to the amount to be expended.
But Napoleon, bent on war, and eager for the strife,
urged them to a speedy conclusion of preUminaries ;
and on the 30th of April the bargain was struck, and
for a consideration of fifteen miUions of dollars, Lou
isiana was transferred from the dominion of France to
that of the United States. Early in May, the peace of
Amiens was terminated, and Napoleon, ha-ving thus
suppUed his chests, opened the scene of those Ibloody
wars wMch shook Europe to its deepest foundations,
blasted the commercial prosperity of the world, and
ended -with the total humiliation and subjection of
F;-ance, wMle his. own life was wasted away on the
friendless shores of St. Helena.
The acquisition of tMs territory was a perilous and
most extraordinary assumption of undelegated power
by one who claimed to be a model Democrat and a
strict constructionist. It was seriously condemned, on
principle, by all the opponents of the administration,
among whom John Randolph, of Roanoke, already
dissatisfied with the Jeffersonian poUcy, now took the

64 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
most prominent position. The main grounds of their
opposition were, that the French title was contmgent
only, that the undefined boundaries would furnish a
cause for future contentions, that a fi-audulent title had
been obtamed from Spam through the Godoy ministry,
which might subsequently be disavowed and repu
diated ; that Louisiana was not then in the actual pos
session of France but of Spain, wMch latter objected
to the arrangement, and that the increase of Executive
patronage consequent on so vast an acquisition would
render the President almost a despot. But there were
Mgher grounds of opposition than these, and they are
grounds wMch stiU exist in principle, and are impreg
nable to argument. These grounds are founded in the
Constitution of the United States. 'When the treaty
was submitted to the House of Representatives for the
purpose of having it carried into effect, the question
as to the constitutionality of that part of it wMch
stipulated for the admission of the country into the
Umon, was made and warmly debated. It was con
ceded that foreign territory might be acquired either
by conquest or by purchase, and then retained as a
colony or province; but could not be admitted as a
State without an amendment of the Constitution. It
was argued that the Government of this country was
formed by a union of States, and the people had de
clared in the preamble that the Constitution was estab
Ushed "to form a more perfect union" of the "United
States." The Umted States here mentioned could not
be mistaken. They were the States then in existence,
or such other new States as should be formed -within
the limits of the Union, conformable to the provision
of the Constitution. Every measure, therefore, con
tended the opposition, which tends to infringe the
present Union ofthe States here described, was a clear

THOMAS JEFFjajSON. 65
¦violation of the very first sentiment expressed in the
Constitution. The incorporation of a foreign territory
into the Union, so far from tending to preserve the
Union, was a direct inroad upon it ;- because it de
stroyed the " perfect union " contemplated betwixt the
original parties by interposing an aUen and a stranger
to share the powers of govemment aUke ¦with them.
Pressed by arguments of tMs kind, and by the opin
ions of Jefferson himself, those who advocated the
treaty took medium grounds, contending that the
treaty merely stipulated that the inhabitants of the
ceded territory should be hereafter admitted mto the
Umon, according to the principles of the Constitution/
that by taking possession of the territory it did not
necessarUy foUow that it must be admitted into the
Union; that this would be an after question; that
the territory would not be adinitted into the Umon
unless warranted by the principles of the Constitu
tion. But they were met by the answer that there
was no difference, in principle, between a direct incor
poration and a stipulation that such incorporation
should take place ; because, as the national faith was
pledged in the latter case, the incorporation must take
place ; that it was of no consequence whether the treaty
itself gave such incorporation, or produced the laws
wMch gave it ; and that the question stUl returned
whether there exists, under the Constitution, a power
to incorporate a foreign nation or people into the Union
either by a treaty or by law. Latter experience, we
may here remark, en passant, has afforded the ground
of proposing as a further query, whether such can be
done by a mere joint resolution of the Senate and
House of Representatives, independent of the treaty
power under the Constitution, and in utter disregard
ofthe two-thirds rule ! And yet this was done by the

66 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
same, legitimately descended radical Democracy in the
case of Texas, wMch, in our humble opimon, has about
as much Constitutional connection ¦with this Union as
Cuba or Liberia.
But it is no less singular than true that Jefferson
Mmself confessed, to the fuUest extent, to the unconsti-
tutionaUty of such acquisition of territory, or of its ad
mission into the Union as a State. He admits that the
Constitution wUl bear no such latitudinous construc
tion, yet, recommends the adoption of the treaty, and
afterwards, the incorporation of Louisiana into the
Umon. The volumes before us contain divers letters
Ulustrative of tMs inconsistency between theory and
practice, and explanatory of so strange an anomaly.
He addresses LincpM, and Breckenridge, and Nicholas
particularly, arguing most conclusively against the con-
stitutionaUty of the very act he had recommended, and
wMch he resolved to sanction as President. In one
place he puts the question in its strongest Hght by say-
mg, " I do not beUeve it was meant that we might re
ceive England, Ireland, HoUand, &c., wMch would be
the case on your (¦viz., the Attorney General's) con
struction." K not these, it might be asked, how ¦wUl
we admit Louisiana; or, if Louisiana, why not England,
Ireland, and HoUand ? It is evident that if the clause
of the Constitution can be construed SO as to admit
one, the same rule of construction wUl cover the ad
mission of aU ; or, vice versa, if one be excluded by the
Constitution, aU are excluded. That posterity to wMch
Jefferson is so fond of appealing, and wMch has ¦wit
nessed each successive onslaught and partisan foray on
the Constitution wMch have gro-wn out of and been
justified to the people, from this precedent and this
conduct of the great Democratic apostle, must judge
also how far the first comports with the clause of the

THOMAS JEFFEESON, 67
Constitution specifymg that new States " may be ad
mitted by Congress," and another clause binding the
President on oath to protect and defend the Constitu
tion of the Umted States." We hav%onlyto remark
that Lf Congress be the power to admit new States, it
is clear that such States can be formed only out of ter
ritory belonging to the Umted States at the time the
power was given, for, by the same Constitution, the
Congress cannot, in any manner, approach a foreign
government. This is a prerogative of the President
and Senate. As respects the inconsistency of Jeffer
son's conduct -with his opimons, and then these -with
respect to the form of obUgation prescribed to be taken
by the President on Ms accession to that office, candor
demands nothing short of severe censure. The Consti
tution is not to be made subordinate to ea^ediency, and
an upright officer must respect his oath, if we would
desire to steer our poUtical course in harmony and
safety. If the Rubicon is passed, Rome must He at the
mercy of the dictator. She -will have nothing to shield
her fi-om mdignity, for that is the sacred boundary.
Neither -wiU fancied or prospective benefits justify a de
parture from the plain letter of the Constitution, or
from the stringency of official obUgation. Every Presi
dent might constitute Mmself a judge, and frame, in
this manner, a pretext for any conquest or any expen
diture of the pubHc money. As iUustrative of this we
might point to the successive innovations wMch have
foUowed the acquisition of Louisiana. The Floridas,
Texas, CaUfomia, and New Mexico were all the natu
ral fruits of -tMs first spurious blossom. The late
President, fortified by iUustrious examples and prece
dents, pursued an unscrupulous course of conquest -with
scarcely a decent pretext, expending mUUons of money,
and destroying thousands of men, and in defiance of

68 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
the inevitable consequences of civil discord and sec
tional agitations. Since 1803 the country has scarcely
been five years in repose. It has been torn and dis
tracted by iU-boding dissensions. The tone of pubU'c
sentiment has been infected. It has been poisoned
with the thu-st for some species of political excitement.
At the North, the Canadas afford fruitful sources for
indulgence in tMs vicious propensity. At the South,
since Texas has been annexed and since Mexico has
been subdued and piUaged, Cuba has become the centre
of tMs dangerous attraction, and sooner or later must
share the fate of the two foi-mer. The pubhc taste of
both sections seeks gratification only in tMs species of
furor. We are constrained to say that aU this is justly
chargeable to the example of Jefferson, and whether it
bring weal or woe, Ms fame must answer to that pos
terity to which he appeals.
The great mass ofthe people, however, were agreed
as to the importance of this acquisition of Louisiana,
and aU must acknowledge that, bating the wounds in-
fficted on the Constitution, its purchase has resulted in
incalculable benefits to the United States ; thus Jeffer
son was so fortunate as to find, that an act wMch might
have caUed for impeachment under some circumstances,
has been regarded as the most meritorious of Ms pub
Uc career. So much, we perceive, is the world gov
erned in its pubUc conduct, by considerations, rather
of interest and poUcy, than of conformity to estabUshed
rules of law.
But it is not to be disguised that, in Ms haste either
to accommodate France, or to avoid a <5olUsion -with
Spain, Jefferson suffered the purchase to be, in some
sense, unwisely concluded. In the first place, the sum
of fifteen mUUons was probably thrice as much as needed
to have been given, because Napoleon knew, at the

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 69
time ofthe purchase, that on the renewal of war in Eu
rope the whole country of Louisiana would be taken
possession of by the British, and consequently be lost
both to France and to Spain. In the next place, the
treaty was glaringly imperfect from the fact that no
definable or tangible boundaries had been fixed or
agreed on as respected the territory transferred. Con
sequently, Spain being exasperated any way, a state of
hostility bet-wixt her own and the cabinet at Washing
ton soon sprung up in relation to the legitimate bound
aries of Louisiana. The Umted States claimed to the
river Perdido, east of the Mississippi, and to the Rio
Bravo on the west. But the negotiation under this
mission entirely failed. The Spanish Court not only
denied the right of the Umted States to any portion
of territory east of the Mississippi ; but, m the most
peremptory manner, declared their claim to the Rio
Bravo to be totaUy unfounded. A long and angry cor
respondence took place between the Spanish negotiator,
Don Pedro CevaUos, then Secretary of Foreign Affairs,
and the American Ministers. In the negotiations with
Prance respecting the purchase of Louisiana, Mr. Mon
roe and Mr. Livingston had been given to understand
that the territory extended as far east as the Perdido,
and that the town of MobUe would faU within the limits
ofthe cession. And we may also here observe that at
the same time Bonaparte had given verbal assurance,
that should the United States desire to purchase the
Floridas, his aid towards effecting that object would
be readily afforded at some future suitable time. In
consequence of this intimation, Mr. Monroe, whUe at
Paris, in 1804, made known the object of his mission in
a note to TaUeyrand, and requested aid of Bonaparte
agreeable to Ms former assm-ances. But, in the mean
time, a change had come over the spirit of the French

70 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
Emperor's policy. The means acquired in 1803 by the
sale of Louisiana had been totaUy exhausted by Ms
subsequent wars, and he was now again pressingly in
need of money. He therefore made a convemence of
short memory, and not only professed total forgetful
ness of aU such assurances, but gave unmistakable signs
of a favorable disposition towards Spain. TMs, how
ever, was one of those artful demonstrations, or feints,
so often and so consummately practised by Napoleon,
in the accomphshment of Ms ambitious designs. Spain
was indebted to France. France was in need of money,
and Spain had no money "with which to pay her debts.
He therefore once again resolved to make the United
States subsidiary towards raising means for the prose
cution of his European conquest. With tMs -view, dur
irig the negotiation between Spain and the United
States respecting the boundaries of Louisiana, a certain
paper in the hand-writing of TaUeyrand, but not signed
by him, was put into the hands of the American Mims
ter at Paris. It required but Httle acquaintance with
French diplomacy to gather a fiiU clue to the designs
of the Emperor from tMs paper. It set forth that the
present was a favorable time for the United States to
purchase the Floridas of Spain ; that the same could
probably be obtained ; and that Napoleon would assist
the United States by using his influence with Spain to
induce her to part -with them. It was also suggested,
in the same indirect way, that in order to insure a fa
vorable result, the Umted States must assume a hostUe
attitude towards Spain, and put on the appearance of
enforcing their claims. These singular and indirect
commumcations were, of course, made known to the
American President; and Jefferson, -with unaccountable
deference to such questionable advice, embodied the
same m Ms message to Congress. After going through

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 71
with a concise preliminary statement of the matter m
dispute, and with divers Mnts as regarded the probable
dispositions of France in case of hostiUties with Spain,
he adopts almost the precise language ofthe anonymous
paper when he says, " Formal war is not necessary, and
wiU not probably foUow; but the protection of our
citizens, the spirit and honor of our country, require
that force should be interposed to a certain degree. It
win probably contribute to advance the object of peace.
But the course to be pursued -wUl require the command
of mearts, wMch it belongs to Congress exclusively to
yield or deny." It -wiU be perceived that tMs message
covers every design, and answers the whole purposes
of Napoleon. His advice was scrupulously foUowed,
though given quite exceptionably ; hostiUties were
threatened, and Spain was buUied. The " means " were
what the Emperor wanted, and he resolved to coax and
daUy -with the Umted States, and to intimidate Spain,
that the first might fumish to the last money enough
to extiriguish her indebtedness to France, and thus ena
ble Mm to prosecute his series of conquests.
In consequence of this message. Congress voted
two nuUions of doUars that Jefferson might purchase
the Floridas. But the appropriation was not made in
quiet. It met -with the most resolute opposition. John
.Randolph openly denounced it as subserviency on the
part of Jefferson to the Emperor of France, and then
made pubUc, for the first time, that, on his arrival at
Washington, the Secretary of State had told him,
" thc!,t France wanted money, and that we must give it
to her, or have a Spanish and French war." Randolph
was the Chairman of the Committee to whom this
message was referred. He opposed the two miUion
appropriation on several grounds, aU, as we think,
equaUy cogent and reasonable. The money had not

72 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
been explicitly asked for in the message ; — ^that, after
the faUure of negotiations based on right, to purchase
the territory would be disgraceful/ — ^that France, thus
encouraged, would never cease meddling -with ouf af
fairs, so long as she could extort money from us ; and,
that the Floridas, as bethought, and as France had at
first admitted, were regularly ceded to us at the time
of the Louisiana purchase, and, therefore, France was
bound to make good her word and our title. But. op
position avaUed nothing. The money was appropriated,
and it is certain that the same never reached Spain.
On the contrary, it is a fact of history, that it was car
ried to Paris on board the Umted States ship Hornet,
and passed into the coffers of Napoleon. Not a foot
of territory, as the facts of the case -wUl clearly demon
strate, was acquired by this appropriation. In fact, it
may be safely inferred that, having stopped' it in Pa;ris
on a claim that Spain owed France, Napoleon used it
to subjugate the very power to whom it was justly
due, if due at aU, and to whom it should properly have
been paid.*
Anterior to Jefferson's Presidency, the Constitution
of the Umted States, administered by those who aided
in its compUation, had been found to answer its purpose
* The treaty of the cession of the Floridas, concluded at Washing
ton 22 Februaiy, 1819, between Spain and tha United States, having
been ratified on the one part by the King of Spain, and by the Presi
dent of the United States on the other part, possession was taken et
these proTinces, according to treaty. On the first of July, General
Andrew Jackson, who had been appointed Goremor of the provinces
of the Floridas, issued a Proclamation, declaring, " that the govemment
heretofore exercised over the said provinces, under the authority of
Spam, has ceased, apd that ofthe United States of America is established
over the same, that the inhabitants thereof will be incorporate-din the
union of the United States, as soon as may be consistent with the
principles of the federal constitution, and admitted to the enjoyment pf
all the privileges, rights, and immunities of the citizens of the United
Slates. — Sohnee' s Amidls, vol. 2d, p. 495.

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 73
without being subjected to -violent constructions, or
rather to flagitious misconstructions. It was founded
in genuine republican principles, and one of the great
est errors of repubUcs was sought to be avoided. This
was territorial acquisitions and extension. If other
than the original limits of the original Thirteen States
had been contemplated in its provisions for territorial
governments, a line added wpuld have closed the ques
tion and settled the point forever. TMs was not done,
and the ob-vious inference is, as Jefferson himself
argued, that no foreign territorial acquisition was ever
anticipated or pro-vided for by the framers of the Con
stitution. The only clause which the radical and pro
gressive democracy can claim, on which to rest their
poUcy of territorial extension, is the clause which de
clares that Congress may admit new States. We have
even thought this a strained interpretation, and a bad
argument. AU the rules for construing language -with
wMch we are acquainted, lay down, as the first prin
ciple, that a sentence must be interpreted connectedly,
and aU its parts brought into a harmonious whole, if
we would seek its true meaning. We cannot arrive at
its meaning by construing only detached portions, or
clauses of a clause. The postulate in this instance is
destroyed by applying the rule to wMch we, have re
ferred ; for the latter portion of the clause reUed on by
the democracy affords a key by wMch the first may be
fuUy understood. " New States may be admitted by
the Congress into this Union ; but no new State shaU
be formed or erected -within the jurisdiction of any
other State ; nor any State 'be formed by the junction
of two or more States or parts of States -without the
consent of the Legislatures of the States concerned,
as weU as of the Congress." *
* Const. U. S.
4

74 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
The first part of tMs sentence, grantmg the power,
is governed by the latter clauses, defining the manner
in wMch States are to be formed, if it is governed at
aU; andif it was not intended to be thus governed,
the two parts of the whole clause should have been
disconnected by something else than a mere semicolon.
Nor is it reasonable to suppose that the " Legislatures "
spofcen-of were foreign Legislatures ; for tMs govem
ment cannot prescribe for foreign Legislatures. Im
mediately succeeding tMs is the clause giving to Con
gress the care and regulation of the " territory " and
" other property belonging to the United States,"
wMch concludes by declaring "that nothing in tHs
Constitution shaU be so construed as to prejudice any
claims ofthe Umted States, or of any particular State."
TMs can refer only to negotiations for territory be
tween the Umted States and "particular" States of
" tMs Union." Neither of these could weU have con
flicting " claims" to the "territory or other property,"
of any other country than IMs.
We shaU not dweU longer on this branch of the
subject. These are briefiy our -views of Constitutional
construction. It -wiU be seen that Jefferson him
self had previously urged the same doctrine, though
Ms conduct clearly JbeUed his inculcations, and this,
too, in the face of his official oath. An example so
pernicious, traced to a person so revered as a Consti
tutional expounder by a great and powerful party who
profess to o-wn his principles, cannot be too severely or
too unquaHfiedly condemned. A Hfe of action, it is
true to some extent at least, must be a Hfe of compro
mise,, if it is to be useful. A pubUc mari is often under
the necessity of consenting to measures wMch he dis
approves, lest he should endanger the success of other
measures which he thinks of vital importance. But

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 'lo
the historiographer Hes under no such necessity, and
WO feel it to be a sacred duty to point out the errors
and to condemn the malfeasances of one who yet ex
ercises a baneful influence on the mirid of the coun
try. Nor do we conceive that Thomas Jefferson is
entitled to the charity of this rule when adjudging Ms
pubHc conduct. From 1792 until his election to the
Presidency, "he had been particularly addicted to in
veighing against the sUghtest Constitutional departures
in others. He had thus weU nigh succeeded in bring
ing temporary disrepute on certain measures of Wash
ington's administration, and had stirred up against that
ofthe elder Adams such a storm of popular indignation
as -was satisfied only -with the overthrow of Federalism,
and wMch even yet exists in common connection -with
Ms name and Ms party.
This is, as we have remarked, only the first of those
glaring infractions of the Constitution which marked
the da-wn of the Democratic administrations, and wMch
have since continued to distinguish the Democratic
successors of the great Apostle. "We have yet before
us the task of narratmg others of a similar character,
wMch must, in the minds of some, at least, diminish
the hitherto overshadowing and undisputed claims of
one distinguished by the. superior reverence of his
countrymen. This must be reserved for a future
number. The effects of a change from good government to
bad government, says a great essayist, are not fiiUy
felt for some time after the change takes place. The
talents and virtues which a good Constitution generates
may, for a time, survive that Constitution. Thus the
administration of Thomas Jefferson, not-withstanding
its assaults on ¦vital features of the Constitution and its
approximation to the calm of despotism, is generaUy

76 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
regarded as the golden age of genuine Democratic
govemment. Thus, also, do the reigns of prmces Who
have estabUshed despotisms by means of their personal
popularity, and supposed subserviency to the popular
¦wUl, shine in Mstory ¦with a pecuUar briUiancy. During
the first years of tyranny is reaped the harvest sown
duiing the last years of liberty. The Augustan age
was rich in great minds formed in the generation of
Cicero. -and Csesar. And yet, says Macaulay, most
aptly, the fruits of the policy of Augustus were reserved
for posterity. So, also, to bring the matter home, tho
age of Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and John Quincy
Adams, was rich in minds formed in the generation of
Washington. The fruits of this reign of Uberty were
fuUy reaped during the dictatorsMp of Andrew Jack
son. In the time of Jefferson, such was the prestige
of his name in connectiori ¦with Democracy, the masses
of the people could not be made to understand that
liberty and the Constitution might be seriously endan
gered by his example. The effects of this example
were effectively checked by the conservative adminis
trations of Madison, Monroe, and the younger Adairis,
two of whom were recognized as prominent leaders of
a great party, wMch was fast rising- on the ruins of
Federalism to oppose the anarcMal 'tendencies of the
radical Jeffersonian Democracy. But tmder the iron
dominion of Andrew Jackson, on whom, as we have
said, the mantle of the great -Apostle had faUen, the
whirlwind of Jacobinism rose to its height, and for
eight years the country bowed submissively beneath
the rule of a fierce spirit, whose pernicious impulses
were never controUed by considerations of prudence
or of consequences. Incur next we shaU enter on a
period of the Jefferson administration, if not more im
portant, at least more entertaining in point of historical

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 77
incident, and wMch serves to Ulustrate, equaUy with
the acts just narrated, the deleterious influences of Jef
ferson's example m poUtics and Ms administration of
the Federal Government.

PAET IV.
, We now enter on a period of Jefferson's administra
tion wMch excites intense interest and curiosity, and
has connected it with the fortunes of a man whose
great talents and address had foreshadowed for him a
reputation of the most enviable exaltation, when the
path to renown was crossed by Ms e^vU genius. That
man was Aaron Burr, and his evU genius was Thomas
Jefferson. It was a grapple between giant champions,
whose resources of mind were too vast, and whose en
mity, mutuaUy and bitterly entertained, was too deeply
rooted to terminate the struggle "with other than ap
palling consequences to one party or to both. In one
case, however, mind was aided by power and vast po
Htical and official influence, and, as might be supposed,
these imited, overwhelmed the weaker antagonist.
Aaron Burr was a native of the State of New Jer
sey, and one of the early graduates of Princeton Col
lege. His earliest exMbitions of character pointed to
those traits which were afterwards developed in Ms
eventfhl career. He was impetuous, restless, persever
ing, and ¦wilful. Soon after graduating, he joined the
Revolutionary army, under Montgomery and Arnold,
and accompanied those generals in their awfiil and
dreary march across the wUdemess to Quebec. His
indifference to fatigue and hupger, and his strict impar-
tiaUty as an officer, sharing ¦with Ms soldiers the priva
tions ofthe march, and openly condemning an opposite
conduct in Arnold, gained him the admiration and

78 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
deep affection of the men, whUe it eUcited the commen
dation and respect of a majority of the officers. After
the siege of Quebec was formed, Burr volunteered Ms
ser-vices as aid to Montgomery, and was by that officer's
side when he feU. He caught the dying patriot in his
arms, and in defiance of the storm of grapeshot wMch
roared around, maintained Ms post of affection and duty
untU proper assistance was obtained. Burr was the.
only one of Montgomery's suite who escaped on that
fatal day.
Returning from Canada, he became an inmate of
WasMngton's military fanuly, at ¦ head-quarters near
New York, and participated in all the actions wMch
occurred between the American and British armies
around, that city. But his intercourse -with the Com
mander-in-chief soon became restrained and unpleasant,
and resulted in a mutual personal aversion, wMch lasted
during Washmgton's lifetime, but for wMch no particu
lar reason was ever assigned. In consequence, when
the disaffection broke out against Washington among
the army officers in 1777, and it was contemplated to
supersede him -with Gates, Burr axJtively and openly
took sides with the latter. TMs opposition, added to
pre-vious unpleasant passages, only served to increase
Washington's prejudices. In long subsequent years,
during the first Presidency under the Constitution, this
disUke was bitterly evidenced, and the depth of "Wash
ington's aversion fldly developed. . A deputation' of the
Democratic members of Congress, appointed by a cau
cus, thrice waited on the President, with a request that
he would appoint Burr Minister to France. They were
thrice peremptorily refused, Washington declaring each
time that he would never appoint one to office in whose
mtegrity he had no confidence. This anecdote should
not, however, be rasMy taken as irrevocable and infal-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 7 9
Hble e-videnoe against Burr. It was kno-wn that, from
the first. Burr had expressed himself freely and harshly
as to the quaUfications of the Commander-in-chief, that
he had condemned Ms movements around Long Island
and New York, and that he had severely criticized the
plan of the battle of Monmouth, in which battle Burr
commanded a brigade in Lord Stirling's di-vision.
These facts were well kno-wn to Washington, as weU as
the partiaUty entertained by Burr for Gates ; and, in
the absence of any tangible cause ever assigned by the
General or Ms fiiends, we are forced to conclude that a
shade of personal pique and rancor may have influenced
the usuaUy strict and admirable equanimity even of
this iUustrious and revered personage. He would, in
deed, have been more than mortal, could he have en
tirely subdued aU such feelings — ^feeUngs common to
the best as weU as to the worst of men.
In March, 1779, Burr tendered his resignation to
the Commander-in-cMef. It was accepted by Washing
ton, -in a letter the most complimentary and flattering
to Burr's mihtary ambition. He subsequently was ad
mitted to the practice of the law in Albany, and in the
spring of 1782 was ma,rried to Theodosia Prevost,
-widow of Colonel Prevost of the British army, and
mother of that Theodosia who afterwards became so
distinguished in connection with her father and hus
band, and whose mysterious and melancholy fate, whUe
giving rise to many awful and fanciful conjectures,
bUghted and crushed the sole remaining eartUy hope
of her sohtary and suffering parent.
The Mstory of Burr's poUtical career in New York
and m the Senate ofthe United States, Ms contest with
Jefferson for the Presidency, and Ms duel -with Alexan
der HamUton, are weU kno-wn to every general reader,
and have been elsewhere alluded to in tMs essay. He

80 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
left the chau- ofthe Vice President in March, 1805, and
closed his connection with the Senate with one of the
most eloquent and affecting valedictories ever made on
such an occasion. " The whole Senate," says Mr. Da^
-vis, in Ms memoir, "were in tears, and so unmanned,
that it was half an hour before they could recover them
selves sufficiently to come to order^ and choose a Vice
President pro tem. One Senator said that he -wished
the tradition might be preserved, as one of the most
extraordinary events he had ever witnessed. Another
being asked, the day follo-wlng that on wMoh Mr. Burr
took Ms leave, how long he was speaking, after a mo
ment's pause, said he could form no idea; it might
have been an hour, and it might have been but a mo
ment ; when he came to Ms senses, he seemed to have
awakened as from a kind of trance."
Bending beneath the weight of heavy afflictions, and
pursued, both by the Democratic and Federal parties,
-vrith a vengeance that seemed to compass notliing short
pf his Hfe, Burr, now fallen from Ms, high estate, be
came a wanderer and a desperado. The envy and ran
cor of Jefferson were fully aroused against him, in con
sequence of their ; recent rivalry, and the Democratic
party, of course, sided with Jefferson. He had slain
HamUton in a duel the year before, and the Federal
party panted for the blood of their idol's murderer ; for
as murderer he had been denounced and indicted in
New York. His mind and temperament were top ar
dent, and Ms ambition too insatiable and restless to re
main inactive. The domestic circle afforded him no
comfort. The charm of Ms home, once his deUght and
happiness, had fled.. The -vrife of his youth, the devoted
partner of his joys and Ms adyersities, was cold in the
tomb. His daughter, sole pledge of their love, was
married and removed into a distant State ofthe South.

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 81
His property, suffering for want of attention during
his ostracism, had melted away, leaving him distress
ingly in debt. His early friends avoided him, as one
contaminated or proscribed, whose approach was a
shadow of evU, and whose touch was death. Profes
sional pursuits were out ofthe question. Law business
was not to be intrusted to a fugitive from the law.
PoHtical advancement was forever closed to Ms efforts.
No party would recognize him who was aHke abhorred
by Democrat and Federalist — the object of Jefferson's
hatred, and whose hands were stained with the blood
of Alexander HamUton. Thus bereaved and branded.
Burr became another Ishmael. Every man's hand was
against him ; it was no wonder that Ms hand should
soon be tumed against every man. His manner, his
conduct, his conversations, his very looks were watched
with the eye of suspicion. He fled from the haunts of
man and sought the wUderness, m hopes there to create
some employment calculated to appease Ms restlessness,
and turn aside the gloomy fate which threatened to
overwhelm him. Even here he was not beyond espio
nage. The friends and parasites of the jealous and in
flamed President kept their eyes on him, and sent fre
quent reports to Washington. K he sojoui-ned at the
house of any man, that man was from that day marked.
He stayed a short time with General Dayton. Dayton
welcomed him as an old Revolutionary soldier, faUed to
abuse hospitahty by communicating -with the President,
and, as a penalty for his contum,acy, was subsequently
indicted, along with Burr, as a conspirator. It was
the same in the case of John Smith. He responded to
the invitation of Herman Blannerhasset, who was
anxious to join in his land speculations, and paid a visit
to the famous island in the OMo. Blannerhasset, nar
rowly- escaping -with life, was afterwards stigmatized
4*

82 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
as a traitor, plundered of Ms wealth, and became a
melancholy wanderer. He lounged a few days at the
Hermitage, and even enUsts its honored tenant in Ms
scheme of invading Mexico, in case of war -with Spain*
The Hon nature of Andrew Jackson had not then been
aroused, and the emissaries of Jefferson approached
him -with monitory voices. They succeeded for the
moment, and he writes an anxious letter to Burr. Burr
repUes to his satisfaction, and then the awakened Hon
raises his defying mane ; and for once the proscribers
falter, and are ignominiously baffled in their selfish
machinations. They succeeded in ruining every body
else who had held the remotest connection -with tMs
hapless exUe.
The Grand Juries of Kentucky twice lodged accusa
tions against Burr. He was honorably acquitted on
both occasions. On both of these occasions he was d&
fended by Henry Clay, who was afterwards so far
duped by false testimony in the hands of Jefferson, as
to repent his efforts, and then openly affronted (by re
fusing to speak to) Burr at the New York City HaU.
And yet it is a fact weU authenticated that the very
document in possession of Jefferson, and on wMch
rested the evidence of Burr's treason, had been muti
lated by General Wilkinson, and he so acknowledged at
Richmond. At this time there was a strong probabUity
of hostUities between Spain and the Umted States, and
it was known that the President had rristructed the com
mander ofthe forces ^o drive the Spamards beyond the
Sabine. It had become a popular sentiment, even
then, that in case war was begun it should end only
by the conquest of Mexico. To this project no one
was more mtensely wedded than Andrew Jackson, as
evinced both by a letter to Governor Claiborne, pro
duced by General WiUdnson as an appendix to Ms tes-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 83
timony on the Burr trial, and by his sympathy with
Aaron Burr. Burr was a mUitary man by nature, and
his greater ambition was to excel in mihtary achieve
ments. He was more tenacious of Ms revolutionary
than of either his poUtical or professional fame. He
was e-videntiy fired with the scheme of invading and
conquering so splendid a country as Mexico, -with its
ancient treasures, its mines, and its magnificent cities ;
and the more so, that he might thus retrieve his faUen
fortunes. He was not friendly enough to the Govern^
ment to ask or obtain honorable service, with such
prominence as he courted, under its direct auspices.
His plan, as disclosed on the trial at Richmond, evi
dently was to raise an independent force, to be near
the scene of action, and to be prepared to strike a
grand blow on the first opening of hostilities. With
this -view he must have entered into communication
-with General Wilkinson; for as that officer was already
in Mgh command, and enjoyed the boundless confidence
of Ms Government, Burr was too sagacious to have at
tempted his seduction, by offering Mm perU and uncer
tainty for safety and certainty. This taUies with the
testimony of General Eaton, not -vrith Ms inferences.
It is not contradicted by that of Commodore Truxton
or Dudley Woodbridge, who was to have furnished
the boats intended to convey the expedition. Nor
-would Burr, -without a clear understanding with WU-
kinson, have undertaken to pass the whole American
army -with less than one hundred ragamuffins. TMs
project of invading Mexico, under the countenance and
not by orders of the Govemment, was certainly not iiv-
tended as treason, whieh consists only in " levying war
against the Umted States," or aiding and comforting
the enemies of the country. It certainly was a rash
and reprehensible movement, and if designed to have

84 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
been pursued independently of the Government, it was
a pumshable offence, but not treason. The more reUa
ble conclusion is that Burr, unfriendly to Jefferson, and
bitterly persecuted by him, endeavored to use Wilkin
son as an instrument for opening hostiUties ; for, under
his orders, Wilkinson might do tMs at any time, and
thus bring the whole within the shelter of the Govern.
ment. The plan was to proceed under the apparent
authority of the Govemment, -without directly asking
its comuvance. And if, it may be remarked. General
WUkinson, who was clearly playing a double part (per
haps it might not be unfair to say a treble part), in
tended to play the traitor towards Burr, it is certain
that he played Ms hand weU. Burr never suspected
him untU after his inter-riew with one Swartwout, whom
he had sent to Wilkinson with the letter in cipher. As
soon as he had made the discovery, he abandoned the
idea, tumed attention again to the WasMta purchase,
and resolved to await a more favorable crisis. This
lucky discovery saved his life. Being thus guarded, he
directed himself to other projects less questionable. If
Burr had been proven to have been at Blannerhasset's
island when the boats started down the Ohio, the overt
act would have been made out, and in aU probabUity
the Govemment would have obtained a conviction.
By this time, however, Jefferson had fixed Ms talons
on Burr, and appearances seemed to justify the conclu
sion that the blood of his ancient rival would be soon
spiUed to satiate his jealousy and rancor. He had been
informed of Burr's movements months before; but
merely to suppress the miscMef was no part of the tac
tics he had prescribed for his conduct. Burr was al
lowed to continue his preparations, and Jefferson looked
on supmely, in the hope that some plain act wMch
might be tortured into overt proceeding, should have

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 85
been unwarily committed. His design -was not so
much to queU disaffection as to secure Ms prey. At
length a commimication from General Wilkinson in
duces him to beUeve that the time has come, and he
issues the order for the destruction of the boats and
property of the expedition at the dsland, and for the
arrest of Burr. The first is done forthwith ; and in a
short time, the main victim being stopped near Fort
Stoddart, on the Tombigbee, is conveyed by a mUitary
escort to the city of Richmond, Va., and placed on
trial for his life.
The proceedings of this famous trial have been long
embodied as a part of the national Mstory. • A more
importarit state trial never occurred, not excepting
even that of Warren Hastings. All that was interest
ing or romantic in Burr's previous history — aU that
could charm the fancy m connection -with Blannerhasset
and his beautiful island home — aU that was magnificent
and inspiring, as regarded the ancient country of the
Aztecs and the Montezumas, were concentrated and
thro-wn mto this trial. There were startUng rumors,
too, that many among the Mghest and most popular
would be hurled from then- proud positions as the tes
timony progressed. Added to these, it was known
that Jefferson had enlisted ardently in the prosecution,
and would move his whole official influence to crush
the man who had once competed -with Mm for the
Presidency. The odds against Burr were truly appal
ling, and his chances for escape seemed completely
blocked. Against the powerful personal influence of
an implacable enemy, the machinations of two enraged
political parties, to whom he was aUke odious, the
whole artUlery of the Government, and the prejudging
voice of an aroused and indignant nation, was opposed
a single individual stripped of power, and of property,

86 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
and of home ; abandoned by friends, and from whom
even relatives shrank with trepidation. In all America
one only -heart ¦b'h.Tob'bedL in unison -with Ms o-wn; but
that one heart — devoted — fixed — changeless ; sensitive
aUke to Ms joys and Ms sorrows, was to Mm more than
all America, or aU the world. It was the heart of
Theodosia, " sole daughter of Ms house ! "
Throughout the whole period from the arrest until
the discharge of Burr, and Ms departure for England,
the conduct of Jefferson was obnoxious to grave criti
cism, and e-rinced a want of magnanimity unworthy of
Ms great fame and his exalted station. True taste
would have suggested to him a digmfied neutraUty of
action, especiaUy in -view of Ms official prerogative of
pardon, should the accused be brought in guUty ; but
more than aU, in view of Ms past relations -with the dis-
tuiguished prisoner. He chose to pursue a course less
deUcate ; aided the law by personal exertions, and min
gled officially in the prosecution by employing eminent
counsel to assist the District Attorney for the Umted
States. It is said that he expended more than a hun
dred thousand dollars of the pubUc money in aiding
tMs prosecution. His letters to the District Attorney,
Mr. Hay, are fuU of the most ireful and splenetic effu
sions against the judge, the counsel for defence, and
the prisoner. He even condescends to charge the
Federalists, as a -party, -with sympathizing in the trea
sons and troubles of Aaron Burr. " The Federalists
make Burr's cause their o-wn, and exert their whole in
fluence to sMeld Mm from punishment." "Aided by
no process or faciUties from the Federal courts, but
frowned on by their new-born zeal for the Uberty of
those whom we would not permit to overthrow the
Hberties of their country, we can expect no reveahnents
from the accompHces of the chi^ offender. Of treason-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 87
able intentions, the judges have been obUged to confess
there is a probable appearance. What loophole they
¦wUl find in the case, when it comes to trial, we cannot
foresee. Eaton, Stoddart, and WUkinson -wUl satisfy
theworld, if not the judges, of Burr's guUt. The na
tion wUl judge both the offender and judges for them
selves. If a member of the Executive or of the Legis
lature does -wrong, the day is never far distant when
the people wfll remove him. They -wiU see then, and
amend, the error in our Constitution which makes any
branch independent of the nation. They -wUl see that
one of the great co-ordinate branches of the Govern
ment, setting itself in opposition to the other two, and
to the common sense of the nation, proclaims impumty
to that class of offenders wMch endeavors to overturn
the Constitution, and are themselves protected in it by
the Constitution itself; for impeachment is a farce
wMch -wiU not be tried again. If their protection of
Burr produces this amendment, it -wUl do more good
than his condemnation." In this last letter, four points
are very clearly made. It is evident that he mtends to
cast an ungenerous slur at CMef Justice Marshall, the
Fed&ral judge, offending; it is evident that, in con
ducting Burr's trial, ha-ving despaired of doing any
thing in Court, he intends to play the game out, to
arouse the anger of the nation against the errors of
the Constitution ; it is e-vident that he insinuates an at
tack on the independence of the Judicial department
of the Govemment ; and it is evident, that in the ebul-
Htion of Ms partisan acerbity, he casts a censure onthe
Senate ofthe Umted States, because their impeachment
of Judge Chase, at a previous session, did not terminate
in his displacement. Now, -with aU due deference to
the opinion of our distinguished subject, we must be
permitted to say, that in our opinion. Burr's projected

88 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
invasion of Mexico, by itself, would have done much
less harm than this proposed degradation of the Judi
cial Department of the Govemment. We have no
sympathy with Jefferson's views on this question, and
hold them to be wholly irreconcUable -with his professed
democracy ; for, to our view, his plans would ultimately
have led to a centraUzation of all power in the hands of
the Executive. The time may come when a popular
President and a subservient Senate may place in judi
cial seats mere instruments of Executive will. This is
one way m wMch despotism may approach, and not an
improbable one ; quite as probable as in miUtary form.
We have seen, thus fer, sufficient evidence to convince
us that Jefferson, despite his favor for democratic prin
ciples, leaned towards a policy which strengthened the
Executi-ve arm of the Government, and weakened the
judicial arm. But besides claiming for the Executive
an ultimate judicial authority, looking to entire supre
macy, as we have shown some pages back, he, on this
occasion, demanded, and had nearly obtained, a sus
pension ofthe Habeas Corpus, and usurped the right to
seize, impress, and imprison witnesses. These arbitrary
acts and demands are in fuU accordance with the spirit
of Ms letters just quoted, and go to iUustrate that pub
lic Hberty is not always safest in the hands of ultra
Democrats. Danton and Robespierre conversed spe
ciously, and harangued eloquently, about the Hberties
of France, when the Place de Louis Quinze was reek
ing daUy -with the blood of slaughtered victims, and
the guiUotine dealing its death strokes by the minute.
We do not mean to say that Jefferson would have
been, under like circumstances, either a Danton or a
Robespierre. But we mean to say that, in his Presi
dential conduct on this occasion, he was arbitrary, -vin
dictive, and unjustifiably bent on shedding the blood

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 89
of Aaron Burr. Nor can we at aU concur m his harsh
and vituperative censures on CMef Justice MarshaU.
Tliat eminent judge may have experienced uncommon
embarrassment at this trial, and, in consequence, ex
hibited more than usual hesitation and inconsistency in
delivering legal opinions.. The array of learned counsel,
the vast importance of the cause, the enhghtened audi
ences ever present, and the distinction and acknow
ledged legal acumen of the prisoner himself, very natu
rally contributed to produce both embarrassment and
occasional inconsistency. It has rarely feUen to the lot
of any judge to have had occasion to seek so earnestly
forthe truth, botii as to law and evidence; and none
ever presided -with more dignity and impartiality in the
most responsible station in wMch one can be placed.
Old and previously settled principles of law were more
than once battered do'wn by refined argument. New
principles and points were sprung, and discussed with
an abiUty seldom if ever displayed on any former occa
sion. Every point of law was jealously disputed, on
one side or the other, and the mcest discrimination, was
necessary to distinguish between mere forensic powers
and profundity of argument. Judge MarshaU proved
equal to aU these requisites.
The conduct of Jefferson, on this occasion, is Uable
to reprehension on stiU another ground. He exhibited
a degree of intolerance and impatience at being crossed,
that argued do-wnright Jesuitism. Among the counsel
for Colonel Burr was old Luther Martin of Maryland,
one of the framers of the Constitution. He manifested
a deep and sincere zeal in the cause of his client, and,
when warranted, did not scruple to charge home cut
tingly on the real prosecutor — ^Thomas Jefferson. He
especiaUy animadverted on the President's presuming
to -vrithhold any papers necessary to the defence of

90 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
Burr, and declared that Jefferson's papers were no
more sacred than those of his cHent, who had been
robbed of the same by order of the Government. TMs,
together with the charge of -violating the New Orleans
post office, m the person of General "VVUkinson, although
beUeved to be true, stung Jefferson to the quick, and
roused his fierce resentment. His rage might have
been justified, had he suggested a less exceptionable
means of vengeance. But passion and the pride of
power blinded him. On the 19th of June he- thus
-writes to Mr. Hay : " ShaU we move to commit Luther
Martin as particeps criminis with Burr ? GraybeU -wUl
fix on him misprision at least. And, at any rate, his
e-vidence -wiU serve to put down tMs unprincipled and
impudent Federal buU-dog, and add another proof that
the most clamorous defenders of Burr are Ms accom
pHces." We cannot imagine any language more excep
tionable than tMs, when uttered by a Mgh dignitary of
state, nor any course of conduct so really mean and un-
feir on the part' of a chief magistrate. It shows the
effervescence of an over-wrought party bittemess, and
betrays a wiUingness to abuse power by using it for
purposes of private revenge. It is weU kno-wn that
Burr was acquitted, both as to treason and to misde
meanor. The verdict was proper, and the only one
that could have been justly rendered under the circum
stances. After months of long testimony and tedious
legal arguments, the counsel for Burr had moved that
the further progress of the trial be arrested, inasmuch
as it had been proved that Burr was not present when
the overt act, as charged m the indictment, had been
committed, and that, therefore, aU other testimonywas
irrelevant. TMs motion threw consternation and sur
prise among. the prosecutors, and produced one of the
most learned,, discursive, and powerful legal arguments

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 91
to be found in the whole course of judicial proceedings.
Wirt characterized it as " a bold and original stroke in
the noble science of defence, and as bearing marks of
the genius and hand of a master." He stated his ob
jections to the point, and enforced them in one of the
most splendid forensic displays ever recorded. It vrill
stand a fevorable comparison "with Burke's celebrated
chef^oeuvre in the great case of Warren Hastings be
fore the British ParUament. Independent of its power
as an argument, it stands unrivalled in point of elo
quence and emphasis of deUvery. After having de
scribed Burr and Blannerhasset ; coupling the first with
aU that was dangerous and seductive, and the last -with
aU that was interesting and romantic ; painting vividly
the beautifiil island on the Ohio — ^its blooming shrub
bery — ^its gorgeous palace — ^the noble Hbrary wMch
opened its treasures to the master — ^the celestial music
wMch melodized its recesses, and charmed " the beauti
ful and tender partner of his bosom ; " after dweUing
on its quiet, rural scenes, and its domestic innocence
and loveliness, interrupted and perverted by the arrival
of Burr, he scouts the idea that Blannerhasset can now be
made principal instead of accessory, and closes -with the
emphatic appeal :"'Let Aaron Burr, then, not shrink
from the Mgh destination he has courted ; and having
already ruined Blannerhasset in fortune, character, and
happiness forever, let him not attempt to finish the trage
dy by thrusting that iU-fated man between Mmself and
punishment." But splendor of oratory and majesty of
description did not meet the issue, or answer the case.
The defence held obstuiately to the naked and resist
less principle of the law, and its inevitable apphcation
to the point submitted. It involved aU, it reached and
covered the whole merits of the case, but the CMef
Justice did not waver. He walked boldly up to Ms

92 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
duty, and charged the jury that such was the law. Of
course, a verdict of "Not GuUty" was the conse
quence. It might have been supposed that tMs elaborate and
painful trial, its exposures and its mortifications, and this
verdict, would end the matter, so fer as contentment,
under the consciousness of duty honestly discharged,
was concerned. The law had had its fair operation,
the prosecution had staked all, the defence had risked
aU, and the jury had pronounced. But Jefferson had
been deprived of his vengeance, and the event rankled
¦within Ms bosom. His anger and dissatisfaction found
vent, and, strange to teU, his grandson's has been the
hand to parade his weakness and his vindictiveness be
fore a curious world. A letter to Mr. Hay,' found on
page 102, vol. 4th, of the work before us, contains tHs
remarkable and petulant language : " The event has
been — {Sere follows a number of stars,- quite signifi
cant) — that is to say, not only to clear Burr, but to
prevent the evidence from ever going to the world (!!!).
It is now, therefore, more than ever indispensable, that
not a single witness be allowed to depart untU his testi
mony has been comrmtted to -writing. The whole
proceedings wUl be laid before Corigress that they may
decide whether the defect — (-viz., the omission to con
vict, we suppose,) — ^has been in the e-vidence of guUt,
or m the law, or in the application of the law, and
that they may provide the proper remedy for the past
andthe future. * * * This criminal {that «s Burr) is
preserved to become the rallymg point of aU the dis
affected and the worthless of the IJmted States, and to
be the pivot on which aU the intrigues and conspiracies
wMch foreign governments may wish to disturb us -with,
are to turn. If he is- con-victed of the misdemeanor,
the Judge must, in decency, give us respite by some

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 93
short confinement of him ; but we must expect it to be
very short."
We must award to Mr. Thomas Jefferson Randolph
a more than usual share of candor and concern for the
public, in thus surrendering the worthy object of his
veneration to the scarifiers of poUtical journalists and
re-viewers. But we must again object to Ms taste. It
would have been better to have altogether suppressed
such a letter to Ms confidential friend and agent ; but
it was a grievous error to curtail and star it. The in
ferences Uable to be dra-wn from its general tenor will
be far more tmfavorable to Ms grandfather than would
be the part of the sentence omitted. But the whole
letter is objectionable, — especiaUy the parts we have
quoted saA. itaUcized. It exMbits the discontents of a
mind laboring under tormenting disappointment at
having lost its victim. It unfolds the desire of its
author to dishonor the Constitution by threatening to
appeal from a Judicial Tribunal to Congress and to
the people. It shows that Jefferson was capable of un
dermining, or endeavoring to dishonor, a judicial
officer, because, instead of laboring to convict and hang
an accused person, as the President e-vidently -wished
he should do, he had, -with the guard of a jury, sternly
administered the law. It proves, that Jefferson, in the
fury of thwarted vengeance, was -willing to urge on
Congress to act retrospectively, or fell on some " remedy
for the past," which would stUl enable him to pur
sue and destroy his enemy. It accuses the Court
and Jury of deUberately preserving a criminal, that he
might incite " the disaffected andthe worthless " against
his country. Now we protest utterly against the in
culcation of such principles, and must hold the lan
guage and intent as eminently seditious in tendency,
We feel at Hberty to denounce, and repudiate such

94 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
teachings, let them emanate from what source they
may. Because Jefferson is claimed as being the apostle,
par excellence, of Democracy; we do not choose to re-,
ceive from him, under this assumed sanction, maxims
that would have startled Napoleon in the days of Ms
greatest power, and would drag an EngUsh King from
Ms throne. It wiU not do to panegyrize RepiMiean
liberty xmder Federal admimstrations, and then, in its
name, grasp at powers wMch were never dreamed of
in ponnection Avith Federal usurpations. The sedition
law of '98, so much complained of by the nation, could
work its mischiefs only under the sanctions of a judicial
tribunal. The Executive had, very Httle to do -with its
operations. But if Jefferson's recommendations at this
time had been carried out ; Lf the Sabeas Oorpus had
been suspended ; if the inculcations gleaned from his
various letters had been reduced to practice, the
Executive would have been supreme in legal and ci-vU
matters, as it is abeady in military affairs. Here is
another and striking proof, that they who boast most
speciously of genuine Democratic principles, are not
always the safest persons to be trusted with power.
In connection -with tMs trial of Aaron Burr is mixed
up another affair, wMch although somewhat coUateral
to the main issue, yet serves to show how determined
Jefferson was to bring about a speedy conviction ofthe
prisoner. Among those who had been violently, arrest
ed in New Orleans, by order of General Wilkmspn,
and dragged to Richmond to testify against Burr, was
a Dr. Erick Bollman. This man was a German, and
was distinguished for character, science, and enterprise.
In 1794, in company with a young South CaroUman, he
crossed the Austrian frontiers, made his way into
Mora-via, and resolved to undertake the desperate ef
fort of liberating Lafayette from the dungeons of 01-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 95
mutz. By means of Ms profession, he gained some
communication -with the captive, who was said to be
graduaUy sinking under the effects of confinement.
After repeated efforts they contrived to enable La
fayette to quit his prison, but it was only a momentary
release. He was soon retaken, and along -with his heroic
friends, again buried in the depths of his dungeon.
So great was the resentment against BoUman and his
coadjutor, they were chained by the necks to the floor
ofthe apartments they severaUy occupied. After six
months' confinement, however, BoUman and Huger
were released at the intercession of a powerfiil and
influential nobleman. Bollman became a naturalized
citizen ofthe Umted States, and in 1806, in some way,
was connected -with the schemes of Colonel Burr.
In December of that year, he was arrested, and
told for the first time, that he was particeps criminis
¦with a traitor at the head of several thousand
troops, and whose design was to le-vy war agamst the
Umted States. Indignant at being thus -wickedly con
nected, and totaUy disbeUeving aU treasonable intent
on the part of Burr, he soUeited on his arrival in
Washington, a personal inter-view with President Jef
ferson. He there made a fuU revelation of the whole
plan and schemes of Burr, so far as he knew them,
utterly repudiating aU designs of any attempt to dis
turb the Umon. But he had unwarUy committed him
self to an artfiil diplomatist, who- cared Uttle about his
disclaimers or impressions, so that he could use him in
gathering any fact that might subserve Ms purpose of
indicting, convicting, and hanging Aaron Burr. A
short time after this interview, and in order to make
naatters doubly sm-e, Jefferson addressed a note to
BoUman, adroitly worded, and soUcited him to put m
-writing what he had communicated verbaUy, but pledg-

96 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
ing Ms " word of honor " that the same " should never
be used against Bollman," and " that the paper should
never go out of his hands." To this proposition, BoU
man very artlessly and unhesitatingly, but most
thoughtlessly, assented. It was the seal to his ruin
and ostracism. It was scarcely given before a pretext
was set up that it involved matters wMch seriously im
plicated the author in Burr's misdemeanors, and that
sufficient cause for indictment by the grand jury existed.
Bollman was a prisoner, confidently relying on the
President's word of honor. In June, 1807, he was
summoned before the grand jury at Richmond, as a
¦witness against Burr, his testimony being predicated
on what he had divulged to the President. By tMs
time he had been apprised ofthe snare set for him, and
he refused to testify in a case where he might inculpate
himself. But Jefferson had planned Ms tactics. He
had privately dispatched to Mr. Attorney Hay, a fiiU
pardon for BoUman, in order to deprive him of that
plea. BoUman not having been indicted or tried, de
nied that he needed any pardon, and refused it with
indignation in open court, as a " badge of infamy "
proffered him by Jefferson. The District Attorney
repeatedly thrust it at Mm, and to BoUman's great sur
prise, referred undisguisedly to the document he had
penned for the President, on his word of honor that
the same should not be used against Mm, and never go
out of tJie Presidents hands. At tMs time, BoUman
charges, it was not used against him only, but actuaUy
was in the hands of Mr. Hay, who had aUowed General
Wilkinson to read it also. The existence of such a pa
per became so notoriously pubUc, that it was even sent
for, and demanded by the grand jury, sitting on the
case of Aaron Burr.
Now, let these transactions be construed as they

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 97
may, the most charitable and indulgent will find much
to condemn m the conduct of Jefferson. One fact is
clear and unquestionable. Jefferson certainly broke
deUberately his word of honor, and without assigning
any reason to paUiate the violation. In his zeal to con-
¦viot Burr, Jefferson had -withheld papers necessary to
the defence ; had sanctioned the most violent outrages
on personal Uberty, to compel the attendance of wit
nesses ; had violated the law by removing the accused
beyond the Unfits of the territory in wMch the crime
was aUeged to have been committed ; had opened the
doors of the national treasury to engage assistant coun
sel in the prosecution ; had turned prompter and prose
cutor himself; had refused to attend court on a sub
poena duces tecum/ had offered, by dangerous stretches
of power, to break up the defence by imprisoning, on a
doubtfiil charge, one of the leading counsel, and had
done aU that he dared to do, to gain the cherished ob
ject of Ms desire. But aU this was better than betray
ing the confidence of an injured man, a prisoner and in
Ms power. Candor, as a re-viewer, caUs on us to place
the brand of unqualified reprehension on such conduct.
Before dismissing this branch of our subject, it may
not be inappropriate to mention, that Burr always do
med that treason against the Umted States or the dis
memberment of the Union ever formed any part of his
design in these movements. He denied it first, when
questioned seriously, to Andrew Jackson. He domed
it, in the confidence of cHent and counsel, to Henry
Clay. He denied, under the seal of devoted friendsMp,
to Senator Smith, declaring, " if Bonaparte with aU his
army was in the western country for the purpose of ac-
compUshing that object^ they would never again see
salt water." He denied it indignantly on Ms dying
bed, exclaiming, "I would as soon have thought of
5

98 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
taking possession ofthe moon, and informing my friends
that I intended to divide it among them." A careful
perusal of the evidence adduced on Ms trial, and an
impartial review of all the facts and circumstances of
Ms case, satisfies us that Burr was sincere in the above
declarations. The precise objects he had in ¦view ¦wUl,
in aU probabUity, never be ascertained. His ambition
and restlessness led him into many ¦wUd schemes, and
perhaps into many censurable errors, but we are never
theless satisfied that he was a persecuted man, and the
¦victim of a maUgnant proscription. PAET V.
The attention of the President was now, however,
suddenly diverted from the domestic affairs of the na
tion to more important matters relating to its inter
course and understanding ¦with foreign governments.
WhUe the trial of Burr was in active progress at Rich
mond, an excitement of a character far different and
more intense , was raging at the neighboring city of
Norfolk, and ere long it had spread its contagious fires
from Maine to the Mississippi. It seemed as though
some latent torch of the Revolution had recaught its
expiring flames, and was again on the point of kindluig
into a patriotic blaze that defied aU extinction save in
the blood of our ancient, oppressor, now tumed into a
haughty and insulting enemy. The cause of such em
phatic and unanimous hostile demonstrations we shaU
now proceed to narrate, as prefatory to the most inter
esting epoch of the Jeffersoman administration, and
wMch cannot be justly passed, over in a review intended
to reach the whole of Jefferson's, pubUc life.
The 22d.^day of June, 1807, -was signalized by an
act of- aggression and outrage on the rights and honor

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 99
ofthe nation, wMch, even at tMs distance of time, must
excite a feeUng of anger and mortification in all Ameri
can bosoms. For some months previously to this date,
a British squadron, under command of Admiral Berke
ley, had been anchored near Norfolk, -with the ex
pressed intention of enforcmg His Britannic Majesty's
recent proclamation, requiring aU subjects of Great
Britain to be forcibly impressed, wherever found on the
high seas, into British service. With this -view, a de
mand had been made by the British Consul at Norfolk
on Commodore Barron of the fiigate Chesapeake, then
lymg at Norfolk, fbr four seamen on board his vessel,
claimed as deserters from British sMps. With the ad
vice and pri-vity of the Cabinet at Washington, Com.
Barron peremptorily refused to comply, assigning as a
reason that he had been cautious in making up his
crew, and that he had no deserters on board. He then,
m obedience to orders, put to sea on his destination to
the coast of Barbary, unfit and unprepared, as yet, for
sustaining an action, and never dreaming that an attack
would be made on him by an armed enemy lying within
the jurisdiction of Ms own Government, and in the very
eyes of the whole American people. But such did, m-
deed, actuaUy occur. The Chesapeake had scarcely
got' out of Hampton Roads, and was yet off Cape
Henry, when the British vessel Leopard, of fifty-four
guns, detached itself from the Admiral's squadron, and
put to sea in pursuit. The Chesapeake was soon over
hauled, and the four saUors again formaUy demanded.
The American commander again refiised, when the
Leopard cleared for action, and forthwith began a
heavy fire on the American firigate. Strange to say,
the Chesapeake offered not the sUghtest resistance ; but
after having stood under the fire of the British guns for
near half an hour, losing some thirty men in kiUed and

^00 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
wounded, besides sustaimng hea^vy damage in her huU,
the frigate's colors were struck, and a message was
sent to the British commander that the Chesapeake
was his prize. An officer from the Leopard came on
board, mustered the crew, and having seized the four
saUors in question, retumed without offering the sUght
est apology. The Chesapeake was then released, and
Commodore Barron, disabled and humUiated, put back
into Hampton Roads.
The news of this transaction excited at once the
deepest sensation. Indignation meetings were caUed,
and resentful resolutions passed in every town and city,
from Passamaquoddy Bay to the Gulf of Mexico ; and
the whole Umon rose as one man to demand the means
of redress at the hands of the Executive. Nor was the
administration at all behind the spirit of the nation.
Jefferson acted with becoming promptitude, and tumed
the whole weight of Ms influence on the popular side.
A proclamation was issued, setting forth. succinctly and
vi^vidly our causes of aggrievance at the hands of the
British Government, and peremptorUy ordering aU
armed vessels bearing commission from that power,
then within the harbors or waters of the Umted States,
to depart immediately from the same ; also interdicting
the entrance of aU harbors or waters to aU vessels,
of every description, commissioned by the offending
power. Warm responses came in from every quarter.
Federalists and Democrats waived their party animosi
ties, and raUied around the admimstration. The- Brit
ish Minister resident was caUed upon, but failing to
give due satisfaction, dispatches were forthwith sent
across the waters, and an explanation demanded at the
very doors of the royal palace.
But whUe this was yet pending, and the American
mind stiU festering and rankling under the atrocious

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 101
outrage, the British Govemment rose to a stiU Mgher
and more msolent pitch of arrogance, and ordered that
even merchant vessels, trading peaceably under the
guarantee of mutual good understanddng, should be
stopped and searched for British subjects. And, as if
intending to push matters to the extremity, and so far
from pausing to redress grievances already aUeged, an
order in councU was adopted yet more destructive to
American commerce, pretended as an answer to the re
cent decree of the French Emperor. But we are anti
cipating ; and in order to proceed mtelligibly, we must
retrace, and, crossing the Atlantic, survey the condition
of Europe. The successes and bold schemes of Napoleon were,
at tMs time, the source of absorbing interest to the civ
Uized world. His coronation as Emperor had been fol
lowed immediately by the great battle of AusterUtz,
wMch had prostrated Austria at Ms feet, and reduced
the Czar of Russia to so humiliating a condition as
ended in the total disruption of his confraternity -with
the Germamc powers. The battle of Jena, fought in
October of the succeeding year, demoHshed Prussia,
and placed her capital m the conqueror's hands. Elated
-with tMs important -victory. Napoleon now meditated
the most gigantic and startling ideas ever put forth.
The whole continent of Europe was now under Ms in
fluence, and the world beheld the singular spectacle of
a soUtary island power, with a population of scarce
twenty miUions, and protected by the ocean alone,
boldly struggling against a despotism wMch looked,
and seemed likely to attain, to universal dominion.
The orders in council, adopted in the month of May
previous, had estabUshed what was derisively termed a
paper blockade along the entire coast of France and
Germany, from Brest to the mouth of the Elbe. As

102 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
tMs order forbade all commerce to neutrals, in defiance
of international law, and was aimed especiaUy against
France, Napoleon, seated in the royal palace of Berlin,
burning with resentment against England, and fiUed ¦
-with the idea of conquering the sea by the land, indited
and promulged the famous decree of November 21st
— ^the first of that series of measures afterwards kno-wn
as his contmental system. It declared the British
islands in a state of blockade, and proMbited all com
merce and intercourse -with them. But it is worthy of
remark, that Gen. Armstrong, om- Minister at Paris,
was officiaUy notified that the Berlin decree was not to
be enforced against American commerce, wMch was
StUl to be governed by the rules of the treaty estab
lished between France and the United States. This
significant exception aroused the jealousy of England,
and her ministry were impeUed into a poUcy that
closed aU avenues to a friendly adjustment of the diffi
culties already existing between her Govemment and
ours. The orders in councU, adopted on the 11th of
November, 1807, as retaUatory of the BerHn decree,
contained pro-visions which bore intolerably hard on
American commerce. Among the most odious of
these was that wMch condemned aU neutral vessels
wMch had not first paid a transit duty m some Fnglish
port before proceedmg on their destinations • thus
bringmg the merchandise of neutrals -within the limits
of the BerHn decree, as also of that of MUan, which
soon foUowed,' and in which Napoleon denationalized
aM vessels sailing from any English port, or which had
submitted to be searched.
From a calm consideration of these retaUatory
documents, thus promulged by the two great beUigerr
ent powers, it is e-rident that had any American vessels
put to sea after December of 1807, or during the winter

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 103
and spring of 1808, they would inevitably have been
sacrificed — ^those bound to Prance or her dependencies,
to British, and those bound for the British domimons,
to French' cruisers. And tMs leads us, having thus
succinctly premised, to the consideration of the great
measure of Jefferson's second administration. It wiU
be understood, of course, that we aUude to the Embar
go — a restrictive law of Congress, recommended by the
Executive, -withdrawing the whole American commerce
from the ocean. «
Now that the excitement and evU passions of those
eventful times have died away, or been absorbed in
other questions more intensely interesting and mo
mentous, we may calmly review the causes and the
justification of tMs much-abused measure. It must be
remembered that the last war -with England dates its
origin to the disputes wMch began in 1804. During
tMs year, the Jay treaty -with England, effected in
1794, under the admimstration of Washington, and
wMch had bred serious dissensions at the time of its
adoption, between the friends and enemies of the then
Executive, had expired by its o-wn limitation. Jeffer
son had been one of its earUest and most mveterate
opponents, had denounced it as crouching, submissive,
incomplete ; and now, in the day of his power, refiised
the overtures of the British ministry to renew it for
the period of even two years. In consequence of this
refusal, and in -view of the serious inconveniences arising
from the absence of any international compact, Mr.
Monroe was dispatched to England as an adjunct with
Mr. Pinckney in promoting satisfactory negotiations
and adjustment. After many long conferences and
tedious correspondence, these commissioners agreed
on a treaty which contained satisfactory clauses as con
cerned the rights of commerce, and of free trade, and

104 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
of paper blockades — aU prominent grounds of discord
ance. But in regard to the aU-engrossing subject of
impressment, they had been enabled to obtain only a
sort of bond or certificate from the British ministers,
unengrafted on the treaty, and scarcely dignified even
with the uncertain name of protocol, declaring that,
although his Britarmic Majesty could not disclaim or
derogate from this right, yet that instructions should
be given to aU British commanders to be cautious, in
its exerdse, not to molest or injure the citizens of the
United States, and that prompt redress should always
be made in case injury was sustained. The treaty,
with this appendage signed by the British negotiators,
was concluded in December, 1806. It was sent over
immediately to Mr. Erskine, the English minister resi
dent in the United States, and by him submitted to
Jefferson and his Cabinet. The omission of a special
treaty stipulation concerning impressment was deemed
a fatal error ; and taMng the ground that any succeed
ing minister might, at pleasure, withdraw the paper
accompanying the treaty, Jefferson, on Ms own respon-
sibUity, and mdependent of any action on the part of
the Senate, then in session, sent it back as rejected.
We must believe that Jefferson's interpretation of tMs
paper (a stranger, any way, to the diplomatic world)
was correct ; but at the same time we incUne to the
opimon that, m -view of the magmtude of the subjects
in issue, and of the momentous results involved, it was
his duty to have sought the advice of the Senate, two-
thirds of wMch body, and the President, constitute,
under our government, the only treaty-making power.
The questions at issue, thus adjourned and unad
justed, added to the fact that no treaty existed be
tween the two countries, led to many other disputa-
tipus differeiices. The treaty had scarcely been retumed

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 105
to the negotiators m London, thus black-marked by the
American Executive, before the offensive proclamation
of the British monarch, already aUuded to, was widely
promulged. The affair of the Leopai-d and the Chesa
peake soon foUowed, and then came the Orders in
CouncU, and the Berlin and MUan decrees, aU widen
ing the breach betwixt our own and the British Gov
ernment, and thro-wing us in a state of quasi hostiUty
with France. Under these circumstances only two
courses were left for the American Govemment to
adopt, viz., war with both the great beUigerent powers,
or an embargo. The first of these, in our then en
feebled state, would have been a mad as weU as a most
ridiculous course. Besides, no adequate cause for war
existed against France, who had actuaUy gone far to
show herself our friend. The history of the times
proves, that however severe the BerHn and MUan
decrees may have been in thei^ effects on American
commerce, they were yet aUowable precautionary and
retaUatory measures, the consequents of England's
atrocious and unparalleled conduct. With regard to
us, England was the only aggressive power ; and it
was not untU our interests clashed du-ectly -with the
provisions of the imperial decrees as they bore agamst
England, that France gave us the least cause of com
plaint or offence. Then, indeed, in the plemtude of
his power. Napoleon committed outrages on America
wMch left us no alternative but unfiieridUness. But
to have submitted, as Jefferson himself justly argued,
to pay England the tribute on our commerce demand
ed by her orders in councU, would have been to aid
her in the war against France, and given Napoleon
just ground for declaring war against the United
States. The state of tMs country, thus situated as to
the two beUigerent powers, was therefore exceedingly
5*

106 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
embarrassing. It required the skUl of an unshrinking,
but a discerning and discriminating pUot, to steer clear
of overwhelming difficulties. That pUot was eminently
ftdfiUed m the person of Thomas Jefferson ; who, -with
a sagacity that rarely failed Mm, adopted promptly the
only remaining alternative of an embargo.
On the 18th of December, 1807, accordingly, Jeffer
son commumcated the BerHn decree, the correspond
ence bet-wixt Gen. Armstrong and Champagny, the
French Minister, and the proclamation of George the
TMrd, to the two Houses of Congress, together with
a message, as before intimated, recommending such
measures as he deemed necessary for the protection of
American commerce. The Embargo Act was imme
diately introduced, carried through both Houses by
large and significant majorities, and took effect on the
23d ofthe same month. It had scarcely become a law,
before it encountered the most factious, violent, and
weU-directed opposition ever before exMbited. The
whole Federal press, from New HampsMre to Georgia,
raised its hand to beat it down, and thundered forth
voUeys of abuse and vituperation. It was denounced
as oppressive, tyrannical, and wicked ; as having been
dictated by Napoleon ; as a sacrifice of the dearest in
terests of the nation, and as unconstitutional. The
clamor which had assaulted the AUen and Sedition
Laws of 1798 was nothing to that wMch now poured
its indignant torrents on Congress and the Executive.
The entire cordon of Eastern States were kindled into
the most appalling and intense excitement. The col
umns and segments of my stic flamewMch irradiated
their northern horizon, seemed to glow with increased
lustre, as if doubly reflected from the fires wMch burned
and roared beneath. The most monstrous and improb
able cause was assigned as the justification of this fe-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 107
rocious and ruthless opposition. The embargo was
reprobated as a measure intended to combine the
South and West for the ruin of the East. The more
that unprincipled demagogues and sUly enthusiasts
repeated the declaration, the more fervently it was
beUeved by honest people, too mad or too ignorant to
be pacified -vrith reason or truth. SMps were angrUy
pomted to, rotting at the wharves of Boston and of
Ne-wport. Idle, drunken saUors, in reeling hordes,
clamored for employment, swearing that they could
exist only on the seas, and that they were unfit for
aught else but reefing sails or manning halyards.
Wharfingers and sMpbmlders united in a common
chorus of discontent. Merchants, from behind their
groaning coxmters, sent forth grumbling caUs for re
Uef; and seemed -willing to seU themselves, their pUes
of goods, and their country, to the common enemy,
could they only obtain release from the embargo, and
fill the hostile seas with their commerce. At length,
dark hints of meditated treason were wMspered about,
and stunned the ears of Jefferson and Ms Cabinet.
The crime which had just been charged against Aaron
Burr, and on the mere suspicion of wMch he had been
placed by an angry Govemment on a trial for Ms life,
was now openly advocated, and the opposition prmts
teemed -with threats of dissolving the Union. Then it
was that Jefferson's o-wn bad teachings and mischievous
principles were hurled mercUessly at his own govern
ment. The pernicious ultraisms of the Kentuckyand
Virginia Resolutions of '98 rose scowUngly and warn-
ingly to his -vision, and would not " down " at any
"bidding." He had condemned and ridiculed the
means used by Washington to suppress the Whiskey
Insurrection in '94; and it seemed now as though the
" poisoned chaUce " had been " commended to his own

Ids THOMAS JEFFEESONi
Ups.'' He had defended and justified the Bhay Rebel
hon of '87, declaring that " no country could preserve
its Hberties unless its rulers were warned fi-om time to
time that the people preserved the power of resistance,
and washed the tree of Uberty in the blood of patriots
and tyrants." That resistance was now every where
and undisguisedly preached ; the people were invited
to join in a crusade against the rulers, and, in case of a
rupture, it seemed not unUkely that the blood of the
first apostle of NuUification and Secession would be
first offered as a propitiatory sacrifice on the altars of
dissolution. So sure it is, that the evU counsels of sel
fish and unrestrained ambition wUl recoU, in an unex
pected hour, and cover their propagator -with confusion
and dismay !
But notwithstanding tMs factious clamor and insane
opposition, a calm consideration of the circumstances
and situation of the country, at the period in question,
-wUl lead us to the conclusion that the embargo was a
-vrise, salutary, and prudent measure. It was the only
avaUable or practicable remedy against the withering
poUcy of England and France, then engaged in a war
of extinction. But at the same time it is not to be de
nied that, as a measure of coercion to obtain redress
from foreign powers, and to, be continued untU such
redress was obtained, it certainly was a most severe,
and, we may add, bold experiment on the interests as
weU as on the patience of an active and enterprising
people. If, however, the embargo had not been adopt
ed ; if American vessels had been suffered, as of yore,
to put forth on the high seas, it as certainly is not to
be domed but what they would have been universaUy
seized and confiscated. TMs would have produced un
precedented bankruptcy. Insurance offices and mer-
cantUe houses would have been speedily ingulfed in

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 109
hopeless ruin ; and scenes of calamity and distress, only
equaUed by the explosion of Law's famous Mississippi
bubble in the beginning of the eighteenth century,
would have pervaded this Umon from one extreme to
the other. The plunder of our ships and the captivity
of our seamen would have operated to augment the re
sources ofthe belUgerents and enfeeble ourselves. We
should thus have suffered aU the worst consequences of
war, -without the chance of obtaining any of its com
pensatory advantages. Under these circumstances, it
was e-vidently more poUtic that our vessels should re-
mam at our wharves, the property of our merchants,
than that they should be carried to England or France,
the prey of pirates and of privateers. Besides this, by
unfettering American commerce at such a time, with
the risk of having our ships seized and ruthlessly se
questered, we would have been pursuing a course emi
nently calculated to multiply the difficulties already
existing as barriers to a good understanding and ami
cable relations with the hostUe powers over the water.
We should again, as in the case ofthe Chesapeake with
England, and of the Horizon with France, have been
reduced to the mortification of negotiatmg for repara
tion in vain. We should have been ultimately goaded
into a fierce war, after having been defeated in our en
deavors to escape it, and deprived of the most efficient
means for its prosecution.
The charge of French influence in connection -with
the embargo was confldently attributed to Jefferson at
the time, and Federal -writers contuiue to urge it to
tMs day. But the charge has never been adequately
proven, and cannot, we think, be at all sustained. That
Jefferson cordially despised England and its Govem
ment we do not doubt ; nor does he any where attempt
~to conceal his dislike. Nor do we doubt but that hia

110 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
sympathies were in favor of France, from the beginning
ofthe struggle in 1792 to its melancholy close after the
battle of Waterloo in 1815. He retained, to his dying
hour, Uvely and cherished recoUections of Ms residence
m that country. He had known and been intimately
associated with aU her leading statesmen and warriors.
He had formed social attachments in the hospitable
circles of Paris that outHved absence and survived sepa
ration. He had been domesticated in France during
the opemng scenes of her eventful strife -with England,
and whUe yet the memory of British outrages during
the struggle for American independence was fresh and
green. He had, therefore, imbibed the double hatred
of American and of Frenchman against British arro
gance and British pretensions. These feelings were
rife -within his bosom when he came home from his
mission, and had been fanned and sedulously nurtured
throughout the whole eight years of Washington's ad
ministration. They were not smothered in Ms subse
quent fierce confficts -with the Federal party, and Ms
arduous competition for the Presidency -with the elder
Adams. And now that he was at last on that eminence
wMch cro-wned his towering ambition, and had been
long the goal of Ms ardent aspirations, it was not Hkely
that, as regarded the interesting attitudes wMch marked
the two great hostUe powers of Europe during his ad
ministrative career, he should forget his early preju
dices against England, or Ms strong prepossessions in
favor of France. But we have been unable to satisfy
our minds that he was actuated by undue influences in
the adoption of his foreign poUcy. The history of Ms
whole official conduct in connection -with the Embargo,
the Non-intercourse Act, and Ms diplomatic dealings
¦with the belUgerents, shows that he acted as became
an American President, and lifts him triumphantly

THOMAS JEFFEESON. Ill
above all unworthy imputations. Throwing aside aU
Other considerations, Jefferson was not a man to bear
being dictated to, even by Napoleon. He felt the in
fluence and power of his Mgh official station, and showed
that he felt them. It was rather his weakness to be
Ueve that he could coerce and dictate to France, know
ing, as he did, the deep anxiety of Napoleon to enUst
the United States as his ally agamst England. And,
indeed, the French Emperor, even while committing
outrages on American vessels, pleaded necessity as Ms
apology ; and whUe thro-wing the whole blame on the
British ministry, pUed the American Executive with
artful and flattering laudations. With this -view, Na^
poleon, unconsciously playing into the hands of Jeffer
son's Federal opponerits at home, affected to consider
the embargo as a friendly interposition on behalf of the
American Government to aid Ms continental system —
a system professedly devised to humble and weaken
EngHsh ocean dominion. In the saloons and reception
rooms of the TuUeries he made a show of boasting of
the Umted States as his ally, and constantly and pub-
Hcly assured Gen. Armstrong, our Minister, of his great
respect and friendsMp for the American people and
their Government. " The Americans," said the French
Mimster, speaking for the Emperor, " a people who in
volve their fortunes, their prosperity, and almost their
existence, in commerce, have given the example of a
great and courageous sacrifice. They have prohibited,
by a general embargo, aU commerce and na-vigation,
rather than submit to that tribute wMch the EngUsh
impose. The Emperor applauds the embargo as a wise
measure." (Pitkin's Statistics, p. 385).
This speech was, of course, directly communicated
to the President of the United States, and speedUy
finding its way into the newspapers, was seized upon

112 THOMAS JEFFEESON,
and tumed against Jefferson andthe embargo, as prima
facie evidence of a coUusion with the French Emperor.
There is every cause to beUeve, as weU from his own
letter in answer to the one communicatmg the above,
as from other circumstances, that this commendation of
Napoleon was exceedingly grateful and pleasant to Jef
ferson ; and there can be no doubt that, in Ms pubUc
communications relative to our foreign affairs, he sought
to inculpate England far more than France, He re
garded England as the first and principal aggressor on
the rights of America, whUe France was reluctantly in
volved, and forced to retaliate that she might preserve
her o^wn integrity against the insidious and ruthless
poUcy ofthe British ministry. The object ofthe Presi
dent was, then, especiaUy in view of his unquestioned
predUeetions, to turn popular indignation mainly agamst
the first power, and leave the conduct of the French
Govemment palliated by the unanswerable plea of stern
necessity. It must, therefore, have been deeply morti
fying to Jefferson, when dispatches reached him of Na
poleon's sudden change of mind in regard to the opera
tion of the Berlin and Milan decrees ; declaring that
America should be no longer exempted, that she should
he forced to become either Ms aUy or his enemy; that
there should be no neutrals in the contest bet-wixt Mm
self and the British ; and that aU vessels belonging to
American merchants then lying in the ports of France
should be condemned and confiscated. It is said that
this news reached Jefferson in an authenticated form,
anterior to the deUvery of his embargo message ; and
Ms enemies charge Mm ¦with having wUfuUy kept back
this important paper (a letter from Gen. Armstrong)
solely ¦with a ¦riew to reUeve France from the storm of
anger and indignation which was gathering against
England, Jefferson has not explained this, and his

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 113
friends have been sUent also. If he had received such
news, it was, undoubtedly, his duty to have communi
cated the same to Congress along -with the offensive
orders in councU and the Berlin decree. . It may have
been, and most probably was Ms motive, to give Na
poleon time to get over his passion and retrace Ms steps
before threwing himself irrevocably in opposition to his
former concUiatory poUcy. It was well kno-wn that,
when Bpnaparte heard of the last order in council, and
wMle preparmg to fulminate his MUan decree in retali
ation, he had openly said, " that he could not doubt
but that the Umted States would now immediately de
clare war against England, and become his associate."
On learning that war had not been declared, Napoleon
became exasperated ; and although, for the reason that
he might better justify Ms outrages, he afterwards pro
fessed to be pleased with the embargo, he resolved from
that day to adopt a poUcy that might, it was hoped,
coerce the Americans to become Ms aUies. It -wUl be
thus perceived that Napoleon shifted Ms poHcy three
times, and in very short intervals. Jefferson may very
naturaUy have been embarrassed ; but on learning that
Napoleon had ordered the confiscation of American
vessels, he forth-with commumcated the letter of Gen.
Armstrong to Congress, leaving them to take the
proper retaliatory course. The Embargo Act was weU
intended, and ought to have been made a powerful
weapon in procuring redress from England. We give
Jefferson aU due credit for recommending it in Heu of
war, wMch was not then practicable. But he was
MgMy culpable on account of Ms imbecUity and vacUla^
tion in enforcing it, even after having been invested
with the fiiUest powers by Congress. Properly carried
out, the embargo would have greatly incommoded the
English colonies in obtaining the necessaries of Hfe, and

114 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
would have injured her trade and naval power by -with
holding suppUes of raw material and stores. But it
was most flagitiously violated. The greatest Ucense
was given to smugglers , and contraband dealers, and
these made rapid arid unhaUowed fortunes at the ex
pense of the honest and law-abiding citizens. Its dele
terious effects were thus most severely felt at home,
and were impotent to conduce and force the beneficial
consequences from abroad so confidently predicted. It
faUed in a great measure to answer its main objects,
and failed as much m consequence of Jefferson's imbe
cUity and lethargy, as of the factious, disorganizing, and
Jacobinical clamors wMch pealed in from the Eastern
States. An impartial judgment must pronounce, there
fore, unfavorably as concerns the conduct of the Presi
dent in tMs instance. That conduct would justify a
very harsh sentence at the hands of an independent
disquisitor; and that sentence would be, that whUe
Jefferson was bold to originate, intolerant and obstinate
in the exercise of power when conscious of being sus
tained, he was yet faint-hearted and time-ser-ving when
assaulted by popular clamor and denunciation. It -wiU
be readily conjectured that the embargo could not
stand long under such circumstances. It was accord
ingly repealed on the first of March, 1809. It was
stamped m the dust by Federal rancor, and consigned
by its enemies to unmerited infamy. And although its
action was countervaUed by the imbecUity of its fiiends
and the opposition of its enemies, its failure is attributed
alone to its intrinsic insufficiency and to its so-caUed
unquitous conception. It is even now pointed to as
one of the errors and weaknesses of Jefferson's vicious
admimstration. And yet it was sanctioned by iUustri
ous precedent — another proof that its faUure in 1807
was attributable to the bad conduct of its enemies and

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 115
to the bad management of its friends. It had been au
thorized to a much fuller extent in 1794, and was sanc
tioned as a wise measure equally by FederaUsts and
Democrats. WasMngton had, in fact, been empowered
to lay an embargo whenever he should think the pubUc
safety required it, and to take what course he pleased
to enforce it. (Vide Olive Branch, pp. 138, 139, 140.)
TMs discretionary power was conferred, and tMs dicta-
tprial privUege given, at a time much less portentous
and critical than in 1807. And it answered its fuU pur
pose ; because, thus empowered, it was kno-wn that
Washington was a man who would act if occasion
should require. He had sho-wn this m Ms whole public
conduct, and quite recently and effectively in forcibly
suppressing the "Whiskey Insurrection. The embargo
ceased, or was raised, on the first of March. It was
succeeded by an act declaring non-intercourse with both
the hostUe po-wers. England felt it severely ; and un
der less exciting circumstances, or in the absence of
other causes of difference than mere commercial dis
cordances, it would doubtless have led to an amicable
adjustment. As it was, the Erskine arrangement came
very near succeeding. But Napoleon was exasperated
on hearing of its passage beyond aU reasonable bounds,
and vented his fury in offensive reproaches arid incohe
rent taunts to the American Minister resident. At this
time, however, ceased also Jefferson's official connection
-with the Government. He retired fi-om the Presidency
on the fourth day of March, 1809, and was succeeded
by Mr. Madison. It is not, therefore, legitimately
-within the objects of this review to pursue further a
history of governmental affairs. We pause on the verge
of the war, and must leave the interested reader to
search the pages of his histories for further satisfaction,
hoping that we have succeeded in pomtmg out to him

116 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
a proper clue to the eUcitation of hitherto neglected
branches. After retiring from the Presidency, MonticeUo be
came the permanent residence of Jefferson. He never
afterwards appeared on the stage of poHtical action.
His time was quietly spent in superintending the busi
ness of Ms farms, in the pursuit of literature and science,
and in famUiar correspondence -with Ms numerous
friends. The Virginia University, however, soon be
came a pampered hobby, and enlisted his ardent interest
and sympathy. He lived to see it flourish under Ms
fostermg care, and it yet continues to flourish, a noble
monument of Ms pubUc spirit and laudable enterprise
of character. One other subject now began to engage his reflec
tions seriously and deeply. It was that of religion —
the Christian reUgion. He never thought it worth
whUe seriously to investigate the claims or merits of
any other. Compared with the reUgion of Christ, that
of the Jews or of Mahomet was, in Ms estimation, mere
superstition or gross imposture. At the same time, it
is quite apparent that he had studied closely both the
ancient and modern systems, with a view to compare
them with the reUgion of Jesus. For many long years,
in the midst of poHtical bustle as weU as in the quiet of
retirement, did Jefferson devote his thoughts to serious
meditations and minute inquiries on this important
subject. The fourth volume of his correspondence
abounds -with letters on Christianity, and unfolds be
yond ariy question the reUgious opinions of its distin-
gmshed author. We hesitate not to say that his inqui
ries ended -with a firm and total disbeHef m the di-vine
inspiration of the Bible. He argued an entire dissimi
larity between the God of the Old Testament and the
Supreme Bemg taught by Jesus ; -riewing the first as

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 117
an angry, a bloodthirsty, and vindictive being — the last
as merciful, forbearing, just, and patemaUy inclined.
He denounces the doctrines of Moses, but extols those
of Jesus. He looked on Jesus as a man only — ^the
most exceUent and pure that ever Hved, but stiU no
part or essence of Divinity. The doctrine ofthe Trinity
was to him an incomprehensible and inexphcable mysti
cism — ^too refined, too inconsistent -with the weakness
of human understanding, and too subtle to have been
inculcated by so plain and unsophisticated a teacher as
Jesus Christ. He admits that it is more than probable
that Jesus thought himself the subject of divine inspirar-
tion, because it was a beUef incident to Ms education,
and common among the Jews, that men were often in
spired' by God. But he domes that Jesus any where
attempts to impose himself on mankind as the Son of
God. The four Gospels were regarded by him as in
accurate and exaggerated biographies of some lofty-
minded and splendid character, whose conceptions
were too towering for the " feeble minds" of Ms " grov
elling" compamons. (See p. 326, vol. IV.) "We
find," he says in the letter referred to, " in the -writings
of his biographers, matter of two distinct descriptions.
First, a ground-work of vulgar ignorance, of thmgs im
possible, of superstitions, fanaticisms, and fabrications.
Intermixed with these, again, are sublime ideas 'of the
Supreme Being, aphorisms and precepts of the purest
morality and benevolence, sanctioned by a life of hu
mUity, innocence, and simpUcity of manners, neglect of
riches, absence of worldly ambition and honors, -with an
eloquence and persuasiveness that have not been sur
passed . . . Can we be at a loss in separatmg such ma
terials, and ascribing each to its genuine author ? " In
a letter to John Adams on the same subject, found on
page 240, volume fourth, our author says again : " The

118 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
Christian priesthood, finding the doctrines of Jesus lev
eUed to every understanding, and top plain to need ex
planation, saw in the mysticisms of Plato materials
with wMch they might buUd up an artificial system,
which might, from its indistinctness, admit of everlast
ing controversy, give employment to their order, and
introduce it to profit, power, and pre-eminence. The
doctrines which flowed from the Hps of Jesus himself
are -within the comprehension of a cMld ; but thousands
of volumes have not yet explained -the Platonisms en
grafted on them : and for tMs obrious reason, that norir
sense can never be explained."
And again, the letter to Dr. Rush, found in volume
third, on page 506, holds tMs language: "I am, in
deed, opposed to the corruptions of Christianity, but
not to the genuine precepts of Jesus Mmself. I am a
Christian in the only sense m wMch he -wished any one
to be ; sincerely attached to Ms doctrmes in preference
to aU others ; ascribing to himself every human excel
lence, and beUe-ving he never claimed any other." The
last extract we shaU quote is found on page 349, vol.
fourth, in a letter to Dr. Waterhonse : " Had the doc
trines of Jesus been preached always as pure as they
came from his lips, the whole civUized world would
now have been Christian. I rejoice that in this blessed
couritry of free inquiry and beUef, wMch has surren
dered its creed and its conscience to neither kings nor
priests, the genuine doctrine of one only God is re-
-riving ; and I trust that there is not a young man now
Hving in the Umted States who wiU not die an Uni
tarian. But much I fear, that when this great truth
shaU be re-established, its votaries wiU faU into the
fatal error of fabricating formulas of creed and confes
sions of faith, the engines which so soon destroyed the
religion of Jesus, and made of Christendom a mere

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 119
Aceldama ; and they -wiU give up morals for mysteries,
and Jesus for Plato."
These extracts fully confirm the analysis of Jeffer
son's rehgious views we have given on a preceding
page, and leave no doubt of their character or extent.
He admired the morality of Christ's teachings, but
denied the divinity both of system and of teacher.
The apostles and their writmgs met -with no favor from
Jefferson. He speaks of them more than once " as a
band of impostors, of whom Paul was the great Cory
phaeus ;" and we have abundant e-ridence to show that
he doubted not only the genuineness ofthe Pentateuch
and of the prophecies, but ofthe whole writmgs of the
Old Testament. StUl we cannot consent that Jefferson
shaU be ranked as an infidel, as most of the orthodox
world demand. He protests himself against such a
sentence, and we have been imable to detect such ten
dency in Ms writings. He admired and adopted Chris-
tiamty as an inimitable and unsurpassed system of mo
rahty, and inculcates arid defends its principles. But
he examined its merits and riewed its transcendent
teachings through the medium of reason and plain
common sense. Where these stopped, and where the
foggy empire of faith began, there he abruptly halted.
His mind was so constituted as neither to be terrified
by dogmas, nor seduced by imaginary beauties, and
iUusive, speculative mental vagaries. He regarded the
tenets of Calvm -vrith ineffable and undisguised abhor
rence. The doctrine of one God, indirisible and indis
soluble, made into three parts, and these three parts
yet one only, — a Unity made Trimty at pleasure, or to
suit particular cases ; the docjtrine of moral necessity,
— ^the necessity of the eternal perdition of one part for
the salvation of another part of mankind, and for the
perfect glory of God ; and the doctrines ofthe immacu-

120 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
late conception of the Virgin, and of the mystical in
carnation of Jesus Christ, he had taught himself to re
gard as mere fanciful theories of a selfish priesthood,
designed only to estabhsh and support an independent
" order " of clergy. A theory that announced as its
basis incomprehensibUity and infinitude, yet attempt
ing to explain and elucidate acknowledged mysteries ;
wMch claimed reason in defence, and denounced it as
unlawful in antagonists ; which shuts out free inquiry,
and seeks shelter from human efforts within the un
trodden precincts of an inexphcable and undefinable
faith/ which proscribes doubt, interdicts Cxamiaar
tion, denounces as blasphemous the exercise of judg
ment, and intrenches itself in dogmatism and preju
dice ; which claims to be infaUible, yet teaches the
consistency of sectariamsm, — such a theory and such
rehgion were totally rejected by one accustomed to
such bold latitude of thought arid severe mental disci
pline as Thomas Jefferson. It is no part of our task,
nor is it our inclination^ to examine the correctness or
the faUacy of these views. But when revievring so im
portant a subject, and the character of so distinguished
a personage, we feel bound, in candor, to give both the
subject and the character the fuU advantage of undis
guised array. Such were the private and weU "di
gested " reUgious opmiPns of Jefferson, and by such,
fairly set forth, he must be judged'.. It would be un
fair to expose him to censure, whUe smothering the
gro-wnds of Ms beUef or disbeHef. And if, in the perusal
of these pages, any reader shaU feel aggrieved on any
point of conscience by tMs exposi of our author's doubts
and skepticisms, let Mm, whUe preparing to grasp the
vengefiil dart, pause and reflect, that many as good
and great, '^£ not better and greater than Thomas Jeffer-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 121
son, have been honestly perplexed by like doubts, and
mystified by like skepticisms.
The volumes before us close with the celebrated
" Ana." As a material part of the memoirs of one of
the leading representative men of America, it should
not be passed over Hghtly or inadvertently. We -vie-w
its character, contents, and objects as forming quite a
suspicious featm-e in the public character of om- dis
tinguished subject. We shaU not aver that it is unfair
or unaUowable to treasure what me may c"asuaUy hear
in the course of, general conversation among distin
guished personages, -with a view to profit by the same
in making up an estimate of character and principle.
We beUeve that free conversation is the surest index
to honestly-conceived opimons. It is the apposite and
quick expression of thoughts induced by reading, or
by pre-rious casual reflection — the more to be reUed
on, inasmuch as it is usuaUy unprompted by cold cal
culation, and is unrestrained by policy or timidity.
But to note down table-talk at dinings, evenuig parties,
and at cabinet consultations in difficult, novel, and try
ing times, as Jefferson has done in his Ana, is not only
culpable, but is violative of aU rules which govern fi-ee
social and poUtical intercourse. During the adminis
trations of Washington, repubHcanism was in its in
fancy, and the government in its chrysaUs state. The
hopes of freemen were suspended on a thread. The
capacity of the people for self-government was an un
tried experiment. The best and the -wisest were doubt
ers ; and among these was WasMngton himself. Ham
Uton was an open and professed skeptic, and did not
scruple to declare, as Ms firm opimon, that monarchy
was the most reUable form of government. Old John
Adams believed the same way, and even James Madi
son indulged apprehensions. But all of these had re-
6

122 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
solved that the experiment should have a fair trial.
Hamilton was urgent and stenuous in his advocacy of
the poUcy, and joined with Madison and Jay in pro
ducing a series of papers remarkable for abUity and
power in support of a popular form of government, and
ofthe Constitution. These papers were embodied into
a, volume wMch has attained to a world--wide celebrity
under the name of the " FederaUst." And yet it is
principaUy to defame Adams and HamUton that Jef
ferson indited the Ana, although every member of
Washington's administration came in for a fuU share
of espionage. Indeed, if Jefferson is to be regarded as
a credible and an unbiased -witness, the fathers of the
government, excepting Madison and himself, must have
been the most corrupt and selfish cabal of poHticians
that ever disgraced the Mstory of any country. He
spares Washington, truly, but in a manner notveiy
complimentary to the inteUect of that Ulustrious and
venerable personage. He represents him as having,
mdeed, a good heart, but a weak, vacUlating head ; as
being entirely under the influence of Federal adrisers,
and as indecisive and wavering in time of action.
But it is altogether unfair to judge either HamUton
or Ms associates by opinions expressed at the time in
question, especially on the subject of popular govern
ment. The experiment, fairly tried imder their aus
pices, was incontestably proven and demonstrated;
and, Uke all demonstrations, carried conriction. Its
proof was unquestionable. Washington modified his
original views so far as to admit its practicabUity,
but died seriously doubting its permanency. HamU-
ton's conduct evinced his satisfaction at the result, in
the undeviatnig support he gave to the judicial and
popular branches of the government. The election of
Jefferson to the Presidency, a few years afterward,

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 123
showed a general confidence in the success of the
scheme, and the acquiescence of the FederaUsts, then
one of the most formidable and powerful parties that
ever existed, was the clearest evidence of the triumph
of republicamsm. Under these circumstances, and being cognizant of
these facts, we can find no excuse for the author of the
Ana in thus noting down and pubUshing conversations
uttered at an unsettled and a trying period of poUtical
affairs ; and when opinions, far from being firmly fixed,
were hastUy formed, according to the ever-shifting
complexion of the experiment, and expressed less with
a yie-w to convince or persuade, than to eUcit mforma-
tion. We confess to an instmctive distrust of talk-
gatherers. "When we find or hear of a pohtician min
gling in social circles, or among his adversaries around
the festive board, listening attentively to conversation,
whUe cautiously and rarely giring utterance to his own
opimons, and then noting do-wn or retaUing the results
of his observation, we feel an involimtary apprehension
of mischief, and are inclined strongly to suspect foul
play. By this rule we are constrained to judge Jeffer
son in this instance. That he squared Ms conduct, in
after days, from the notes and information thus suspi
ciously gleaned, is quite evident both from Ms unre
lenting jealousy of HamUton, and from his remorseless
persecution of Aaron Burr. .
In view of this, as weU as of other cogent reasons,
it might have been supposed that a relative, justly
proud of Ms distinguished ancestor's feme, would have
spared the readers of his book the mortification of pe
rusing these unpleasant revelations — the evidences of
an aspii-ing and a jealous mind, resorting to a most
questionable and unworthy espionage m working out
the overthrow of unwary adversaries. But the candor

124 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
of Mr. T. J. Randolph was stern proof against aU pru
dential suggestions or delicate considerations. A very
natural and pardonable un-wiUingness to reduce the
profits of his work, and to lop off the main value of
his grandfather's bequest, may also have had some
influence in scotching his candor against the invitations
of deUcacy and prudence. Nothing, however, is more
certain 'than that the pubUcation of the Ana has ope
rated to detract largely from the private character of
Jefferson, and to tarnish his claims to fair play and
candid opposition in poUtical warfare. We may, then,
safely assert, that while Mr. Randolph very prudently
counted the cost of suppression as weighed against the
profits of pubUcation, the memory of his Ulustrious and
venerable ancestor has expiated dearly the fruits of his
speculation. Our task is completed. We have now Httle else to
do than briefly to sum up the prominent representative
features in the character of our distinguished subject,
and then to leave the merits of our review to the im
partial judgment of the reader.
The influences of Jefferson's character have been
sensibly impressed on the people of this country from
the dawn of the Revolution to the present hour ; and
they have been, and continue to be, secondary alone
to those of Washington. Our conclusion has been that
Ms influence has produced baneful and most depreca
tive effects on the moral tone of our poUtioal world.
His opposition to aU the essential features of the Con
stitution, and to our present form of government, was
deep-rooted, insidious, and imceasing. His- poUtical
and governmental theories were eminently and dan
gerously Jacobinical. Deeply tinctured -with the as
cetic and disorgamzing principles of the French Revo-
hition, he worsMpped an ideal of democracy that hor-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 125
dered on do-wm-ight Utopianism. On aU points touch
ing the practicabiUty or dm-abUity of popular govern
ments, he was almost fanaticaUy radical and ultra. He
¦advocated the largest reservations of power in favor of
the people in their coUective capacity, and the most
unlimited right of Suffrage. He mistrusted and de
nounced the weU-guarded prerogatives of our Federal
Executive, and grumbled at the least restraining exer
cise of even delegated power. And yet, during his
own Presidency, Ms practice afforded a most singular
contrast to liis theories, as we think we have abun
dantly shown in the preceding pages. No President
was ever so peremptoi-y in demanding to be intrusted
"with hazardous and questionable powers, and none so
arbitrary as regarded manifest infractions of the Con
stitution. He openly defied and overruled judicial
authority; suggested to Ms Congress the enactment
of laws whose operation threatened a violent severance
of the Umon ; demanded and obtained a severe en
forcing act ; invaded the Treasury at wUl to aid his
poUcy or to gratify Ms caprices ; and boldly assumed a
stretch of executive power, ¦vrithout precedent or paral
lel, by rejecting, at Ms single discretion, a treaty that
ought to have been submitted to the Senate as required
by the Constitution, and especiaUy whUe that body was
in session. ¦^
As the founder and leader of the Democratic party,
and the consequent promoter, originaUy, of the fierce
party dissensions wMch have since .distracted the coun
try, we are forced to pronounce the representative ex
ample of Jefferson permcious beyond computation. We
regard the influence and progress of that party as emi
nently deleterious to the poHtical welfare of the Union,
and as the incipient step and prime mover towards a
severance of the States— 'if, indeed, that calamity shaU

126 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
ever befaU us. Their disorganiring and pestUential
teachings began -with the very dawn of the govem
ment. The democratic members of the Convention
wMch formed the Constitution maintained, during its
session, an active correspondence with Jefferson on
each and every element proposed as its basis. Then-
cabals and caucuses were as frequent as the meetings
of the Convention. Their efforts were directed to the
adoption and introduction of Jacobinical features cal
culated to countervaU and to mar aU that was practi
cal, or that looked to durableness. Regarding society
more as it ought to be, than it is, or ever has been, or
is ever Hkely to be ; seduced by theories more plausible
than soUd; applying to a free elective government, de
riving aU its powers and authorities from the voice of
the people, maxims and precautions calculated for the
meridian of monarchy ; they turned all their riews and
directed aU their influence towards depreciating and
weakening the Federal Govemment. Against tMs, as
the Hydra-headed monster of aU their professed appre
hensions, their combined batteries of talent and of na-
.tional influence were solely directed. Had they pre
vaUed, the General Govemment would have been com
pletely shorn of aU its efficiency ; and mankind would
have been treated with the singular spectacle of a
powerful and gro-wing people, belonging in classes to
thirteen separate and independent sovereignties," seek
ing a precarious union in an mstrament aUied with
anarchy and founded in the grossest radicalism. But
what theyfaUed to obtain directly, theyhave contrived
and managed to effect indirectly, -with almost perfect
succesj. The history of the country has clearly shown
that the root of e-ril and the elements of destruction
Ue, not in the Federal Govemment, but in perverted
construction ofthe rights and powers ofthe State Gov-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 127
emments, ana supposed reservations to the people. To
secm-e the ascendency and popularity of this doctrine,
the Democratic leaders have faUen on .any and every
species of party tactics, as cases or circumstances war
ranted. They have resorted, alternately, to a latitudi
nous construction of the Federal Constitution, and to a
strict construction ; first, they have contended for re
striction, and then for unlimited extension of federal
power ; first closing the door to aU constitutional ad
mission of foreign territory, and then abruptly break
ing do-wn every barrier to acquisition and conquest,
and bringing in new States formed out of territory
reaching from the tropic of Cancer to the fiftieth paral
lel of north latitude, washed severally by the waves of
the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. With Jesuitical un-
scrupulousness, they have pursued their ambitious ends,
Uttle regardful of the means used for the accomphsh
ment. Consistency has been reckoned a -rirtue only so
long as it accorded -with expediency. Principle has
been made the handmaiden of poUcy. Party and
power have been the watchwords through aU phases
of poHtical or sectional differences, and among aU the
strifes of ambitious and aspirmg rulers. And, as the
cro-wnmg point of their incongruous system, it may be
stated as a remarkable and an instructive fact, that the
Democratic 'party, whUe usmg the whole enginery of
poHtical power to hang Burr for suspected designs
against the Union, and whUe threatening the NuUiflers
-with the cannon of the General Government, has yet
been the apologist for every popular outbreak and rev
olutionary movement, from the time of the Massachu
setts insurrection to the Dorr rebeUion in Rhode Island.
The connection of Thomas Jefferson with aU these dis
organizing principles has been sufficiently explained in
the foregoing pages. We regard him as the master-

128 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
spirit of former mischievous inculcations, and Ms influ
ence as the main prompting cause of aU succeeding po
litical malversations of " the progressive Democracy."
In fact, and at the best, the impartial reviewer is con
strained to measure the pubUc character of Thomas
Jefferson by a rule of selfishness that shone conspicu
ous through his whole political career, and which must
ever detract materiaUy from his claims to gratitude
and veneration as a statesman. And while aU unite in
ascribing to him great powers of mind, vast cultivation
and information, and much that eUcits and merits
thankfulness in connection with our Revolutionary his
tory, his memory -wUl be mainly perpetuated, and his
admirers must consent mainly to hand him do-wn as the
eldest Patriarch of radical Democracy.
With all his budding honors in the political world,
Jefferson had been through life, in another and tenderer
connection, a man of affiictions and sorrows. Death
had visited his famUy circle more than once. One by
one its loved members had been snatched away. "WhUe
yet at the starting point of elevation, and whUe the
halo of future honors gleamed but faintly in the distant
political horizon, he beheld the grave close over aU that
had been affectionate and beautiful in her who had
blessed his youth -with her love, and made happy the
earliest home of Ms manhood. She left him two Httle
daughters, and the memory of her love ; and these
were the sole pledge and token of their union. Her
memory found its shrine in the warmest affections of
Ms heart, and his love was never shared by another.
The daughters, under his paternal care, survived the
trials pf youth, and grew to be accomplished and fas
cinating women. They married; and his home and
fireside were left cheerless. In a few years, the elder
of the two sickened and died, before the father had

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 129
even grown famUiar -with her absence. This was in the
meridian of Ms first Presidency ; but the pomp, and
circumstance, and splendor of Mgh office could not as
suage the anguish of a wounded heart. The blow fell
heavUy and unexpectedly. Henceforth his eartMy af
fections were absorbed in the love of his only remain
ing chUd and her chUdren. And wMle yet the chasten
ing rod of death was suspended, and he was bending
beneath its trying inffictions, and when the ease and
emolument of office were approximating to a close, a
new source of anxiety and of misfortune was sprung.
Forty years of his life, and more, had been abstracted
from Ms own and given to the affairs of the country.
As property possesses no self-preserving principle, that
of Jefferson had suffered seriously and alarmingly under
such long neglect. He left the Executive mansion
deeply embarrassed, and returned to MonticeUo heavUy
oppressed in mind and circumstances. His books, his
apparatus, Ms literary and scientific pursuits were aU
impotent to chase off these mortifying reflections, and
the rich treasures of intellectual research were soUed
by a commixture ¦with the less welcome but necessary
employment of lottery draughts and financial calcula
tions. The generous interposition of Congress enabled
him to keep Ms Hbrary ; and the forbearance and Uber
ality of those he owed, added to other matters, helped
him to avoid the sheriff's clutches. His estate, how
ever, was never reUeved, and Ms principal bequest to
those he left behind consisted of the papers wMch com
pose the volumes we have just closed.
• On the fourth of July, 1826, just fifty years from
the memorable day which had ¦witnessed the birth of
American Independence, and simultaneously with that
of John Adams, the spirit of Jefferson took its flight
from earth. He died at MonticeUo, in the arms of his
6*

130 THOMAS JEFFEESON.
surviving daughter, at the ripe age of eighty-three
years. His last conversations showed that the waning
faculties of mind were busy with the long past eveqtfid
scenes of Ms life. His thoughts wandered from the
strifes and unpleasant personal coUisions with old po
litical friends wMch had blurred the latter years of Ms
pubUc career, and seemed to dweU armd the conse
crated shades of Independence HaU, and the stirring
scenes of the Revolutionary era. His last wish was
" that he might be permitted to inhale the refresHng
breath of another Fourth of July.". And the wish wag
granted.

A EEVIE'Wr OF THE LIFE AND TIMES

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.^
Among the pubhc men of the past generation who
may be styled representative characters, few stand
higher on the list than William Haeeis Cea-wfoed.
His name and poUtical character have been indeUbly
impressed on the history of the country, and long suc
ceeding generations wiU look to Mm as an eininent
repubUcan exemplar. His fame, therefore, -vrill be
permanent ; but the remains of his pubhc career,
o-wing to Ms pecuUar temperament and habits of Hfe,
are singularly intangible, and belong entirely, as natu-
raUsts would say, to the fossU species. There was
nothing in his private or pubUc character to invite the
gossipry of history — ^that surest method of emblazon
ing one's reputation. He did not belong to that class
of poHticians whom crowds foUow and admire, of whom
every penny -writer has something to say, and whose
journeys form one continuous and glarmg pageant.
He never acted for the multitude. If he had ambition
to be great, it was of that elevated order that looked
less to ephemeral popularity than to great and durable
* Sketch of the Life of -WUliam H. Cra-vrford. National Portrait
Gallery. Philadelphia. 1839.

132 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
results. When the ends for which he strove had been
accomphshed, he did not pause, Uke most other leading
statesmen, to preserve the means of such accomphsh
ment. History, therefore, is barren of Ms deeds, and
perpetuates Ms name only. It is true that, now and
then, as we wade through ponderous tomes of the na
tional archives, we stumble on some majestic record of
his genius that shines forth from the dreary waste with
surpassing splendor ; or that, Hke some towering col
umn among ancient and unidentified ruins, unbroken
by age and erect amidst the crumbled masses around,
teUs of a giant race that have passed before.
The sketch before us, tmderstood to be from the
pen of his accomphshed son-in-law, Mr. George M.
Dudley, df Sumter county, Georgia, was not designed,
as its limits evince, to be full or satisfactory. We must
say, however, that the deficiency appears to have pro
ceeded more from injudicious and unauthoriized prun-
ings by some -vritless paragraphist, than from any origi
nal omission in the article itself. The arrangement does
not quite indicate the tasteful handiwork and nice dis
crimination which we happen to know to be character
istics of the author. We have been informed, in fact,
that the sketch was unwisely mutUated, and so sheared
and nipped as to entirely pervert its chief purposes and
intended historical effect. At all events, however, the
-world is indebted to Mr. Dudley for the only authentic
biography of his Ulustrious relative. We have, there
fore, chosen to make M? sketch the text of the foUo-wing
article ; -with no -riew, let us say, to criticism, for, under
the circumstances, that would be neither aUowable nor
tasteful,-rthough-,it is possible that we may take the
Hberty of dissenting, in an instance or two, from what
we candidly think to be, perhaps, some of its too ready
conclusions. We design, however, not so much to

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 133
confine our objects to mere succinct biographical de-
taU, as to briefly review the prominent features in the
life of an individual reckoned among the greatest of
his day, and of times which form an important epoch
in the political history of the RepubUc. We address
ourself to such task not -without considerable embar
rassment and distrust. The difficulties already inti
mated are very discouraging. Mr. Cra-wford left no
materials on which to buUd any connected account of
his hfe. His contemporaries are ready to expatiate
largely concerning his greatness, but they can point to
but few recorded monuments of his fame. Although
twenty years have not elapsed since the period of his
decease — although numbers even of the rising genera
tion have seen and spoken with him — yet is he already
shelved as the Hortensius of his time — who, whUe gUm-
meringly acknowledged as a greater than Cicero, and
whose name -wiU be famUiar through countless ages to
come, has left " riot a -wreck " of Ms genius, and lives
only in tradition and in the eulogies of his rival. TMs
is not the only difficulty. The Mstory of the period in
wMch Mr. Cra-wford flgured as a statesman, apart fi-om
its mere general features, has never been compUed ;
and it is not only undefined, but is quite obscured from
ordinary research. It embraces much collateral in
terest that must be patiently gleaned from scanty and
scattered remnants, and wMch we are obUged to intro
duce very detachedly in the course of this reriew. It
extends through a period wMch -witnessed a total dis
solution and absorption of^ one of the ancient poHtical
parties, the reconstruction of the other, and the estab
lishment of a third of which he himself must .be reck
oned the principal founder, but wMch had not obtained
its present identity and compactness when disease hur
ried Mm prematm-ely from the theatre of poHtical life.

134 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
It also embraces some points personal to himself, and
to other distinguished pubUc characters, wMch render
their erisoeration and discussion quite a delicate under
taking, but which, nevertheless, ought not to be passed
over unnoticed — especiaUy by the candid and pririleged
reriewer. Thus much we have deemed it necessary to
premise, as weU to explain the meagreness of what
might be otherwise regarded a prolific subject, as to
advertise the reader of the more immediate purposes
of tMs article.
Crawford was born, as we are told, in Nelson coun
ty, Virgima, in February, 1772. WhUe yet quite a
youth his parents removed to Georgia, — first to near
Augusta, and afterwards to Columbia county. Here
he was sent to school, and -learned the ordinary Eng
Hsh branches of education. He had scarcely attained
the sixteenth year of Ms age when his fether died,
leaving the famUy in very reduced . circumstances.
Young Crawford immediately turned his yet scanty
learning to active account, and supported his mother
and famUy by teaching school, until he was twenty-two
years old. At this time he began to feel a desire to
obtain a classical education, arid was not at aU deterred,
even at his comparatively advanced age, from seeking
its gratification. There was, in the same county as his
own Uttle school, an academy of Mgh repute, under the
superintendence of a teacher who afterwards became
famous as the instructor of the leading statesmen of
the South. Even then, Ms obscure Hterary realm con
tained subjects who, in after years, adorned the nar
tional councils, and filled the country -with their fame.
That retired academy was, in fact, the nursery of Geor
gia's most distmguished sons, in poUtics, Hterature, and
reUgion. The rector was the Rev. Dr. Moses WaddeU,
who, at a subsequent period, became -widely kno-wn as

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 135
the founder of WUUngton Academy, in Abbeville Dis
trict, South CaroHna, — celebrated as the matriculating
font of John CaldweU Calhoun, as also of many others
whose names are eminently reno-wned in the land.
In 1794 young Cra-wford entered Carmel Academy
as a student. He soon obtained the confidence and
favor of Dr. WaddeU, and was promoted to the situa
tion of usher, receivmg, as Ms compensation, one-third
of the tuition money. We have heard it told of Mm,
that whUe at this academy, in the double capacity of
tutor and pupU, it was determined by himself and some
few of the elder school-boys, to enUven their annual
pubhc examination by representing a play. They se
lected Addison's Cato; and in forming the cast of
characters, that of the Roman Senator was, of course,
assigned to the worthy usher. Cra-wford was a man
of extraordinary height and large Hmbs, and was always
ungracefiil and awkward, besides being constitutionaUy
unfitted, in every way, to act any character but his
o-wn. He, however, cheerfuUy consented to play Cato.
It was matter of great sport, even during rehearsal, as
Ms young compamons beheld the huge, ungainly usher,
¦with giant strides and Stentorian voice, go througk
-with the representation of the stem, precise old Roman.
But on the mght of the grand exhibition, an incident,
eminently characteristic of the counterfeit Cato, oc
curred, which effectuaUy broke up the denouement of
the tragedy. Crawford had conducted the Senate
scene -with tolerable success, though rather boisterously
for so solemn an occasion, and had even managed to
struggle through -with the apostrophe to the soul ; but
when the dying scene behind the curtam came to be
acted, Cato's groan of agony was beUowed out -with
such hearty good earnest as totaUy to scare away the
tragic muse, and set prompter, players, and audience in

136 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
a general, unrestramed fit of laughter. This was, we
beheve, the future statesman's first and last theatrical
attempt. In the faU of 1796, leaving his situation in the Car
mel Academy, he- bent his way to the then young city
of Augusta, and became principal in one of the largest
schools. It was here that floating dreams of profes
sional eminence first passed through Ms mind ; suggest
ing, at the same time, more enlarged plans of accumu
lation. He accordingly set Mmself to studying the law,
and pursued his task -with an assiduousness and dili
gence that knew no abatement, and that augured a
speedy and successful accomphshment. He was admit
ted to the practice in 1798, and the year foUowing,
with a view to seek a suitable theatre of pursuit, he re
moved into the county of Oglethorpe, and dpened an
office in the little vUlage of Lexington, its county seat.
" Such were Ms perseverance, industry, and talents,"
says Mr. Dudley, " that he soon attracted the notice of
that' distinguished statesman and profound jurist, Peter
Early, then at the head of his profession in the Up
Country, and to whom he became ardently and sin
cerely attached. His great professional zeal, that al
ways made his cHent's cause his o-wn, his unremitted
attention to business, his punctuaUty and promptness
in its despatch, Ms undisguised frankness and official
sincerity — disdaining the Uttle artifices and over-reach
ing craft of the profession — combined with 'a dignity
which, springing from self-respect alone, was entirely
unmingled with affectation ; Ms honesty and irreproach
able moral character, accompanied -with manners the
most plain, siriiple, and accessible, secured for him a
pubhc and private reputation seldom equaUed, and
never surpassed in any country." TMs grapMc account,
taUying with the whole character of the distinguished

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 137
subject, is not at all exaggeration, but is testified to by
the speedy advancement of Cra-wford, who, indeed,
after Mr. Early's entrance into Congress during 1802,
might faii-ly be said to stand at the head of the bar of
the Western Circuit.
These arduous professional duties and this severe
mental discipHne were not without early and abundant
frmts. The greatness and overshadowing lustre of his
expanding mind began soon to diffuse an influence else
where than in the court-room. The duU precincts of
the bar, cramped jury boxes, stale law arguments, and
the harsh routine of office business, abundant though it
was, were insufficient to afford that scope which might
satisfy the inteUectual energies of such a person. The
excitement of the poHtical arena tempted Mm to the
trial for larger honors ; and in the faU of 1803 he was
called by the people of Ms county to represent them in
the Legislature of Georgia. In tMs station a new field
of ambition was suddenly opened to the grasping intel
lect of Crawford; and plunging as he did forthwith
mto the absorbing vortex of poUtics, we lose sight of
Mm as a professional man for many long and eventful
years— years of triumph and of trial, of pride and of
affliction. At this period began also a new and most memora
ble epoch in the poHtical Mstory of Georgia, wMch,
dating from Cra-wford's entrance into the Legislature,
controUed her destiny for weU mgh tMrty years, and
continues its influence, though in a greatly modified de
gree, to the present time. Indeed, it is a striking and
most remarkable fact, that the grapple of great minds,
stimulated by maUgnant and inveterate rivalry, never
faUs, even m the mUd contests of civU Hfe, compara^,
tively speaking, to imprint lasting and influential traces
on the age wMch ¦witnesses the struggle. TMs is emi-

138 ¦WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
nently the case in poUtical circles, from which, for the
first time, are to be drawn the bitter elements of party.
And so it was, as we have already intimated, in the
present instance. At bne of the sessions of the Lc^St
lature, during the time of Crawford's serriee in that
body, it so happened that a member introduced a series
of resolutions wMch looked to the impeachment of a
leading judicial incumbent of one of the Georgia cir
cuits. The indiridUal thus assaulted had been long a
prized friend and confidential associate of Cra^wford.
He had been also an active and industrious opponent
of another personage who was then becoming rapidly
conspicuous in the poHtical world, and whose prominent
position had already enUsted the sympathy of such as
were placing themselves in opposition to our distin
guished subject. This was General John Clarke.
Clarke, finding on the present occasion an opportunity
to vent Ms intolerance and vindictiveness, supported
the resolutions with ardor and unabating zeal. On the
other hand, Crawford opposed them -with the energy
of fast friendship, and with a -riolence that betokened
at once the depth of personal feehng and the indignant
contempt in wMch he held those who were urging their
adoption. As might have been expected, this fierce
coUision of master minds soon diverted attention and
interest from the true issue, and aU eyes fastened
eagerly on the hostUe champions. Parties and factions
were formed, and the limits of social intercourse were
jealously confined to those of factional sympathy. The
soirees ofthe fasMonable world were governed by Hke
envenomed rules. Innkeepers, and pubhcans of all de
scriptions, imbibing the excitement, eschewed indis
criminate gatherings, and advertised their cheer as
being intended only for those who espoused the cause,
respectively, of Clarke or of Crawford. The contagion

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 139
spread through aU castes and classes of society ; it, m
fact, found way even to the bosom of Mtherto harmo
nious and exclusive reUgious fratermties. Nor was it a
strife alone of words. Forensic weapons were soon laid
aside, and the rival champions, urged on by implacable
and impulsive factionists, resorted to weapons of a
deadUer character. A chaUenge to mortal combat
passed and was accepted. The terms were soon ar
ranged, the parties met, and a fight -with pistols, at the
usual distance, ensued. Crawford, though brave and
fearless to a degree scarcely compatible ¦with his pol
ished amiabUity and amenity of disposition, was natu
raUy awkward, nervous, and every way unqualified for
a genuine dueUist. Clarke was, on the contrary, a
practised fighter, and highly skUled in the use of weap
ons, whUe, at the same time, of equaUy unquestionable
courage. The result might have been anticipated.
Heedless of aU precautionary monitions and instructions
ftom his friends who accompanied him to the field as
seconds, Cra^wford took his position at the peg with the
same carelessness as he was wont to swagger to his
seat at the bar of a county court, exposing his left arm
in a manner to catch the baU of even the rawest duel-
Ust. Consequently, when fires were exchanged, Clarke
was found to be entirely untouched, wMle his unerring
baU had taken effect in the ¦wrist of Ms antagonist, hor
ribly crushing the bonCs, and producing the most ex
quisite pain.
TMs shot, of course, terminated the fight; and
Crawford was removed from the field to linger for
months in expiatory anguish. But so far from appeas
ing factional differences, the fight only served to add
fuel to the flame. The news of the duel, and of its
impleasing result, spread rapidly through aU portions
of the State, stu-ring up new and fiercer elements of

140 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
Strife, and confirming and strengthening all prerious
anunosities. HUI and vale, mountain and plain, echoed
to the war-whoop of arousing factions, and rang with
the angry notes of a gathering that might have startled
" Clan-Alpine's warriors." Men waited not to hear .or
to argue the causes and grounds which dirided their
respective champions, but each side mustered to the
banner of its favorite, and formed in line for a long,
bitter, and distracting conflict. The names of the ri
vals were assumed as the watchwords of the two par
ties, and for many years afterwards every election, from
that of beat constable or mUitia captain to that of
Congressman or Governor, was decided, not with re
gard to principle or quaUfiCation, but by a trial of
strength between the friends of Cra^wford and the
friends of Clarke. Even after Crawford had been
transferred from the councUs of the State to those of
the Nation, the flame of dissension was kept alive -with
vestal-Uke fideUty and tenacity ; for there arose up in
Ms place a successor who, from the first, asserted a fall
right to the fiery inheritance by Ms Mgh-handedneBS
and party bigotry, and whose name, when uttered even
at tMs day, stirs up ¦within the bosom of the old Geor
gian a wUd association o£ ancient party jealousies and
of long-gone personal predUeetions. Indeed, the elec
tion struggles of the Clarkites and the Troupites have
been too recently absorbed by those of 'WMg and
Democrat to have passed from the recoUection of even
the youngest ofthe present generation of voters.
This ferocious contest, even after one side had
changed its origmal battle-cry, lasted continuously and
with ever-increasing maUgnaney for twenty years. At
the great State elections of 1825, victory, no longer un
certain and wavering, perched finaUy on the standard
of the Troup party. A pitched battle, decisive m its

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 141
results as that of PharsaUa, had been fought by mutual
consent. Every log had been rolled — every stone had
been turned. Obscure, unfrequented county corners
had been diUgently scoured to sweU the voting hordes.
The sinks of cities had been ransacked. Cross-road
•and vUlage drunkards, who had slept for months in
ditches or in gutters, and whose sober moments had
been as few and far between as angel visits, were as
siduously excavated and hauled to the poUs. The
prison doors were flimg open to pining and hapless
debtors, who, but for this fierce war of parties, might
have languished away the prime of their Uves within
the gloomy walls of a dungeon. Old men who had
been bed-ridden for years, and who had long since
shaken adieux with the baUot-box, were industriously
hunted up, and conveyed by faithful and tender hands
to the nearest precinct. Patients shivering with ague
or bm-ning ¦with fever, struggled ¦with pain long enough
to cast their votes ; and it is within the recoUection of
many now Uvmg, that drooping paralytics, unable to
move fi-om the carts or dearborns which had borne
them fi-om their couches, were served with the box at
the court-house steps, by zealous and accommodating
officers. Nothing, in fact, had been left undone wMch
might contribute to bring the struggle to a decisive
and unquestioned issue. Accordingly, when the day
arrived, each party, marshaUed by its favorite- chieftain,
was ready for action ; and amidst drinking, ca^vUHngs,
partisan harangues, quarrels, and ring fights, the polls
were opened. Every minute of time was wranglingly
contended for in favor of lagging voters — every sus
picion was made the pretext for a chaUenge. But the
scrolls soon showed on wMch side the tides of rictory
were roUing. The contest resulted m a complete tri
umph ofthe Cra^wford or Troup party, whUe the Clark-

142 ¦WILLIAM H. OEA^WFOED.
ites, chagrined and crest-faUen, acknowledged for the
first time that they had been fairly overcome.
When the issue of this memorable election had been
fully ascertained, and disseminated through the State,
aU Georgia became a scene of rejoicing and revelry.
Magnammity was forgotten in the maddening mirth
of triumph at the defeat of a long-despised foe. The
ordinary greetings of civU Hfe were ungenerously ex
changed for taunts or exultant blusterings when in the
presence of a vanquished adversary. Little chUdren
ran about singing and shouting from the very contagion
of gladness. Wo™en threw aside the needle and the
shuttle to prepare for the dance and the feast. The
men gave up business for merry-making ; and many
who -had been long famed for their severe morahty and
ghostly manner of Hfe, were surprised in the joyous
milie, and were seen reeling about and carousing ¦with
their less austere neighbors. The day was enlivened
by Mlarious and gratulatory gatherings, and the night
made beautiful and merry by gorgeous iUuminations
and garish festirities.
Such is, briefly and imperfectly, the origin and par
tial history of those local factional issues which so long
distracted the State of Georgia, during the stirring
times of Crawford's political life. During the period
of their baneful ascendency, society was awfiiUy af-
vfficted. Friendships were often rudely severed, fami
hes divided, and whole neighborhoods broken up and
made hostile by the deplorable influences of this par
tisan rancor. In fact, the Presidential election of 1840
was. the first contest since 1806 wMch possessed suffi
cient strength; as regarded other issues, to overcome
tMs ancient embodiment of party warfare ; and it is
remarkable that, even at this day, the Democratic and
WMg parties of Georgia are composed, in the main, of

Wn.LIAM H. CEAWFOED. 143
these old factions — ^the Clarkites being mostly of the
former, and the Troupites of the latter party.
At the session of 1807 the Legislature of Georgia
had elected Crawford a Senator of the United States,
to fiU the vacancy occasioned by the death of Abraham
Bald^win, a signer of the Declaration of Independence
and of the Federal Constitution. TMs flattering mark
of distinguished merit, thus early conferred on one so
recently an humble and unaspiring pedagogue, eri-
dences, in a striking manner, the brUUant da^wn of
.those splendid talents which, whUe yet in the meridian
of life, soon lifted Mm to the highest honors of pubhc
office, and gave Mm in the poUtical world an influence
that has surrived his death. 'When it is stated, how
ever, that these superior mental endo^wments were
aided by a rare boldness and independence of character
and of opimon, it wUl not be difficult to account for
tMs rapid preferment.
The political sentiments of Cra^wford were decidedly
Uberal, and, m some respects, differed widely from
those wMch have been promulged and advocated as
the pecuHar tenets of the Jefferson school. He marked
out Ms own course, and pursued his own conclusions,
little regardful of those party trammels wMch have
generaUy obtained a controUing influence ¦with prom-
"ment national poHticians. Accordingly, at an early
period after his entrance into the Senate of the United
States, he joined issue -with WiUiam B. GUes, of Vir
gima, the veteran debater of that august body, and the
acknowledged spokesman of the Jefferson Administra^
tion. The contest was on the Embargo question ; GUes
earnestly advocating its poHcy, wMle Crawford opposed
it as a measure fraught with miscMef and distress, and
a useless and unwise preliminary to a war already -rir-
tuaUy begun, and which was clearly inevitable. Craw-

144 ¦WILLIAM H. CEA-WEOED.
ford had very Uttle tolerance for concessions and dila
tory action, in a cause which he conceived to have
been closed to amicable adjustment. He was no half
way man. He never paused to compromise, when he
could see Ms way to a favorable result by risking a less
indirect procedure. In fact,. Crawford was in favor of
declaring war from the moment that the British Gov
emment refused to make proper amends and satisfac
tion for the unwarrantable attack of the Leopard on
the Chesapeake, off the harbor of Norfolk ; and, in
after years, did not scruple to charge Madison with
ambiguousness on the point of war or peace in his cele
brated message of 1812, characterizing it as akin to
the sinuous and obscure declarations of a Delphic
oracle. The Embargo was the darling scheme, along -with
the Non-intercourse Act of 1809, of the Jefferson and
Madison Administrations. Crawford was thus thro-wn -
into an attitude of partial opposition to the Democratic
leaders of that day, although far'indeed removed from
any fraternizing sympathy with the then unprincipled
and rancorous remnant of the old Federal party. From
these differences, sUght as they were, sprang the germs
of that conservative, national party which, soon gather
ing compactness under the lead of MadiSon, of Clay,
and of the younger Adams, has opposed, ever since, a
steady and unyielding barrier, amidst varying fortunes,
to the unbridled radicalism of Democracy, as also to
the baneful extremes of FederaUsm. The declaration
of war, it may be observed, was not favored by Jeffer
son. With him the niUder and, as he thought, scarcely
less effectual remedy of spirited retaUatory measures,
as concerned the British orders in CouncU and the
French decrees, was the preferred line of conduct.
Madison, long his warm adherent and premier cabinet

¦WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 145
officer, had his doubts and his difficulties. The multi
phed aggressions of the British Govemment had, in
deed, stirred up within the American nation fierce and
ominous fires of resentment. StUl they perceived that
the business men of the country deprecated hostiUties.
New England had gone quite to the pomt of rebelhon
on account of the Embargo and restrictive measures.
She was now loud in her denunciations of war. The
commercial cities of the North were scarcely less recon-
cUed to the commencement of hostUities that would
certainly depress and cripple them. The cotton-plant
ers and the tobacco-growers dreaded the ruinous de
preciation in the then Mgh price of their staple pro
ductions, wMch was sure to result from a declaration
of war. The Federalists, rejoiced to take hold of aught
that might offer to prop their sinking fortunes, or to
worry their exultant opponents, harangued bitterly
against the rupture of peaceful relations with England,
and buUyingly defied those who advocated the last re
sort. The Democrats hesitated ; and although Madi
son afterwards broke through these procrastinating
counsels, and staked Ms administration on the issue of
the war, yet there was a time when Ms delay had caUed
forth no Hght reprehension from those of his poHtical
friends who coincided -with Cra-wford. His decision
lost him some fiiends and gained Mm legions of ma
Ugnant enemies ; but, at the same time, it operated to
change whoHy the original complexion of the Jeffer
soman Democracy, and gave vitaUty and impulse to a
tMrd party, wMch had suddenly emerged from the
chaotic political elements, under the bold lead of WU-
Ham Harris Cra-wford. But in 1811 the transition had
been powerfuUy aided by the position which had been
taken by Crawford and Ms RepubUcan friends -with
regard to the question of rechartering the Bank of the

146 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
United States ; and the final concurrence of Madison
in tMs poHcy was the closing scene of the ancient or
ganization of parties, and marked stUl more fuUy the
differences of the Uberal and tbe radical vrings of the
original Democratic party.
At tMs point opens a brilhant and most important
period in Crawford's poHtical career. His reputation
up to this time, although graduaUy spreading, had been
mainly confined -within the Hmits of his own State.
The sUght differences which had separated Mm from
the immediate body of Mr. Jefferson's party, as con
cerned the poHcy of the Embargo, and wMch had given
rise to the encounter between himself and GUes, had
not drawn out the fiiU powers of Ms mmd, or unfolded
to the eye ofthe nation those vast inteUectual treasures
and inward resources wMch afterwards outshone and
ecHpsed aU competition, and marked Mm as one of the
leading statesmen of his day. His fame now expanded
and spread, and Georgia surrendered her fevorite son
to the nation.
From 1790 to 1840 the various questions connected
with the constitutionaUty and expediency ofthe United
States Bank engaged more deeply the pubUc mind than
any others belongmg to the history of the country.
Indeed, the interest thus excited began under the pre-
-riously existing govemment, and originated -with the
project of chartering the Bank of North America. The
cry of the then opposition soon became sufficiently
effective to induce the stockholders to surrender their
Congressional privUeges, and to accept a charter less
objection i,ble and less precarious from the State of
Pennsylvama. But when in 1791, immediately after
the adoption of the present Constitution, the project
of a National Bank was revived under the auspices of
Alexander HamUton, a steady and fiirious opposition

¦WILLIAM H. CEA'WTOED. 147
arose, which, only checked for the moment by the over-
a^wing influence of Washington, soon swelled into a
large and jealous party, and has succeeded in bequeath
ing its rancor and ¦vindictiveness to every succeeding
generation from that time to the present. Preriously
to this the organization of parties had been based on
the approval and disapproval of the Federal Constitu
tion. But the agitation of the Bank question, and its
charter by Congress, gave a complexion to poHtical di
visions which begat a new era m the history of parties.
On this subject it was that HamUton and Jefferson first
crossed weapons ; and on tMs the tocsin first sounded
the hostUe notes of that factious warfare wMch led to
such acrimomous encounters and differences bet^wixt
their respective adherents. No two men could have
been brought together more entirely opposed in opimon,
or m habits of thought, or in modes of action, than
HamUton and Jefferson, Their disagreement grew into
an implacable hostUity, which defied the mediation of
Washington himself, and, as might have been expected,
hurried each to rash and unwary extremities m the
formation and maintenance of their poHtical opimons,
HamUton was an extreme FederaUst ; Jefferson was an
extreme Democrat. HamUton leaned to and advo
cated a strong centralizing govemment, whoUy disal-
Hed with aU genuine repubUcan notions, Jefferson was
a rabid and uncompromising radical, and promulged
doctrines and principles at once abhorrent and danger
ous to the permanence and safety of any form of gov
emment. The first favored EngUsh poUtics; the last
was an ardent friend to French politics. They differed
on every and all subjects, and always q[uarreUed. It
was not to be expected, therefore, that they would
agree on the question of establishing a National Bank.
Washington, when the bUl was sent to him for signa-

148 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
ture and approval, -with a decent respect to the sharp
confficts of opinion among Ms friends, demanded an
opimon from each of his four ministers. Three of
them, at Ms request, reduced their ideas to -writing,
Knox, who was a poor hand -with the pen, gave Ms in
conversation, and they were found to coincide ¦with
those of HamUton. The Attorney-General, Randolph,
sided ¦with Jefferson in an unqualified opposition to the
scheme. How far the personal animosities and differ
ences of the two Secretaries may have affected tMs
great pubUc interest^ may never be kno^wn. At all
events, Washington decided according to the views of
HamUton, and signed the charter. He carried along
¦with Mrii a sufficiency of the RepubUcan influence to
rescue the scheme from the odium of an extreme Fed
eral measure ; and thus the question had rested from
1791 to 1811,
At this session, to the confusion and dismay of the
ultra Democracy, the friends of the Bank again entered
the arena, and appUed for a renewal of its charter, un
der the adrice and lead of Cra^wford. Crawford had
not taken his position inconsiderately or unwarily. He
was, in Ms sentiments, a firm RepubUcan and supporter^
in the main, of the Jefferson and Madison administra
tions. But Ms mind was of too comprehensive and ac
tive a cast to be fettered by narrow party ties, when
reason and experience ppinted to a useful result. In
tracing the history of banking institutions, he was
doubtless forcibly struck ¦with the feet that they had
found admission and patronage among the principal
and most enhghtened commercial nations; that they
had successively obtained in Italy, Germany, Holland,
England, and France, as weU as in the Umted States ;
and that, after a candid estimate of their tendency and
an experience of centuries, there existed not a doubt

¦WILLIAM. H, CEAWFOED, 149
about their utihty in the countries where they had
been so long estabhshed and so fairly tried. Wherever
they had been created and properly sustained, industry
and trade had been indebted to them for thrift and
important aid, and Govemment repeatedly under the
greatest obUgations to theni m dangerous or distressing
emergencies. In reviewmg the Mstory of the Bank of
the Umted States, he found, that the greatest amount
of good had foUowed its estabUshment, and that for
twenty years every department of industry, as weU as
of govemment, had received timely aid and advantages
from its beneficent operations. These fects weighed
heavfly ¦with one of his eminently practical constitution,
whose mind, directed always to great and standard
measures, was whoUy incapable of bemg dwarfed to the"
pitiftU dimensions of insane fectious opposition, and was
impervious alike to the threats or the aUurements of
sectarian predUeetions. He decided promptly on Ms
course of action, and determined to advocate the re
newal of the expired charter openly and zealously.
With him were ranged Albert GaUatin, Secretary of
the Treasury, Pope, the Senator from Kentucky, and
some few more distinguished Democrats or RepubH-
cans. But against him there appeared a formidable host
of talents and influence, and the entire prejudices ofthe
Jeffersoman sect. The principal of these opponents
were Smith of Maryland, and- Henry Clay, the Senato
rial coUeague of Mr. Pope, WilHam B, GUes sided
¦with the opposition, but made a speech so rambUng
and tortuous as to leave Ms opinions on the main ques
tion weU nigh imdefined, and wMch Ms then coadjutor.
Clay, wittUy characterized as having " discussed both
sides of the question ¦with great abiUty, and as having
demonstrated to the satisfaction of aU who heard him,
both that it was constitutional and unconstitutional.

ISO ¦WILLIAM H. CEA^WFOED.
MgMy proper and improper to prolong the charter of
the Bank,"
Crawford was chairman of the committee to whom
the apphcation of the stockholders, praying Congress
to renew the charter of the Bank, had been referred.
He appHed himself to the duties of his station ¦with an
ardor that showed his disregard of party associations
where the pubUc good was concerned, and ¦with a zeal
and fldeUty that eminently evinced the depth and sin
cerity of his conrictions. He fortified Ms cause and
himself ¦with every necessary extrinsic aid; took the
elaborated opinion of the Secretary of the Treasury ;
and consulted extensively with deputations from tbe
commercial and industrial interests ofthe great sections
ofthe Confederacy, But the mastery of extrinsic facts
did not alone serve to fit him for the ensuing struggle.
The benefits arismg from the estabUshment and con
tinuance ofthe Bank were unquestionable. The neces
sity and expediency of rene^wing the charter could not
be successfuUy controverted. The battle had to be
fought on the ramparts of the Constitution, and of tMs
Crawford was fuUy aware. He had calculated tha.t the
opposition would direct their main efforts against the
constitutionality ofthe measure, and thus drive the pe
titioners out of Congress ¦without aUo^wing them to
bring in their array of popular eridence and convincing
fects. But he had prepared to meet them at the very
threshold, and armed himself -with a panoply of reason
and argument which, supported by unquestioned au
thority, effectuaUy dislodged Ms adversaries from their
defiant position; and threw them at once on the defen
sive. He courted, and eridently desired them to at
tack; but, faihng in this, he was nevertheless fuUy pre
pared to assume the offensive.
On the Sth of February the report of the Commit-

WILLLAM H. CEAWFOED. 151
tee had been made to the Senate, and a majority con
curred m the motion to accompany the same -with a
bUl to extend the expired charter of the Bank. The
bUl was subjected to some amendments;- and its con
sideration postponed for one week. On the morning
of the 12th, Mr, Anderson, of Tennessee, moved to
strike out the flrst section, but declined giving any
reasons in support of his motion, on the ground that
the question had been doubtless already decided, in the
mind of every Senator, as of every man in the nation.
This course at once unfolded the poUcy of the opposi
tion. Cra-wford easily perceived that, confident of
numerical strength, they had decided either to provoke
assault, or else quietly to demoUsh the bUl section by
section. He repUed to Anderson, by observing that
such a method of dispatcMng business was novel and
astonishing ; that a bUl had been presented to the
Senate to contmue the operation of an institution of
twenty years' standing, whose good effects were um-
versaUy admitted, and whose influence on the pubhc
prosperity was not to be denied ; and yet, in place of
giving any reason against the continuance, the Senate
was told that pubUc sentiment had decided the ques
tion. He appealed to the mover if tMs was a fair and
magnanimous mode of procedure ? How was it possi
ble, he asked, for the fiiends of the biU to meet objec
tions never made ? When a question of such magni
tude was to be decided, he contended that it was
proper to offer some reasons why the bUl should be
rejected. It was answered by General Smith, that
there was nothing novel in the course suggested by
the Senator from Tennessee ; that it was parliamentary
to make such motion ; and that it always became the
introducer of a biU to give some reasons to induce the

152 ¦WILLLAM H. CEA-WP*ED.
Senate to give the same its support. Anderson con
curred, and again repeated Ms former motion.
Crawfijrd promptly rejoined. He intimated that
his remarks had been misconceived ; that he made'no
complaint against the motion ; but that it was not
usual in any dehberative body that a chairman should
be. caUed on to state the reasons which induced a com
mittee to report any provision to a bUl, when a motion
was made which went to put an end to any discussion
of the detaU. " Gentlemen," he said, " were about to
defeat the biU, audit was fair that they should assign
their reasons. How could he foresee their objections?
Or if, perchance, he should foresee and answer them,
would not gentlemen say that such were not the rea
sons which influenced their votes ? It was Hke pur
suing a will-o'-therwisp — ^you can never arrive at the
true object of pursuit,"
He was again answered by Gen. Smith, that it was
always the duty of a committee to inform the Senate
of the reasons which induced them to report a bUl ;
that it was expected by himself and others, that the
chairman would favor them -with an argument to induce
their support of the bUl, and that tJien he might con
sider of his duty in making answer.
TMs last rejoinder fnUy exposed the plan of action
which had been agreed on by the opponents ofthe bUl.
It was clear that they did not intend to take the initial
tive in discussion, and Cra,wford persisted in Ms en
deavor to provoke assault no longer. He asked for no
postponement, he craved no further time for prepara
tion, but proceeded forthwith, and to the surprise of
the opposition, to deUver Ms views in a speech wMch,
for rigor and originality of thought, cogency of argu
ment, and power of inteUectual research, has never
been surpassed in any parUamentary body, and wMoh

WILLLAM H. CEAWFOED. 158
fixed Ms claims to greatness. He begins by boldly
laying down the premise that the Federal Constitution
had been so much construed as if it were^ej^c^, that
many of its best features were about to be rendered
iinbecUe, and that prejudice was thus tending to ac
tuaUy destroy the objest of affe«tion ; that when this
was carried so far as to endanger the pubhc welfare, it
was necessary that its imperfections should be disclosed
to pubHc ¦riew ; which disclosure, whUe it might cause
the adoration to cease, would not, therefore, necessarUy
place the Constitution beyond the reach of ardent at
tachment. He foUows up this startUng declaration
with a severe analysis of the Constitution, to prove its
force ; showing that the very numerous incidentalisms
wMch appertain to its express grants of power, clearly
demonstrate the fallibility of the instrument, ¦with aU
its just claims to our respect and deep veneration.
After going through thus with the entire list of the
specified powers of Congress, adroitly using each to
illustrate his premise, he finaUy seizes on the fourth
article of the Constitution to prove " the absurdity,"
as weU of the idea of its perfection, as of the construc
tion that the enumeration of certain powers excludes
aU other powers not enumerated. His method of rea
soning tMs pomt is so novel, so interesting, and so re-
sistlessly convictive, that we shaU venture to transcribe
the portion which embraces tMs head of his speech.
" This article," he says, " appears to be of a miscellaneous charac
ter, and very similar to the codicil of a ¦will The first article pro-
-vides for the organization of Congress ; defines its powers ; prescribes
limitations on tbe powers previously-granted ; and sets metes and
bounds to the authority of the State Governments. The second arti
cle provides for tbe organization of the Executive Department, and
defines its power and duty. The third article defines tbe tenure by
which the persons iu whom tbe judicial power may be vested shaU
7*

154 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
hold their offices, and prescribes tbe extent of their power and juris
diction. These three articles provide for the three great departments
of govemment, called into existence by the Constitution; but some
other provisions _pM« then occur, which ought to have been included in
one or tbe other of the three preceding articles, and these pro-visiona
are incorporated and compose the foarth article. Tbe first section of
it declares, that ' full faith and credit shall be given, in each State, to
the public acts, records, and judicial proceedings of every other State ;
and tbe Congress may, 'by general laws, prescribe the manner in which
such acts, records, and proceedings shall be proved, and the effect
thereof.' In the second section it declares that a person charged, in
any State, with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from
justice, and be found in another State, ' shall, on demand of tbe ex
ecutive authority of tbe Stats from which he fled, be delivered up, ta
be removed to the State having jurisdiction of the crime.' A similar
provision is contained in tbe same section, relative to fu^tives whq
are bound to labor, by the laws of any^j^te. In the first case which
has been selected, express authority Has been given to Congress to
prescribe tbe manner in which tbe records, &c., should he proved, and
also the effect thereof; bnt, in the oilier two, no anthority bas been
given to Congress ; land yet the bare inspection of the three cases will
prove that the interference of Congress is less necessary in tbe first
than in tbe two remaining cases. A record must always be proved
by itself, because it is the highest evidence of which the case admits.
Tbe effect of a record ought to depend upon the laws of the State of
which it is a record, and therefore the power to prescribe the effect of
a record was wholly unnecessary, and has been so held by Congress
— ^no law having been passed to prescribe tbe effect of a record. In
the second case there seems to be some apparent reason for passdhg a
law to ascertain the ofScer upon wbom the demand is to be made ;
what evidence of the identity of tbe person demanded, and of the.guUt
of the party charged, must be produced, before the obligation to de
liver shall be complete. The same apparent reason exists for tbe
passage of a law relative to fugitives from labor. According, how
ever, to the rule of construction contended for. Congress cannot pass
any law to carry the Constitution into effect in the two last cases se
lected, because express power has been given in the first, and is -with
held in the two last. But Congress has neverljieless passed laws to
carry those provisions into effect, and this exercise of power lias never
been complained of by tbe people or the States."

¦WILLIAM H, CEA-WFOED. 155
The speech then proceeds ¦with an able argument to
prove that there must necessarily exist, in the Consti
tution, powers derivable from implication. He con
tends that it 'is only by implication that Congress ex
ercises the power to establish a Supreme Court, because
the express grant is Hmited, as concerns the action of
Congress, only to the creation of " inferior tribunals."
Thus, he argues, is derived the sole power to accept or
purchase places for the erection of forts, magazines,
dockyards, and arsenals ; as also the power to buUd
Hght-houses, and to legislate for the support of the
same. These aU bemg clearly implied powers, and
having never excited complaint when exercised by
Congress, he maintains that the same ancient and
thoroughly settled rule of construction 'wiU leave Con
gress ¦with. the power to create a Bank, derivable from
the clause wMch ^ves the power " to lay and coUect
taxes, duties, imposts, and excises." He argues : —
" A law to erect light-houses is no more a law to regulate com
merce, than a law creating a Bank is a law to collect taxes, duties,
and imposts. But the erection of light-houses tends to facilitate and
promote the security and prosperity of commerce, and, in an equal
degree, the erection of a Bank tends to facilitate and insure the col
lection, safe-keeping, and transmission of revenue. If, by this rule
of construction, wbioh is applied to light-houses, but denied to tha
Bank, Congress can, as incidental to the power to regulate commerce,
erect light-houses, it -vrill be easy to show that the same right may be
exercised as incidental to the. power of laying and collecting dnties
and imposts. Duties cannot be coUectted, unless vessels importing
dutiable merchandise arrive in port ; whatever, therefore, tends to
secure their safe arrival may be exercised under that general power :
the erection of light-houses dpes facilitate the safe arrival of vessels in
port ; and Congress can, therefore, exercise this right as incidental to
the power to lay imposts and duties."
Pursuing tMs course of syUogism and logical de
duction, he goes on to argue that the creation of a

156 WILLIAM H. CEA^WFOED,
Bank is necessary and proper, as the very best means
to coUect, safely keep, and disburse the pubUc revenue;
not because the National Govemment is actuaUy de
pendent on a Bank, but that it is materially aided by a
Bank, and that it must, therefore, be a constitutional
agent indirectly or impliedly contemplated as necessary.
Adverting to the idea tha£ the States have reserved to
themselves the exclusive right of erecting Banks, he
boldly promulges the doctrme that, so fer from such
power ha-vmg been reservedj the States are actuaUy
proMbited by the Constitution, from exercising ' tMs
power. He says : —
" In the tenth section of the first article of tbe Constitntion, it is
declared, among other things, that no State shall coin money, emit
bills of credit, or make any thing but gold and silver a tender in pay
ment of debts. ¦Wbat, sir, is a biH of credit ? WiU it' be contended
that a bank bill is not a bill of credit ? They are emphatically biUs
of credit. Bnt it may be said that tbe States do not, by the creation
of banks, with authority to emit bills of credit, infringe upon the Con
stitution, because they do not emit the bills themselves. If they have
not the power to emit bills of Credit, d /orison, they cannot delegate
to others a power which they themselves cannot exercise. But, sir,
according to the maxims of law and sound reason, what they do by
another, they do themselves."
Leaving the field of soUd constitutional argument,
the speaker next proceeds to discuss Ms proposition
¦with reference to its aUeged party connections, and,
incidentaUy, as regards the competency of a State Gov
ernment to resist the estabhshment, ¦within its Umits,
of a branch of the United States Bank, At the time
that the constructive rules obtained wMch authorize
the erection of a Bank as the fiscal agent of the Gov
emment, he contends that party, in its present sense,
was imkno-wn; that the Constitution itself was just
framed, and not beyond the influence of unquestioned

WILLXAM H. CEA-WFOED, 157
first impressions ; and that the Bank had then been
sanctioned by the best authorities, and in the best days
of the RepubUc, After contrasting those purer times
¦with the rancorous scenes m wMch he was then mix
ing; denouncmg the intolerance and -vindictiveness of
the then "Democratic presses ;" and protesting against
the iUegal interference of certain " great States " -with
the regular operations of Congress, he gives vent to
the foUo-wing splendid phiUppic : —
" The Democratic presses have, for more than twelve months
past, teemed with the most scurrilous abuse against every member of
Congress who has dared to utter a syllable in favor of the renewal of
the Bank charter. The member who dares to give bis opinion in
favor of the renewal of tbe charter, is instantly charged with being
bribed by the agents of the Bank — with being corrupt — ^with having
trampled upon the rights and liberties of the people — -with having sold
the sovereignty of the United States to foreign capitalists — with being
guflly of perjury by having violated the Constitution. -Jfes, sir, these
are the circumstances under which we are called to reject tbe bill
When we compare the circumstances under which we are now acting,
with those wHch existed at the time when the law was passed to in
corporate the Bank, we may well distrust our o-vra judgment. I had
always thought, sir, that a corporation was an artificial body, existing
only in conteniplation of law ; but if we can believe the rantings of
onr Democratic editors, in these great States, and the denunciations
of our public declaimers, it exists under the form of every foul and
hateful beast, and bird, and creeping thing. It is a Ht/dra ; it is a
Cerberus ; it is a Gorgon; it is a Vkilture ; it is a Viper. Yes, sir, in
their imaginations, it not only assumes every hideous and frightful
form, but it possesses every poisonous, deleterious, and destructive
quality. Shall -we, sir, suffer our ima^nations to be alarmed, and
OUT judgments to be influenced by such miserable stuff ? Shall we
tamely act under the lash of this ^anny of the press ? No man
complains of the discussion in the newspapers of any. subject which
:omes before the Legislature of the Union ; but I most solemnly pro- -
test agamst the course which has been pursued by these editors in re
lation to this question. Instead of reasoning tp prove tbe unconsti
tutionality of tbe law, they charge members of Congress with being

158 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
bribed or corrupted; and this is what they call the liberty of the
press. To tyranny, under whatever form it may be exercised, I
declare open and interminable war. To me it is perfectly indifferent
whether the tyrant is an irresponsible editor, or a despotic monarch."
But Cra-wford was not content even thus to rest Ms
case on the solid basis of primitive repubUcan authority.
Assuming that the Democratic or regular Jeffersoman
party were opposed, on principle, to the establishment
of a Bank, he proves that their pubHc acts give the He
to their opinions, inasmuch as this same party indirectly
sanctioned the Bank by establishing a branch inXouis-
iana in 1804, and, in 1807, by passing laws to punish
offences of counterfeiting, or otherwise improperly in
terfering with the Bank monopoly ; and tMs, too, -with
such unanimity, that the bUl glided through both
Houses without a caU of the yeas and nays on its final
passage, or any of its intermediate stages. And it is
under this head of the speech that, speaking of the
right of States to oppose the erection of branch Banks
within their borders, we find the foU©-wing emphatic
and unqualified declaration of opimon on a point wMch,
so fer as the name and authority pf our distinguished
subject may be regarded, must startle and disconcert
the -wUd secessionists and ultra States' rights men of
the present critical times : —
" Permit me, sir, to make one or two observations upon this com
petency of tbe State Governments to resist the awthmty or the exem-
tion of a law of Congress. 'Vfhat kind of resistance can they make,
which is constitutional ? I know of but one Hnd — and that is by elec
tions. The People, and the.^ States, have the right to change the
meinbers of the National Le^slature, and io that way, and in that
alone, can they effect a change of the measures of this Gcvemnient,
It is true, there is another kmd of resistance which can be made, bui
it is unktunm to the Constitution. This resistance oep^nds upon physi
cal force ; it is an appeal to thai sword ; and S^ the sword must that
appeal be decided, and not by the provisions of the Constitution,"

WILLIAM H, OEA^WFOED. 159
After a concise and lucid exposition of banking
principles as Ulustrated and developed m connection
with the Mstory of many of the States, and the special
benefits to be derived from a National Bank, the dis
tinguished speaker, towards the end of his argument,
notices the objection raised by many to a Bank, because
a portion of the stock may be o-wned by foreign capi-
taUsts. Formidable as this objection may at first seem,
he seizes and wields it as an affirmative argument, prov
ing that what has been so generally deemed a disas
trous policy, is reaUy an advantage to the country.
He argues that if, by investing their principal means in
an Atnerican institution, dependent entirely on the wUl
of the American Govemment, and existing by the suf
ferance of the American people, foreigners acquire any
influence over such institution, it is their interest to
exert the same in our favor. A country in wMch the
capital of foreigners is employed, and whose Govern
ment can, at any moment, lay its hands on the same,
must of necessity possess more influence ¦with these
foreigners than" they possibly can over us or to our
injury ; besides the important fact that, in case of ap
prehended war between" their nation and ours, self-
interest would impel them to exert a beneficial influ
ence in favor of that which holds their money.
The conclusion of this finished argument is worthy
of its principal features and main body, and is eminently
characteristic of its author : —
" Sir, we have the experience of twenty years for our guide.
During that lapse of years your finances have been, through tbe
agency of this Bank, skilfully and successfully managed. During
this period, the improvement of tbe coimtry and the prosperity of the
nation have been rapidly progressing. Why, then, should we, at this
perilous and momentous crisis, abandon a well-tried system — ^faulty,
perhaps, in the detiul, but sound in i^s fundamental principles? Does

160 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
the pride of opinion revolt at the idea of acquiescing in the system of
your political opponents ? Come ! and -with me sacrifice your pride
and political resentments at the shrine of political good. Let them
be made a prqpitiatory sacrifice for the promotion of the public -weir
fare, the savor of which will ascend to hea-ven, and be there recorded
as a lasting, an everlasting evidence of your devotion to the happi
ness of your country."
This speech, and the one which followed a few days
afterwards from tbe same source, proved to be unan
swerable in every respect. Crawford had forestalled
and neutralized the whole plan of argument in opposi
tion, both within and -without the pale of the Constitu
tion. He had gone over the whole ground, and sur
veyed it in its every point, before he engaged in the
conflict pf debate. Consequently, the speeches of his
opponents wMch followed the dehvery of Ms o-wn^ are
mostly discursive and declamatory, rarely ever argu
mentative. They did npt bring forth a sohtary new
objection, although, as we have already intimated, the
speakers were among the most talented men of the
country. Their efforts seemed to be mainly directed
¦with a -riew to defeat the biU by conjuring up against
it long dormant party prejudices, and to enUst aU the
rabid animosities of poHtical warfare. And so irrefiitar
bly had Cra-wford planted his positions, that even Henry
Clay, with Ms spicy variety and raciness, was forced to
the unworthy resort of meeting argument -with the
usual demagogical appeal to the lower and baser preju
dices ofthe mind. But, at the same time, it is not un
likely that the boldness and independence ^splay^d by
Crawford on tMs occasion, served first to attract and
wean him from the ultra Democracy of the true Jeffer
soman school, and to direct his ardent and Mgh-toned
ambition to the attainment of .great poUtical purposes
and ends, which rose above the circumscribed and im-

¦WILLLAM H, CEA-WFOED, 161
practicable views of the radical sect in whose opimons
he had been raised.
The discussion, however, was not altogether of a
peacefiil and quiet character. Most sof the opposition
speakers, aware of Crawfbrd's extreme sensitiveness
and u-ascibiUty of temper, were careful to avoid aU ex
ceptionable aUusions to the differences of opimon wMch
separated him, on this question, from the main body of
his poUtical friends, and to eschew aU course of remark
wMch might induce unpleasant personal apphcation.
But WMtesides, a Senator from Tennessee, Was not so
prudent and fbrbearing, and declared, in the course of
a very indifferent speech, that members of the Demo
cratic pai-ty who were now found making common
cause -with the friends of the Bank, must be regarded
as poHtical apostates. This remark stung Crawford to
the quick,. and aroused at once that deep sense of re
sentment wMch possesses aU spirited persons who are
conscious of honest motives. In reply, he denounced
the use of such language, in connection ¦with a member
or, members ofthe Senate, as indecorous and unbecom
ing; declaring that no one should, without the waUs
of the chamber, apply such to Mm with impumty.
WMterides attempted to exculpate himself by an ex
planation ; but explanation had then been offered too
late to restore fiiendly feeling. He did not deny hav
ing used the expression, and Crawford persisted in de
nouncmg it as an assertion made ¦without the proof to
sustain it, and wMch was plainly contradicted by the
record. TMs closed aU doors to an amicable adjust
ment, and, so far as appears, WMtesides made a merit
of submission to the denunciation.
It is known that the biU, reported by the commit
tee, f^Ued to pass at the session of 1811. Crawford,
th^efore, did not succeed in accom^Ushing Ms main

162 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
object, although he paved the way for a resuscitation,
at a future session of Congress, of the expired charter,
and the stand he had taken lent a support to the Bank
wMch sustained its poHtical fortunes through many
years of trials and struggles. But the debate, in view
of the prerious party relations of those who participated
in it, gave rise to poHtical events of the most important
and permanent character. The whole project of the
National Bank was conceded to Federal paternity.
This fact at once arrayed against it the entire forces of
the Democratic or Jeffersoman party, and among these
was James Madison, then President, though kno^wn to
be less attenuated in his opimons than the Ulustrious
leader and founder of that hide-bound sect. Crawford
had entered the Senate, a member of the same party,
but, as we have seen, crossed swords "with its prominent
champion, on a vital issue, at the very first session.
The gap thus made was never fairly closed ; and al
though Crawford was reckoned an anti-Federalist dur
ing his entire public career, it is yet a remarkable fact
that he never acted "with the Democratic party on any
of the important issues at stake. When, therefore, in
1811, he -was put forward as the leader of the Bank
party, it oecame evident that a confusion of parties,
already foreshadowed in 1808, must speedUy ensue.
The main body of the Federal party gladly foUowed
his lead. The prominent Uberal Democrats took their
stations by his side. At the session of 1816, the Bank
charter, thus aided by this timely co-operation of dissen
tient factions, was passed. In tMs manner a third party
began slowly to emerge from the confhsion; for the
largest portion ofthe Federalists, although co-operating
¦with their opponents on the Bank question, had marched
off under the anti-war banner, sheared, however, of its
brightest ornaments, and of its most patriotic and Kb-

WILLIAM H. OEA^WFOED. 163
eral members. WhUe, then, the new party did not ab
sorb this rancorous phalanx, their ranks were soon
sweUed by important accessions from the Democratic
fold. CMef among these was Presidrait Madison, who,
after signing the Bank charter, became its hearty and
powerful advocate, and, of course, approached Craw
ford ¦with every demonstration of confidence and poHti
cal sympathy. Clay soon foUowed, and pubhcly an
nounced, as he has repeatedly done since, Ms entire
change of opinion on the Bank question ; wMle, on the
floor ofthe House of Representatives, Calhoun Mmself
was recognized as the prime mover and leader of those
who fevered the re-establishment of the Bank,
These events gave birth to the WMg party, which,
soon gathering compactness and strength, has exercised
great influence in the poHtical world from that day to
the present. Men may since have changed, and run
the gauntiet of poUtical tergiversations ; but the party
is essentiaUy the same, and at its head may stUl be re
cognized many who were prmcipal actors in its original
formation. It is painful to pause, at this interesting period of
Cra^wford's poHtical history, to record the unwelcome
fact that Ms opimon, as concerned the constitutional
power of Cpngress to charter a Bank, underwent in
his latter life an entire change. His great speech in
support of the Bank had not been successfuUy answered
at the time of its deUvery. It gave birth to an influ
ence that shortly afterwards created the elements of a
new party organization, converted to its opimons many
of the most distinguished of the Bank opponents, and
brought about a train of legislation that estabhshed the
Bank as one of the cardinal means of carrying into
effect the granted powers of Congress. This legislation
remained xmaltered, and almost undisturbed, for nearly

164 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
twenty years after the charter of 1816, during which
time the Bank had faithfiiUy and correctly transacted
all the fiscal business of the Government ; and at last
its poHtical fortune had only gone down before the
selfish animosities of jealous politicians, and the indom
itable -wUl of an equaUy implacable and intolerant party
cMeftain. During all this long period Crawford was
alive, in retirement, at -his rural seat of Woodla^wn.
His Bank speeches, if they had not made for him aUthe
poHtical consequence he ever enjoyed, had at least first
introduced him to the nation, and laid the foundation
of Ms greatness. The fruits of his bold exertions and
labors were manifested on aU sides, and in every quar
ter ofthe Union, by an unparalleled progress of general
prosperity. He had made the Bank a fevorite ¦with the
nation, and, in the outset of his brUUant career, had
staked Ms fortunes on its single issue. Long years
roUed away, and his feme became identified ¦with this
first object of his public devotion. But time, which
had developed the fuU scope of his poUcy, verified Ms
expectations and predictions, and crowned his efforts
with unsurpassed success, had touched him ¦with a
heavy and bUghting hand. Disease had made rapid
encroachments, and dealt Mm a blow from wMch he
never recovered. Artful and unprincipled men, seek
ing his confidence under the guise of filendsMj),*had
abused Ms weaknesses and inveigled him in unpleasant
personal controversies, wMch subjected him to the
mercUess assaults of ancient poHtical enemies whose
rancor he had been led to provoke, and which grew to
be tpo serious, too bitter, and too mtricate in their final
connections, not to dislodge an equanimity, which,
never very settled, had now been so severely ruffled by
disease. It so happened, too, that Clay and Calhoun,
¦witkwhom he was then so fiercely engaged, and origi-

WILUAM H. CEAWFOED. 165
naUy Ms opponents on the Bank question, had become
of late the peculiar friends and guardians of the Bank
interests. It is not, therefore, surprismg that, under
such circumstances, he should have been dispossessed
of Ms calm judgment and discretion — especiaUy when
it is fiirther considered that the varying tide of poHtics
had thrown him alongside of those who were moving
their whole official and personal influence to the de
struction of the United States Bank,
It was at such a time, and in the midst of such ex
citing events, that the world heard first of Crawford's
change of opinion on this question. It occurred just
before the close of Ms life, and after he had been in
close retirement for more than seven years, during
¦wMch time the whole complexion of parties and of
poHtics had xmdergone a change, leaving no outward
discemible marks of the eventfiil era in wMch he had
figured. His immediate circle of intimate and confi
dential friends were all opposed to a Bank, A distin
guished member of Congress from Georgia, Ms early
friend and poHtical foUower, was leading opposition to
the Bank in the House of Representatives, and against
him, in favor ofthe Bank, was arrayed the entire South
CaroHna influence, headed by McDuffie, who had just
pubhcly assaUed Crawford's veracity on a delicate and
important point. Thus was presented to him the un
welcome spectade of enemies sheltering themselves from
0-verthrow behind the sohd ramparts of his own pre-rious
opimons, whUe his friends were being daUy confused
and driven off by the exhibition of this proof armor
wMch himself had forged. It would be attributing to
him more than human endowments to suppose that
these facts did not materiaUy influence the apparent
change of opinion to wMch we have adverted.
About this time, as our information unfolds. Craw-

166 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
ford, in Ms capacity of Circuit Judge, went over to the
county of Elbert for the purpose of holdmg the semi
annual term of its court. He staid there over night,
as had long been Ms custom, with an ancient and confi
dential friend, Mmself an active and zealous pohtician.
Conversation tumed on the proceedings of Congress,
as regarded the Bank, and, mcidentally, concerninghis
o-wn former ¦ poUtical relations with that institution.
During its progress, the host adverted to a copy of the
debates, m Ms possession, on the formation of the Fed
eral Constitution, and its adoption by the States. The
book was placed in Crawford's possession ; and then it
was that recently engendered prejudice foimd, as it
was thought, a genial and strong covert behind wMch
to plant and sustain the change of opinion so much de
sired by friends,- incautiously excited, and perhaps so
long meditated by the veteran statesman himself.
These debates show, among other things, that the
framers of the Constitution faUed to pass a resolve giv
ing to Congress the express power of chartering corpo
rations. The importumties of friends, powerfuUy aided
by the very natural bias of personal resentments, in
duced him to seize on this as the pretext for a change ;
and as conriction is not difficult where inclination leads
the way, the change was easUy accomphshed and was
soon announced. This account of so strange a revulsion
of opimon, once, in the zemth of intellect and of life,
deeply entertained and cherished, is fuUy confirmed
both by Ms o-wn pithy letter to the editor ofthe Savan
nah Repuhlican, and by the admission of Mr, Dudley
in the sketch to which we have elsewhere briefly ad
verted. It is an account weU worthy of a mce and
scrutinous observation ; and we should scarcely deem
our task to be feirly fulfiUed did -we not address an
effort to that effect. The justice of history requires,

»¦

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 167
especiaUy at the hand of impartial and candid review
ers, to be fuUy -vindicated in connection -with one whose
opinions wUl inevitably exercise great influence with
the future generations of the RepuMic, as they have
eminently done ¦with those of his o-wn times.
It is true that the Convention of 1787 faUed to en
graft -within the eocpress powers of the Federal Consti
tution the power of chartering corporations. But it is
equaUy true that a proposition to mvest Congress with
the direct power of erecting forts, arsenals, and dock
yards, also feUed.* And yet Congress has always exer
cised, and must continue to exercise both powers. The
prmciple of impHcation reaches and covers both cases,
and we contend that Crawford's own argument, to
prove the existence of impUed powers, is irrefutable.
The context and tone of the Constitution tend clearly
to show that only general and cardinal powers were
intended to be expressly granted; for to have bur-
thened a -written form of govemment with the distmct
recitation of every grant necessary to put in operation
the whole machinery of legislation, would have been to
sweU the present admirable limits Of the Constitution
into crudp, mdigestible, and impracticable dimensions ;
would have sheared it of that remarkable simphcity
and comprehensiveness wMch render it so accessible
and practical, and would have entaUed upon the coun
try a tome of Institutes or Pandects as intricate as
those of Justinian, instead of establishing a constitution
as the fountain from wMoh to draw aU proper laws.
The grant " to regulate commerce " is an elementary
and cardinal grant of power, and needs to be amplified
by aU proper species of legislation tending to promote
the ends of commerce, in order that it may be rendered
¦* Viz., in the rejection of Pinkney's draft. The power was after
wards made an inoidental one.

168 WILLIAM H, CEAWFOED.
tsmgible and operative. So also ¦with the power " to
estabhsh post-offices." A post-office would not be de
sirable without the supervision of a postmaster; and
this officer, by the wUl of Congress acting under the
impUed power drawn from this clause, is appointed by
the Executive or his Cabinet. These two instances are
sufficient to show the nature and chairacter of the Con
stitution, and fully estabUsh Crawford's own former
position, " that the enumeration of certain powers does
not exclude aU other powers not enumerated."
How then could the bare fact, that the Federal Con
vention of 1787 had rejected a proposition to invest
Congress ¦with the express power of chartering corpora
tions, while the same Convention had rejected simUar
propositions as appUed to other enumerated grants, and
while his o^wn argument on the point, more than twenty
years previously, stiU remained .without answer,-— how
could this naked fact operate to produce a change of
opinion so sudden and wonderful in Crawford's mind,
as regarded the constitutionality of the Bank? A
change on this point involves a change of aU Ms former
ideas concerning the character and context ofthe Fed
eral Constitution; and the fact that the Convention
had rejected the proposition to insert, directly, the
power to erect forts, arsenals, and dock-yards, similarly
construed vrith the fact wMch induced his change of
opinion on the Bank question, would have compeUed
him to deny aU such powers to Congress. The labors
and the reflections of Ms whole poHtical career, direct
ed, as they were, with an energy and talent that never
stopped short of complete satisfaction, would thus haVe
been forced to succumb to the unsettled impressions of
an inteUect, shom by disease of its meridian strength
and lustre, and naturally impaired, to some extent, by
long retirement and premature old age. Our admirar

¦WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 169
tion for Cra-wfOrd's character and talents, our sincere
respect for that greatness which filled the world -with
Ms fame, would forbid us rashly to yield the abihty of
the splendid argument which distinguished Ms Senato
rial career, to the less studied and undigested opinions
of his latter years.
There are, moreover, very strong reasons for sup
posing that this fact, aUeged in after years as the cause
of his change of opimon on the constitutionahty of the
Bank, could not have weighed very hearily ¦with him
at the period of 1811. He may not have then exam
ined its history as minutely as he did afterwards ; but
the fact that such proposition had been rejected in the
Convention, was evidently before him. It was aUuded
to in the debates wMch first occurred in connection
¦with the charter of the Bank in 1791. It was inciden
tally brought up in answer to his own speech of 1811.
His uivfestigations must have brought the fact to his
eye in the elaborate opinions officiaUy submitted by
Edmund Randolph and Jefferson, when required to do
so as cabinet officers by President Washington ; not to
name that of HamUton, who argues the point at consid
erable length. The contents of these papers were
known weU to the poHticians of. the Revolutionary era.
Besides, Crawford was in the habit of frequent inter-
coui-se with members of the Convention who voted on
the very question mooted, and from whom he must
have learned the history of the proceeding. We yet
find no allusion to the matter in either of Ms speeches ;
and the fair conclusion is that the fact then weighed
very Hghtly in Ms estimation. And why should it not ?
How could it be regarded in a serious riew? Ought
not the Constitution to be decided on by the import of
its own 'expressions? Crawford was too astute a poh
tician nbt to be made aware of the , e-vU consequences
8 •

170 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
which might result, if an obscure and scantily reported
history, as to certam matters which occurred in the
Convention, shaU govern the construction of the Con
stitution. The instrument, Hke aU other written forms,
is entitled to a fairer and less attenuated measure. AU
must admit that there are incidental powers belon^g
to the Constitution, If the conclusion shaU, therefore,
be, that because some incidental powers are expressed
(as those for erecting forts, dock-yards, etc.), no others
can be admitted, it would not only be contrary to the
common forms of construction, but would reduce the
present Congress to the feebleness ofthe old one, which
could exercise ho powers not expressly granted.
Cra-wford., even in his latter days, could not have
questioned the power of Congress to grant a charter of
incorporation to the mumcipal body of Washington
City, And yet no such power is expressly conferred
by the Constitution, If, becausp the Convention re
jected a proposition to insert the express power to
charter any incorporations, the Bank is unconstitu
tional, the same rule .must hold good as concerns any
other description of incorporation. A corporation is
the same, whether appUed to a bank or to a munici-
paUty; and if the absence of express power constitutes
a restriction, the rule must be umversaUy applied to
all subjects of legislation coming under that head.
Such a mode of reasoning would capsize the legislation
of every State in the Union, as weU as of the National
Government. It must be remembered that the express
power to charter banks or incorporations is not given
in any State Constitution, any more than it is given in
the Federal Constitution.
But the vahdity of such a reason, as the basis of a
radical change of opinion, may be impeached on other
and stronger grounds. The mere rejection of a propo-

WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 171
sition to insert an express power to grant charters of
incorppration, is not, A /bri^'oj-*, the evidence of opinion,
on the part of the framers, hostile to the proper exer
cise of such power. In arranging a form of govemment
adapted to the gro-wing and varying wants of a country
wMch bid fair, even then, to become a populous and an
enterprismg empire, it is scarcely aUowable to suppose
that a Convention would have assumed the respohsibU-
ity of fixing as an immutable feature ofthe Constitution
a special fiscal agent which, for better or for worse,
was to be the perpetual depository of the Govemment
funds. This would have been absurd. The Bank, in
the process of time and amidst the vicissitudes of trade
and commerce, might have been found less convement
as a disbursing agent than some other project. The
means by which national exigencies are to be provided
for, national inconvemences ob-riated, national pros
perity advanced, are of such infinite variety, extent,
and compHcity, that there must of necessity be great
latitude of discretion in the selection and apphcation
of those means. The -wisest course under such circum
stances was, as the Convention fortunately decided on,
to engraft a general clause based on necessity and pro
priety, leaving it to the judgment of the legislators of
each succeeding age to select the means of procedure.
Besides, the debates and proceedings ofthe Convention
on the subject of adopting the proposition in question,
clearly show that its rejection was carried on numerous
grounds, none of wMch refer to a decided opinion as to
its incompatibUity -with the general powers belonging
to the Constitution. Some friends of the Bank of
North America, as it existed under the charter of the
old Government, voted against the insertion of an ex
press power to erect incorporations. The Constitution
had been, after much contention and struggling, nearly

172 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
perfected. The elements of opposition had sprang up
at every step in its progress to formation. Each ex
press power had been jealously argued. It was only
after mutual concessions that opposmg factions had co
alesced on its main features. It was kno'wn that fierce
and powerful opposition awaited the question of its
adoption before the people of the States. Every thing,
therefore, which might tend to feed tMs opposition was
strictly excluded ; and it is probable that, after agree
ing upon the fe-w express grants of cardinal power, the
clause giring to Congress the general power to pass all
laws necessary and proper to carry into effect the ex
press powers, united more differences of sentiment in
its support, and at the same time was intended to con
vey more extended import, than any clause of like size
ever united or conveyed before.
Now it is well known that, throughout Ms entire
poHtical career, Crawford had been distmguishe.d by
bold expansion of thought and Uberality of opinions.
He had been in advance of his friends and of Ms poHti
cal party on aU the great practical questions at issue.
He had planned Ms action on these views, and never
varied from their pursuit. The riews we have here
set forth are deducible from Ms o-wn speeches and re
ports to Congress; and it is hardly to be presumed
that his sagacious mind had, in its zenith, failed to take
in and act upon their fuU scope. We cannot, therefore,
consent that the foundations of his fame and greatness
shaU be thus undermined by arraying the prejudices of
his latter years, as of superior authority to and against
the splendid acMevements of his meridian life. Leaving,
then, these facts and reasonings to be appreciated as
may best chance, we shaU now proceed -with the regu
lar course of narrative.
The Bank excitement in the Senate was soon sue-

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 173
ceeded by the thriUing scenes which preceded tho
declaration of war against Great Britain. It was well
known that, however widely Crawford might differ
from the body of the RepubUcan party on questions of
domestic poUcy, on the subject of declaring war he
was ¦with them heart and hand, and even zealous for
an immediate resort to direct hostUities. He had
given his voice fbr war since the time when the Chesa
peake had been so wantonly outraged by the Leopard ;
and now, that repeated injuries to American commerce
at the hands of British subjects had foUowed that first
insolent invasion of our national rights, he did not hesi
tate to declare that further postponement of hostUities
would bring dishonor to the American name and na
tion. The timid and daUying policy of the Adminis
tration was not in accordance vrith his bold and ener
getic natm-e. Negotiations had been prolonged from
year to year, wMle both England and France were
daUy preying on American commerce. Pirates and
privateers swept the ocean from one end to the other ;
our saUors were ¦riolently seized and impressed; our
merchandise was rutMessly confiscated. No quarter
was sho^wn by either of the beUigerents, and no excep
tions were made m any instance, or imder any circum
stances. Embargoes were raised only to subject our
vessels to pUlage, and restrictions modified only to
benefit enemies and robbers. The Berlin and Milan
decrees were stUl rigorously enforced, to our dishonor
and injury, and British orders in CouncU stiU remained
in fuU effect, notwithstanding our protestations and
threats. Such was the complexion of our intercourse -with
Europe when the session of 1811-12 was opened. It
had progressed UntU AprU ofthe latter year, when the
Vice President, George CUnton, died. In consequence

174 WILLIAM H. CEA^WFOED.
of this melancholy and sudden event, the chair of the
Senate became vacant. An election for President jwo
tempore was held, and Cra-wford was unanimously
chosen. His elevation, however gratifying, withdrew
from the active sphere of senatorial duties one of the
most zealous and powerful advocates for the war. He
however discharged the deUcate functions of this high;
office with an abUity, impartiaUty, and promptness that
won golden opinions from all parties, and that materi
aUy expedited the now compUcated business of the
chamber. But his abstraction from the floor did not
operate to weaken his deep interest in the war ques
tion. His vote wiU be found recorded in favor of
every measure which looked to preparation for an
event that was now deemed ineritable ; and when,' at
length, towards the beginning of summer, test ques
tions began to be taken almost every day, the name of
Crawford stands conspicuously in the affirmative on
each occasion. The final act, as is well known, having
passed both Houses early in June, was approved and
published on the 18th of the month; and Congress,
after voting fuU supplies to meet the interesting exi
gency, soon afterwards adjourned.
It is not within the purposes of this article to pur
sue further aUusion to the events of this memorable
war. This is more properly the provmCe of some fu
ture historian, whose labors shaU be directed to that
subject; We wiU barely say, that the history of that
period remains to be written. Those who have essayed
to do so, thus far, have been strangely ignorant or cul
pably negUgent, if we are to judge their talent or then-
industry by the fruits of their attempts. There are
pomts involved wMch claim the deepest mterest, apart
from the shock and thunder of battie-fields and of hos
tUe navies, but which have received scarcely a passing

WnxIAM H. CEAWFOED. 175
notice at the hands of the penny-picking hordes and
demagogue adventurers who have heretofore thrust
their puny efforts on the reading public.
Crawford's reputation, at this time, had become
equal to that of any statesman in the RepubUc. He
had been not more than five years a member of Con
gress, and only eight years in pubhc life. A comparar
tively short period had but elapsed since he had been
an humble and obscure pedagogue. Yet Ms fame was
now spread through the whole land, and the pubUo
voice ranked him among the greatest of the nation.
The eyes of the people tumed to him ¦with confidence,
as the crisis approached wMch aU dreaded. His en-
ergy- of character, boldness, and known business qualifi
cation eUcited general admiration, and his rapidly in
creasing popularity induced Mr. Madison to invite him
to become a member of his Cabinet. He was offered
the important post of Secretary of War, and earnestly
soUcited to accept. After mature reflection and con
sultation, he decided to remam m the Senate. TMs
aot we feel bound to condemn. In view of approach
ing hostiUties with England, and consequent disruption
of nearly aU foreign intercourse, the Department of
War was to become the principal and most interesting
arm of the Govemment ; especially when it is consid
ered that the President himself was not pecuharly
gifted with those quahties wMch constitute an ener
getic and suceessftd, war officer. Indeed, the event
showed -that Mr, Madison was whoUy deficient m tMs
respect, and, therefore, eminently in want of a counsel
lor like Crawford, We hesitate not to declare the
opinion, that if Crawford, instead of the then incum
bent, had been in charge of the War Department, a
British force would never have crossed the boundaries
of the District, and Washington would not have been

176 ¦WILLIAM H. CEA^WFOED.
piflaged and burned by the invaders. It is now gen
erally conceded by mihtary men that the battle of
Bladensburg was lost to the Americans in consequence
of bad management ;. and it is even a question whether
a more energetic Government would not have been
able to prevent the expedition and landing of Admiral
Cockbum altogether. We do not mean to say that
Mr. Madison was not an able and efficient -executive
officer, in the discharge of his general duties. As a
civUian we. regard him as standing preeminent among
aU his compeers. But we do mean to say that he was
totally unacquainted with the practical rules- of the
mUitary art, and most singularly deficient in natural
endo^wments as concerns the quahties of a war officer.
No one, we imagine, better knew of these deficiencies
than Crawford. He was Mgh in the confidence of the
President, and was often advised ¦with by members of
the Cabinet. He was quite too sagacious not to have
found out that they were -aU entirely unlearned in mili
tary affairs, and accomplished only in the civU routine
of statesmanship. Mr. Monroe, it is true, had seen
some active service, but it is no disparagement to say
of him, that he had never discovered any extraordinary
quahfications as an officer, beyond the possession of un
questioned personal courage ; and this is not to be de
nied either to Mr. Madison or to his Cabinet, Besides,
a long and successful diplomatic career had doubtless
contributed to unfit the then Secretary of State for the
prompt and energetic service of miUtary Hfe. The di
plomatist and the commander are antipodes in char
acter. The kind of study whicb makes the first is pre
cisely that which is calculated to unmake the last. The
one must study how to dally, to delay, to mystify lan
guage, to mismterpret expressions, to avoid dfreet
issues, and, sometimes, to feign irresolution. It is true

¦WILLIAM H, CEAWFOED. 177
that the ancient mode of warfare was formed somewhat
on the same basis ; but modern warriors, Frederick the
Great, Bonaparte, WeUington, Jackson, have proven
that the opposite of all these quahties are the true
characteristics of an accomphshed commander. It
may happen, as to some extent in the case of Napo
leon, that the diplomatist and the captain may be
united in one person ; but it is certain that they were
not united in the person of Mr. Monroe, although he
was one of the most useful and distinguished executive
officers ever kno-wn to the country. But Crawford,
whUe having never received a mUitary education, was
eminently prepared to manage the War Department at
a time when energy, decision, and bold quahties of
mind and of character were so imperatively needed.
Rapidity of thought was a chief trait in his mental
structure, and immediate action foUowed. He pos
sessed great enterprise, great prescience, and great
resources of mind, whUe passion and enthusiasm were
strangely blended vrith calmness and deliberation.
None, in fact, who have studied and compared human
character, wUl faU to perceive that Ms prominent traits
of character were the very same as those which distin
guished the elder WUHam Pitt. The Department of
War, then, was the office for which he was, at that
juncture of affairs, particularly fitted ; and having been
so early, unwavering, and conspicuous an advocate for
the declaration of war against Great Britain, there was
resting on him, we think, a, very heavy obhgation to
accept and enter upon the duties of the office which
was tendered to him by the President. He chose to
decide differently, and justice to Ms known dimnterest-
edness of character requires us to beheve that his re
fusal was induced by some strong personal reasons
wMch have not been declared.
8*

178 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
In the spring of 1813 Crawford was appointed Min
ister to the Court of France, in the room of Joel Bar
low, who had died just a few months previously, whilst
in the active discharge of the important duties of his
mission. Our relations with his Imperial Majesty, at
this time, were most deUcately and singularly mvolved,
and their ccmduot required the aid of just such a person
as Crawford. There was no subtle diplomacy to be
resorted to in their management,- but a bold demand
to be made -for redress of past injuries, and an explana
tion asked of an act which betokened bad faith. The
spoliations on American commerce and the sequestra
tion of American property, which foUowed on the Ber
lin and Milan decrees, had begun to be most severely
felt by aU classes of our citizens, anda spirit of resent
ment was becoming rife throughout the whole land.
In proportion to the delay of Congress to pass measures
wMch looked to direct hostUity with England, did Bo
naparte mcrease the rigorous execution of these harsh
decrees. He had resolved, from the first, that our Gov
ernment should choose between France and England.
Knowing that the British Ministry were pursuing a
poUcy towards the United States which must inevitably
lead to a war, he directed his whole efforts to precipi
tate that event. To this end, while sternly enforcing
the BerHn and MUan decrees against us, he never faUed
to intimate, at the same time, that those decrees would
be relaxed the moment that our Govemment took the
initiative steps to hostilities with England. Indeed, he
assured the American Minister that his course was the
consequence alone of British insolence, which last being
manifested as weU to the United States as to Frainee,
he was resolved to make no exception in our favor untU
our Govemment prepared to resent the orders in -Coun
cU ; further declaring that the decrees were to be sus-

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 179
pended so soon as we should procure a revocation of
the British orders. These pretended friendly advances,
made at a time when, in addition to the evUs we were
suffering in consequence of suspended commerce, our
seamen were being daUy impressed into the British
sendee, were received -with marked favor by the Amer
ican Govemment and nation, not^withstanding that
every one saw clearly the selfish motive which actuated
the French Emperor. No one doubted but that the
advances were made -with a view to throw the whple
blame where, in fact, it properly belonged, on the com
mon enemy of both countries ; and thus, by producmg
angry and fruitless correspondences, to compel us into
a state of hostiUty with- England. But the American
Cabinet were wise .enough to see that these overtures
from Bonaparte, no matter how intended, might be ef
fectuaUy used to bring our relations to a determmation
with either beUigerent. Accordingly, on the first of
March, 1809, a non-intercourse -with France and Eng
land was substituted by Congress in lieu of the em
bargo, the President being authorized, at the same
time, that in case either power should repeal or modify
their exceptionable edicts, intercourse with the same
should be renewed. Mr. Erskine was then the Mmister
of Great Britain at WasMngton. He was a warm ad
vocate of peace between the two countries, and, %vaU-
ing Mmself of this law, gave assurances to the Secretary
of State that the orders in CouncU should be ¦withdrawn
after the 10th of June foUowing. Without waiting to
inquire how fer tMs declaration might comport ¦with
the ambassador's instructions, Mr. Madison very pre
cipitately, as we think, issued Ms proclamation, opening
the ports of the United States to British vessels, and
• renewing mtercourse with England. It would have
been more prudent, as the event showed, to await a

180 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED,
confirmation of tMs promise from the British Govern
ment, and at the same time to cause that of France to
be notified of the arrangement, so that her protesta
tions of friendsMp might have been fairly tried. But
the President, seemingly in too hot haste to condhate
Great Britain, issued Ms . proclamation ; and, as a nat"
ural consequence, this act, so well calculated to wound
the pride and excite the jealousy of France, inasmuch
as a discrimination was thus rashly made to her preju
dice without aUo-wing to her ordinary grace time, threw
Napoleon into an uncontroUable ecstasy of passion.
The Berlin and MUan decrees were executed against
American vessels ¦with tenfold rigor, and our Minister
resident was loaded with taunts ahd reproaches.
In the meanwMle, the declaration and promises of
Mr. Erskine were disavowed by the British Govern
ment, and it was announced that, in making such, he
had exceeded his instructions. The whole arrange
ment, therefore, feU to the ground ; and the President,
repenting too late his precipitancy, renewed the Non-
intercourge Act against England, early in the ensuing
August. Mr. Erskine, chagrined and mortified, de
manded to be-recaUed, and the last prospect of a satis
factory adjustment faded away.
In this extraordinary state of affairs, the Govern
ment of the United States was indeed seriously embar
rassed as to its future course with the two implacable
belUgerents. In Ms anxiety to preserve amicable rela
tions -with both, and to avoid war, it is not to be denied
that Mr. Madison, constitutionaUy timid as a poUtician,
and perplexed by the unpatriotic course of the Eastern
States, committed many blunders, and was guUty of
extreme precipitancy in more than one instance. But
the purity of Ms . motives cannot be questioned, not-
¦withstanding that Ms course may be Uable to severe

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 181
censure. To reUeve this embarrassment, however, and
to guard against future precipitancy, it was now deter-
mmed'to change position with respect to both bellig
erents. It was detei-mined that the merchant vessels
of both nations should be admitted into American
ports, whUe their armed ships were excluded. The
President, too, was again authorized to propose that in
case either power revoked its offensive edicts ¦n^ithin a
certain time, the same was to be declared by proclamar
tion ; and that then, if the other nation did not also
relax its pohcy, the non-intercourse law was to revive
against the latter, and all restrictions raised as to the
former. This act being communicated to both Gov
ernments, drew from that of France a letter from the "
Minister of Foreign Affairs to the American Ambassa
dor, declaring that the BerHn and MUan decrees were
revoked, and that after the first of November, 1810,
they would cease to have any effect ; " it being under
stood," the Minister said, " that, in consequence of this
declaration, the EngUsh shaU revoke their orders in
CouncU, or that the Umted States shaU cause their
rights to be respected." The guarded language of this
letter, as weU as the fact of its not being signed by the
" Emperor or accompamed by any authoritative repeal,
should have placed, we think, a degree of prudent re
straint on the course of our Govemment. There was,
clearly, a most- serious condition attached; and the
question arose, whether it was precedent or subsequent,
when construed by the techmcal rules of law. The
American Exectitive adopted, promptly, the latter in
terpretation, and, despite the signal consequences which
had foUowed Ms hasty action in a previous case, imme
diately issued his proclamation as prescribed by the
act, -without even the formality of a communication
¦with England. The proclamation, as before, gave rise

182 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
to many and serious disputes. That Napoleon intended
the concludmg sentence just quoted as a precedent con-
dition, and that his degrees should remain m force un
tU the British orders in CouncU were definitively re
voked, the issue evidently unfolds. It was confidently
predicted that England would not regard such an ob
scure declaration as a revocation of the decrees ; .that
she would not, without a more formal promulgation of
the Emperor's designs, relax her o-wn pohcy ; and she
did so decide and act. As a natural consequence,
therefore, American vessels were stUl seized under the
Berlin and MUan decrees, as had been predicted, and
the declaration of the French Minister produced no
visible fruits. Bonaparte's crafty policy began to be
clearly developed. Every one now understood that
the BerHn and MUan decrees, since England' had de
clined to revoke her orders in CouncU, would only be
relaxed in our fevor when the United States should de
clare war, as had been es:pTesslj provided in the French
Minister's letter, against Great Britain. In this dUem
ma, an appeal was again made by the American Cabinet
to England, to_the effect that the declaration of the
French Minister should induce a relaxation of pohcy.
This appeal called forth the celebrated annunciation
from the Prince Regent, that England would only re
voke the orders in CouncU when the French Govern
ment, by some authentic act, "pubhcly promulged, should
make kno-wn the unconditional repeal of the Berlin
and MUan decrees. This answer was intended to be
final, and it was so regarded ; and at this point opens a
chapter of history as interesting as singular, the eluci
dation of which is stUl locked up -within the unexplored
recesses of diplomatic craft.
The American Cabinet had now fairly taken its po
sition. France had responded to its demand, and, if

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 183
equivocaUy, at least in such way as had been recognized
and acted upon. England had peremptorily refused,
and to such extent had this refusal exasperated public
sentiment, that no alternative was left but a resort to
the last appeal of nations. It is clear that Bonaparte
had been aU along laboring to produce this'result. His
pohcy was developing at every period of the negotia
tions ; and a fact wMch now soon came to light, left no
doubt as to his designs in so long delaying a public and
authentic revocation of Ms decrees. Here is the start
ing point of the secret history. The declaration of the
Prince Regent, whUe it precipitated the declaration of
our war with England, had been seized upon by Mr,
Barlow, our Minister to France, as a ground of appeal
to the French Emperor to leave England -without ex
cuse for her conduct, by promulging an authentic and
defimtive repeal of the BerUn and Milan decrees. It
was urged that Napoleon should expHcitly declare that
these decrees had not been applied in our case since the
previous, though disputed, declaration to that effect.
Not having yet heard what effect the Prince Regent's
declaration had produced on the American Congress
and Government, Napoleon was reluctant, at flrst, to
make any response to tMs appeal. K he should re
spond, and, in that event, England should revoke her
orders in CouncU, he feared eridently lest such revoca
tion on Ms part might cahn excitement in the United
States, and thus break up the prospect of war, which
had now opened so auspiciously for his purposes. But
in the meanwMle there came to France such rumors of
hostUe preparations m this country, of embargoes laid,
and of moneys to be raised, of armies to be recruited,
and of fleets to be equipped, that aU doubt as to the re
sult was fully removed, and war placed beyond the
reach pf remedy. Then he answered the caU. A de-

184 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WTOED.
eree, bearing the imperial signature, was produced and
handed to Mr. Barlow, which purported to have been
dated and duly issued on the 28th of April, 1811, de
claring unequivocaUy that no apphcation of the Berlin
and MUan decrees had been made, as respected Ameri
can vessels, since November of the year previous, and
fairly confirming the disputed declaration of the last
date. This document, thus long and singularly con
cealed, was no sooner published, than England at once
revoked the orders in Council. But the revocation
came too late. War had been declared by the Ameri
can Congress just' five days before, though, of course,
the news had not reached Europe.
The correspondence which produced the deUvery
of this mysterious document occurred in May, 1812.
It reached Washington early in July of tjie same year,
and threw surprise and consternation on the whole
Cabinet, Congress had risen. War with England had
been declared, and was then going on. It was now
evident, from the date of Mr. Barlow's despatches, that
the decree thus tardUy published must have produced
a change of British pohcy, and in August news came
that the orders m CouncU, in accordance with the
Prince Regent's declaration of nigh twelve months pre
viously, had actually been repealed before the passage
of the war act through Congress. Suffice it to say that
the American Cabinet was doubly confused by these
startling developments, weU kno-wing that Congress, at
the approaching session, would institute rigorous in"
quiry into the whole matter. We do not charge that
they deprecated or dreaded such inquiry. It is to be
supposed that they did not. We certamly do not be
lieve that they could have been seriously inculpated ;
for, admitting, as we must candidly insist, that the
Cabinet had been guUty of some indiscretions, that

WILLIAM H. CEA'WFOED. 185
they had been somewhat outwitted, both by England
and France, but especiaUy by the last, and that they
had fallen into some errors, we yet beheve that war
would have been declared against England in the face
of this revocation, unless she had renounced the right
of search and of impressment.
Such was thp singular state of our relations with
France, when Cra^wford was appointed Mimster to that
Court. Mr. Barlow had been instructed to demand an
explanation as to the causes wMch had induced the long
concealment of this defimtive decree, to insist upon
ample indemnity for spoHations on our commerce under
the imperial decrees, and to bring about a fevorable
commercial treaty. But in the mean time Napoleon
left Paris for the Russian campaign. He caused Mr.
Barlow to be invited to meet him, late in the winter
foUowing, at WUna. On this journey Mr. Barlow was
stricken ¦with the malady wMch produced his death, in
December, and ere yet he had been able to perfect the
negotiation. Cra^wford reached Paris in July of 1813,
and was charged with the same instructions. But the
Emperor was not then in Ms capital. He had been,
smee May, with the armies in and around Dresden, and
was wholly absorbed with the events and scenes of the
memorable campaign of that year. His mind was en
gaged ¦with other and sterner matters than indenmities
and spoHations ; the commg event of his downfaU had
already cast its shadow in his path, and disasters and
reverses, Mtherto unknown to Ms arms, were already
combining to hurry the fatal event.
Nevertheless, on the 27th of July, fourteen days
after his arrival, Cra^wford took occasion to inform the
Duke of Bassano, the Mmister of Foreign Affairs, in an
official note, of his presence as the Envoy ofthe United
States near Ms Majesty's govemment. The Duke re-

186 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
pHed, welcoming Mm to France, and recognizing his
official presence ; but requested that he should await
the Emperor's return to Paris, and present his creden
tials at that time. It is known to all readers that tMs
return was long delayed. During the entire summer
and part of the faU, the campaign was rigorously prose
cuted on both sides, and victory would declare for Na
poleon to-day, only to be ¦wrested from him to-morrow
by the allies. Af length the disastrous battle of Leipsic
was fought, and Napoleon retreated from Germany.
The briUiant victory of Hanau restored, for a moment,
the prestige of his mihtary fame ; but the days of Ma
rengo and of Austerhtz had passed, and the light of Ms
ancient glory was fast fading before the gloom of ap
proaching ruin. He entered Paris on the nmth of No
vember, dejected and mistrustfiil, in no mood for nego
tiating concerning a matter comparativefy So prospective
and secondary as was his difference ¦with the American
Government. Yet, in token of the sincere respect
which he had always professed to entertain for our
Government and nation, he received the new Mimster
¦with great ci^viUty and favor. Cra^wford presented
himself at the very first public reception after the Em
peror's return. Napoleon advanced to meet him, sa
luted him, it is said, ¦with a most" profound bow, spoke
in high terms of the character of the United States, and
even compUmented him, with true French urbanity, on
his fine personal appearance. He remarked to the
courtiers who stood around, that the American Minis
ter's looks corresponded most strikingly with Ms great
reputation as a statesman, and realized aU previous
conceptions of him.
Not^withstanding this civil deportment, however,
the negotiation made no progress, and Crawford's over
tures were constantly postponed. The sinking fortunes

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 187
of the Empire left Napoleon and his Minister no time
to pursue the business for which Crawford had crossed
the Atlantic. Indeed, the patience of the American
Minister, never very great, was beginning fast to tire.
In January, 1814, after having been in Paris more than
sis months, he writes to Mr. Monroe that he had only
been able to effect one interview ¦with the Duke of Bas
sano. TMs resulted in nothing-. The communications
of Cra^wford, touching the demands of his Govemment,
were dra^wn ¦with marked abihty and skUl; but the
rush of startling events m Europe prevented the Duke
fi-om making any reply. At length, on the 25th, the
"Emperor again left Paris for the armies, without having
given any reason for the long concealment of the coun
ter decree of 28th of AprU, 1811, or making any ar
rangement to satisfy the demands of the American
Government. Crawford never ' saw him afterwards,
and there the business rested during the whole ¦winter.
It is kno-wn that in less than two months from the
time that he left Paris, Napoleon was beaten at aU
points. The aUies, pressing their advantages, advanced
rapidly on Paris, and forced the garrison to capitulate.
King Joseph and the Empress fled at their approach,
and, on the 31st of March, the allied sovereigns, fol
lowed by their victorious bands, made their entrance
into the city. The eighteenth Louis was restored to
the inheritance of his ancestors, and Cra-wford received
instructions to press the demand for indenmity on the
new Government. But a serious obstacle was now
presented. The King assumed the ground that his
Govemment was not liable fbr the acts of the usurper.
Cra-wford argued the point -with great force, and clearly
estabhshed the contrary position. The negotiations
were prolonged throughout the year, and, had the
Govemment lasted, it is more than probable, we in-

188 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
cUne to think, that our demands might have been
satisfied. But an event was suddenly interposed wMch again
distracted the entire business. Negotiations could
scarcely be fixed on a treaty basis, before revolution
unsettled the foundations. Napoleon escaped from
Elba, landed safely in France, and, on the 20th of
March, rode triumphantly into Paris. All Europe im
mediately declared war against Mm, and every other
business gave way before the pressing necessity for
preparation to maintain his throne.
The memorable Hundred Days foUowed. The few
days that were allowed to Napoleon to remain in the
capital were sedulously devoted to a resuscitation of
the embarrassed finances, to the raising of funds and
provisions, to the levying of troops, .and to the organi
zation of armies. The forces of Austria and Prussia
were already on the confines of France. The martial
hordes of Russia were swarming on the banks of the
Vistula. The British army had crossed over into Bel
gium, under command ofthe Duke of Wellington, and
was forming rapidly for a march to Paris. The bris-
thng bayonets of twenty banded nations were pointed
against his single throne, and France, threatened on aU
sides, was lookmg to him as her only hope. Negotia
tions and treaties with transatlantic nations were not to
be thought of at such a time, and if thought of, there
was no leisure to answer their demands. In fact, Na^
poleon left Paris for the armies so soon as his arrange
ments for prosecuting the campaign were completed,
and Ms mmisters were not clothed with authority to
make any negotiation during his absence.
The scenes of the eventful campaign which ensued
are weU known to aU readers of history. Napoleon
lost the battle of Waterloo on the 18th of June, and in

WILLIAM H. .CEA-WFOED. 189
a few weeks afterwards Paris once again opened her
gates to the alHed armies. The fierce Prussian and the
haughty Briton were bivouacked on her promenades,
and each day witnessed some appalling act of mUitary
power, or some scene of national degradation. Treas
ured tropMes of victory, and cherished monuments of
glory and of arcMtectural taste, were ahke swept away
and destroped by the ruthless conquerors. No houses
were spared save those occupied by the foreign ambas
sadors, and among these, none was so respected as that
of Cra-wford. The weU-kno^wn banner of stars and
stripes floated proudly above his door, and its broad
folds were a sure protection to aU who came within
their shadow.
During the occupancy pf Paris by the alhed armies,
a pubhc procession was ordered to celebrate the King's
retm-n. AU the residenf ambassadors from foreign
governments were mrited to participate, and as the oc
casion was to be made one of great attraction and
splendor, aU were desired to appear in their court cos
tumes. Crawford was, of course, especiaUy inrited, as
both conquerors and conquered were agreed in a com
mon admiration of the American Government, and ih
the desire to court amicable relations through its repre
sentative m France. The day arrived, and was distin
guished, among other things, by a mirthful incident in
connection -with Crawford, pecuharly characteristic of
the man and of Ms habits. A forgetfuMess of small
matters, particularly in the way of etiquette, was not
the least distinguishable trait of Cra-wford's character.
He could never bring Ms mind to the little task of em
bracing aU the minutise of ceremony. Accordingly, at
the hour designated, Cra-wford presented himself on the
promenade, but had utterly forgotten to don Ms court
vestments. He appeared in the ordinary dress of a

190 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
plain American citizen, and would have doubtless failed,
in consequence of this fact, to receive the attention due
to his rank, but for an act of artless self-possession,
which eminently demonstrated his republican sense and
simplicity, and which astonished the numerous gaudily-
appareUed spectators. It so happened that Crawford
was intimately, and favorably known to the Duke of
WelUngton, who was of course the lion ofthe day; and
without pausing to calculate the amount of infringe
ment on the stated rules of etiquette, he adroitly at
tached himself to the suite of His Grace, by whom he
was received -with genuine, unaffected EngHsh hospi
tality. This frank recognition on the part of the old
Iron Duke, who had as Httle taste for mere peacock
display as his blundering friend, produced a burst of
applause from the assembled thousands around; and
that which was, in fact, a great mistake on Cra-wford's
part, was set down to Ms credit as a very harmless but
apt exhibition of repubhcan simphcity, designed to re
buke the glare and glitter of royalty.
In the August ensuing Crawford threw up his mis
sion and retumed home. He had failed to accomplish
the object of his Government, but the faUure did not
proceed from incapacity or negUgence on his part, or
from any causes within his control. Revolution had
foUowed revolution too rapidly to admit of tardy diplo
matic business. France was in a continual turmoU
during the whole period of Ms residence at her capital,
Monarchs and ministers and governments had been
changed repeatedly -within periods so short as to re
semble more the flitting pageantry of the stage than
the scenes of real life and form. He had been inter
rupted and impeded at every step of the negotiations ;
and what progress had been made to-day was lost
among the strifes and struggles of to-morrow's revolu-

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 191
lution. Proj6ts of adjustment and of explanation would
be scarcely formed under the imperial dynasty, before
the storm would rise as the ancient rdgime swept on.
ward -with its foreign aUies. The basis of a treaty re
cognized under one govemment would be peremptorUy
disavowed by that which succeeded. Crawford's tem
perament was not suited to a mUd endurance of such
poUtical tergiversations and fickleness on the part of the
French nation, whUe his repubhcan notions of popular
rights were daUy outraged as he beheld France groan
ing under the sway of a monarchy, not its choice, but
imposed on it by aUied despots. It is probable, there
fore, that disgust rather than discouragement induced
him to demand his recaU.
Thus was lost the last chance of ever obtaining a
satisfactory solution of the secret history as concerned
the famous counter decree of AprU, 1811, The final
overtMow and banishment of Napoleon, the ostracism
of Ms ministry, and the untimely death of Joel Barlow,
closed aU penetrable avenues to its elucidation ; and it
wiU probably remain ever a mystery to the world, un
less chance or some posthumous revelations, yet to be
made pubhc, shaU unfold and explain its detaUs, We
may as weU remark also, in closing this period of Craw
ford's "poHtical Hfe, that our claim for spoHations of
commerce under the decrees of BerHn and MUan was
prosecuted, amidst vexatious delays and despondences,
under many succeeding administrations both in this
country and in Prance, untU, at last, the impetuous,
resolute course of President Jackson extorted justice
and satisfaction at the point of the bayonet. The first
instalment was paid by France in 1836, under the gov
ernment of Louis PhUippe.
Cra-wford brought home -with him, as we are in
formed, not a very elevated opinion of French charac-

192 • -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
ter. He regarded the French as an impulsive and
restless people, governed less by judgment or reflec
tion than by enthusiasm. He esteemed highly the
noble quahties and genuine patriotism of Lafayette and
his compeers, and viewed -with just severity the ab
sence of like appreciative tastes on the part of 'their
giddy-minded countrymen. The ascendency and great
popularity of Bonaparte was founded, as he argued,
not so much in real attachment and healthful admira
tion, as in morbidly-excited passion, and in pride un
duly and fetaUy influenced by a pei-verted longing for
national glory and aggrandizement. He denied to the
French people the possession of the sound discriminat-
mg sense and sterlmg quahties of character which so
eminently belong to the EngUsh and the Americans in
their rational capacity. TMs may be regarded, by
many, as a harsh and overwrought judgment. We
inchne to think, howev.er, that those who judge France
by the sure test of its Mstory -wUl yield a concurrence
of sentiment. The j)restige of great mUitary fame, and
of martial deeds, has ever aUured and controUed the
admiration and affections of the French people, from
the days of Clovis and Charlemagne to the present
time. It is unquestionable, we think, that the charge
at Lodi, the battle of the Pyramids, the passage ofthe
Alps, the -rictory of Marengo and its splendid results,
did more to endear Napoleon to the ardent French
men, than aU the grand achievements of his civU ad
ministration. The works of Cherbourg, the magnificent quays and
bridges of the Seine, the spacious docks of Antwerp
and of Flushing, the maritime works of Vemee, the
passes of Sunplpn, of Mont Cenis, and of Mont Gen^vre,
which open up the Alps in four directions, exceed in
boldness, grandeur, and art any thing ever attempted

WILUAM H, CEAWFOED. 193
by the Romans ; yet it is not going too fer to say that
these noble monuments of genuis, as compared with the
glories of AusterUtz or of Jena, form not a single cor
nice ofthe broad pedestal of affection fi-om wMch towers
his adored image. It is not to be supposed that a man
of Crawford's austere constitution and sound judgment
could sympathize with a people thus supercUious and
vain. He had no tolerance for that species of patriot
ism wMch springs fi-om man-worsMp, and which burns
only at the shrine of mihtary renown. It was enough
to fix and settle his opinion, when he had detected the
extreme susceptibiUty of the French people on tMs
point. Their cMvah-y, their bravery, their learning,
their numerous unequaUed accomplishments, were all
powerless, in Ms riew, to paUiate such fetal perversion
of taste and of reason. On the whole, we incline to
acquiesce in the correctness and justness of his opin
ions ; though, at the same time, we have always cher
ished, and cherish stUl, a very high admiration of
French oMvaky and generosity of character, and must
award to them the palm of exceUence m aU those beau
tiful accomphshments which so adorn the domestic cir
cle, and constitute the charm of society.
Immediately on his return from France, Crawford
was appointed, by President Madison, Secretary of the
War Department. His distinguished serrices abroad
had justly increased Ms popularity -with the people of
Ms o-wn coimtry, and Ms reputation as a statesman rose
to its zemth. He had been, for many years anterior to
his departure for France, pre-eminently the leading
member of the Senate, and Ms opinions and influence,
as we have already seen, had not only given tone to
the poHtics of a large portion of the country, but had
actuaUy opened the way to the formation of a new
party organization, that seemed Hkely to absorb aU the
9

194 "WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
better elements of both the Federal and Democratic
parties, as also to reconstruct, in aU its origmal purity,
the true RepubUcan party of l790-'92, of which Wash
ington had been the leader. The govermnent was then
in its chrysaUs state, and tMs last-named party had
been formed on the basis laid down by the writers of
the FederaUst. The advocates of a monarcMcal, or
strongest -form of govemment, -with HamUton at their
head, had so far surrendered their original opinions as
to fall mto its ranks, determined to test fairly and fuUy
the present Constitution. The Virginia t poHticians,
represented by Madison and John MarshaU, and the
conservatives of New York, represented by John Jay,
formed its main pUlar, The ultra and radical Demo
crats had not then been gathered into that fierce and
impracticable phalanx wMch was marshalled and con-
troled, a few years afterwards, by Thomas Jefferson,
thcSugh they had already organized upon the basis of
opposition to the Constitution. TMs instrument was
adjudged by them to be too centralizing and latitudi
nous in its mam features, to harmonize -with their crude
notions of State sovereignty and independence. There
were many who desired to be free from aU national
govemment, but a large majority decided that there
must be some permanent confederation of the States,
The discussion, in convention and in the pubUo papers,
on the powers to be given and the powers to be re
served, became zealous and rancorous, and divided the
country into two great parties, which were designated
as FederaUsts and Anti-FederaUsts. The first favored
a strong govermnent, and the last insisted upon a weak
government, or rather, no government at aU. Tbe
general sentunent of the country settled upon a com
promise of these extreme opimons. HamUton and
Madison united in support of the present Constitution,

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 195
and the Democrats of the ultra school were left in a
hopeless and deserved minority. This union between
these two great men, with WasMngton as their com
mon head, formed the foundation on wMch was erected
the National RepubUcan party. The high-toned gov
ernmental theories of the Federalists were so attenu
ated and modified as to harmonize -with the conservar
tives of the Virgima school, although the latter yielded
many of the ascetic and refined tenets of their sect.
It was under the guidance of this party that the
Constitution was framed, and that tho government
went into operation. But its compactness was soon
invaded. The dark and dangerous principles of the
French revolution began to sow and scatter dissensions
in the Umted States. Early in the year 1793, war was
declared to exist between England and France, and in
tense sympathy was excited for the latter, who had so
recently been our aUy and faithful benefactress in the
war against the former, which resulted in American
independence. The prodamation of President Wash
ington, under date of the 18th of April, asserting neu
trality to be the settled policy of the United States,
encountered riolent opposition, and soon led to a
partial disruption and reorganization of parties. Under
the auspices of Thomas Jefferson, a strong French party
was formed in this country, and PhUadelphia, then the
residence of the General Government, was scandalized
by the orgamzation of Jacobin clubs, or Democratic
societies, wMch promulged doctrines subversive of the
true -principles of the Federal Constitution, and de
structive to healthy poHtical sentiment. About the
same time HamUton published his numbers of Pacificus,
defending the executive proclamation. Madison, now
thorougMy detached from his late associations by the
mfluence of Jefferson, answered Mm under the signa-

196 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
ture of Helridius. This controversy between the chiefs
ofthe constitutional organization of 1789-90, effectuaUy
broke up the composition of parties which origmated
at that date, and Madison continued steadfastly to co
operate with the Jeffersonians untU the era of 1816.
It is not for us now to inquire minutely into the Ms
tory of the rival factions wMch soon sprang up after
tMs disruption between the adherents of Jefferson and
the elder Adams. The former, however, carried off
-with them the designation of repubHcanism ; and
through the prestige of this name, Jeffersonian democ
racy acquired an influence -with the nation, wMch has,
for much the largest portion of the time, controUed its
destiny from that day to the present. But the inhe
rent, -rital energies of the government, combined with
every natural element of greatness, as also with the
strong coUateral influence exerted by a conservative
national party, have saved the institutions of the coun
try from a contamination of Jacobinism, wMch other-
-vrise might have been fatal to their health and exist
ence. It was to tMs original repubUcan party, formed at
a time when patriotism could not be questioned, and
when the true principles and spirit of the Constitution
could not be mistaken, that Crawford eridently looked
in his efforts to direct the current and composition of
party organizations, during his senatorial career. On
his return fi-om France, he clearly perceived that such
a party had again assumed shape, and, under the lead
of master minds, was rapidly advancing to influence
and popularity. The Hartford Convention had drawn
down upon the factious remnant of the old Federal
party a weight of infamy and obloquy from wMch it
could not recover, and the lapse of a few years -wit^
nessed its final extinction. The Democrats had been

WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 197
seriously confused and disjointed by the events of a
war which, although begun and carried on under their
unmediate auspices, had evidently demonstrated the
inefficiency and impracticabUity of *their poHtical theo
ries and experiments. They had been forced to aban
don their absurd and siUy preference for the gun-boat
System of Jefferson, and to buUd up and rely upon an
efficient naval system, such as, years before, had been
recommended and advocated by HamUton and John
Adams. They were now forced, at. the close of that
war, to withdraw their opposition to the estabhshment
of a National Bank, and even to yield their constitu
tional opmions. Their leading champion of 1811,
Henry Clay, who had then done more to defeat Craw
ford's Bank bill than any other senator, had openly
changed his opinions, and was now in favor of the im
mediate charter of such an institution. Calhoim re
ported a bUl to that effect early in the year 1816, and
declared that a bank only was adapted to meet the
financial exigency, although he had been raised in the
strictest sect of Jeffersomsm. Madison himself surren
dered a long-continued opposition, signed the charter,
and made Crawford, its principal advocate, Ms Secre
tary of the Treasury. In addition to this, they were
driven to incorporate Mgh protective features in the
adjustment of the tariff of 1816, and that, too, not in
cidentaUy, but du-ectly, and in so many words, if the
speeches of Calhoun, and others of its advocates can be
admitted as proof of the fact. The war had depressed
aU the industrial pursuits of the country, and these
caUed too loudly for aid and protection at its close, to
aUow poHticians to take shelter behind mere fastidious
constitutional scruples, or selfish partisan poHcy. The
emergency required enlarged and Uberal legislation,
such as was adapted to the gro-wing importance of a

198 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
great nation, and would prove the beneficence and
practicabUity of our system of govemment. The
statesmen of that day met the crisis boldly, and the
crude theories of the Jeffersonian school (ever more
taught than practised, even by their founder) received
a decided check and rebuke at the very moment that
the ancient monster of FederaUsm was finaUy beaten
down and smothered. It was just the time to indoc
trinate pubUc sentiment with the safer, more reUable,
and more vigorous constitutional theories which had
been already foreshadowed and indicated by Crawford's
great speech, in 1811. It was just the time, too*, to
erect a purer and more efficient party.- There was a
sufficiency of conservative material to be found in bbth
the Democratic and Federal ranks, to form such party,
-without incorporatmg the radicaUsm of the first, or ab
sorbing the rancorous elements which distinguished the
last. The fruit of these events was the construction of
the National Whig party, which, baring thus taken
root, graduaUy emerged into activity and compact
ness; and for the twelve succeeding years, its health
ful and invigorating influence imparted a tone and be-
neflcence to the administrative poHcy of the country,
wMch induced unparaUeled prosperity, and wMch placed
the United States in the class of the world's greatest
nations. Nor was this influence entirely effaced even
by the whirlwind of radical democracy, wMch tore
through the land during the administration of Jack
son ; although the lustre of a mUitary fame, too daz-
zUngly Ulustrated m the achievements of that victori
ous hero, not to win popularity among a grateful and
cMvalrous people, at any hazard to national mterests,
had weU nigh totaUy obscured its mUder radiance,
whUe it did for ever eclipse and mar the poHtical for
tunes of the prominent Whig leaders.

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 199
As the Presidential term of Mr. Madison was now
di-a-wmg to its close, the eye ofthe nation was directed
to James Monroe as Ms successor. But the leading
poHticians of the party to which i both Monroe and
Crawford belonged, did not pretend to disguise their
preference for the latter. Cra-wford peremptorily de
clined ; but when the Congressional caucus assembled,
and proceeded to baUot for a nominee, Monroe ob
tained only a few more votes than Crawford, not-with
standing this prompt declination. TMs result was ex
actly what it should have been. Cra-wford possessed
and showed more discernment as well as more disin
terestedness than his friends. The pertinacity of these
was both impoHtic and untasteful. Monroe was much
the more experienced, both as a man and a statesman,
had served -with credit in the Revolutionary, War, and
was evidently the choice, as also the favorite of the
nation. It may be true, as Mr. Dudley says m the
sketch before us, that " it has often been confidently
asserted by a great number of experienced poHticians
of that day, that if Cra-wford had permitted his name
to have been put in nommation at that time, he might
have been elected -vrith perfect ease." We even think
it is probable, from all we have heard, that Cra-wford
imght have been of such opinion himself. StUl, we
cannot agree that such hypothesis -vriU quite bear out
Mr, Dudley's inference, when he says, that " the event
showed the influence of such a nomination, as it re
sulted in the election of Mr. Monroe." It is our opin
ion that the nomination would not have resulted in the
election of Cravribrd ; for the reason that we do not
beUeve, under the circumstances, that the people would
have been satisfied with such nomination. There is
abundant reason to beheve, in riew of what we have
stated, that electoral tickets would have been formed

200 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
for Mom-oe, despite the caucus nommation of Craw
ford. Besides Ms long experience and revolutionary
cfeims, Monroe had lately won upon the affections of,
the people by superaddmg to the arduous duties ofthe
State Department those of the Department of War,
and through this had directed the latter operations of
our arms to a briUiant and triumphant close. There
would have been great difficulty in resisting such ap
peals as these, before a nation whose first impulse has
always been to reward with civic honors those who:
have gained even a moiety of military fame. The su
perior quaUfications of Crawford as a statesman would
not have weighed in the balance -with Monroe's miU
tary prestige, inconsiderable as it was, when compared
vrith the dignity of the award which he was about to
receive from the popular voice. Nor has the " event "
always showed that a caucus nomination " resulted in
the election " of the nominee. Eight years later than
this, Crawford did receive the caucus nomination for
President, and yet he barely obtained a sufficiency of
electoral votes- to find his way to the House of Repre
sentatives -with Jackson and John Quincy Adams.
On the fourth day of March, 1817, James Monroe
succeeded James Madison as President of the United
States. He immediately tendered the office of Secre
tary of the Treasury to Crawford, and the tender was
accepted. For many years afterward, we lose sight of
him as an active poUtician. The labors of a mimsterial
office are whoUy incompatible with party intriguings.
Its mcumbent is removed from the sphere of poHtical
attraction, and is measurably overshadowed. Conse
quently, we are wholly unable to trace our distmguish
ed subject in connection -with the numerous important
and startling questions wMch arose during Monroe's
administration, nor do we fiind such connection even so

-WILLLAM H. CEA-WFOED. 201
much as hinted at in the sketch of Mr. Dudley. We
do not think that it is unreasonable to find some fault
with such omission. Nobody can doubt that Mr. Dud
ley is possessed of aU such information ; and, in riew
of the national character of his Ulustrious relative, we
can see no good reason why he should have ¦withheld
such fi-om the pubUc. The pubHc have a right to know
aU that can be known of the political connections of
such men as Crawford. It is the duty of those who do
know to make aU such known, especially when, in re
sponse to a pubHc caU, they essay a biographical sketch.
But there is a cogent and special reason why we regi-et
that Mr, Dudley should not have been more explicit.
It was during the last term of Monroe's presidency
that the policy of the United States respecting foreign
nations was so elaborately discussed. It was then that
the doctrine of intervention was so seriously mooted
among American statesmen, and measured by prece
dent and by the terms of the Federal Constitution.
The struggle of the Greeks and of the South American
repubhcs eUcited then deep interest in tMs country.
Huilgary and other European nations form now the
basis of much poUtical sentiment among the people of
the United States, and there is an evident tendency to
depart from the safe maxims ofthe early fathers ofthe
repubUc, and to change the policy of the government.
The opimons of such men as Crawford on such ques
tions, and in times hke the present, would doubtless
exert efficient and salutary influence on a great portion
ofthe pubhc mind. We cannot doubt that these opin
ions were in accordance -with the pohcy of Washing
ton's proclamation m 1793, though there existed con
siderable differences in the Monroe Cabinet on tMs
subject. We know that John Qumcy Adams was
quite latitudinous, and that Calhoun was very conserv-

202 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
ative. The President hunself had no settled opmion,
if we may judge either by Ms language, his pohcy,
or the confficting testunony of Adams and CaUioun.
Each member of Ms Cabinet, it would seem, puts^ a
different construction on Ms language, and holds a dif
ferent interpretation of his motives and his pohcy;
whilst Hayne, of South CaroHna, did not hesitate, m
after years, to charge the language of Monroe as bemg
non-committal, and as ha-ving been employed merely in
the nature of a ruse de guerre. But Mstory, of what
ever description, is sUent as concerns the opinions of
Cra-wford. The only clue to these is to be vaguely
gathered from the acts and movements of Ms prominent
friends m Congress, Taking, of these, Macon, Ran
dolph, Van Buren, and Cobb of Georgia, and such test
would easily unfold his sentiments and riews.
Crawford served as Secretary of the Treasury dur
ing the entire period of Monroe's presidency. We can
add nothing to what Mr, Dudley has so WeU said of
tMs period of his career, and shaU therefore dismiss
this branch of the subject by quoting that gentleman's
language : —
" Much of the period during which Mr. Crawford acted as Secre
tary of the Treasury," says Mr. Dudley, " times were very doubtful ;
our domestic relations emharrassed, pecuniary difficulties pressmg
upon the people, home and foreign commerce fluctuating, commercial
capital deranged, a public debt to be managed, and, above all, a mis
erably depreciated and ruined currency, had to be dealt with. The
political essayists of those days agreed that it required ceaseless vigi
lance and profound ability to preserve the national estate from bank
ruptcy. But the public credit was never better at any period of the
republic than during his admimstration of the affairs of the Trea
sury. The national debt was faithfully discharged, and tbe burdens
of govemment upon the people were light and inconsiderable. At
tbe time of the greatest difficulty the esti-mated and aHiud receipts of
the Treasury only varied ten per cent., while the estimates of his dis
tinguished predecessors had varied from seventeen to twenty-four per

WILLLAM H. CEAT\TFOED. 203
cent. But the best evidence of his fidelity, zeal, and ability as a
Cabinet officer in this department, was the length of time he served ;
the unbounded confidence reposed in him by Mr. Madison and Mr.
Monroe, during the whole period of his service ; the great interest
manifested for his retention in that office by Mr. Gallatin, and Mr. J.
Q. Adams' opinion of his merit,_as evinced in his tendering him that
office during his administration. Such men are rarely deceived in
their estimate of character and qualifications."
An almost unnatural luU in poHtical strife foUowed
on the election of Monroe, and party dissensions and
animosities ceased to disturb the course of legislation
for many years. The President himself owned no dis
tinctive party creed. A majority of his Cabinent were
Repubhcans, though not allied ¦with the Jeffersoman or
Democratic school, fiirther than by association. The
Secretary of the Navy rather inclined to the Federal
tenets, wMle Mr. Calhoun incUned to the Democratic,
though Ms course of action in Congress had been -vridely
variant from the ascetic teachings of that sect. In both
Houses of Congress, the RepubUcans of the Crawford
school of poUtics were in a decided majority, controUed
the legislation of the country, and were under the lead
of Henry Clay. They were not then, nor for many
years afterward, known by the name or appeUation of
WMgs. The absence of aU acrimonious party strife,
consequent on the extmction of the Federal party, and
the dismemberment of the original Democratic party,
rendered it unnecessary to assume any distinctive ap
peUation. StUl they acted steadUy together, in oppo
sition ahke to the extremes of Federalism and of De
mocracy, respectively-represented on the floor of Con
gress by Rufus Kmg and John Randolph ; and the
great American system progressed graduaUy to a happy
consummation. There was a ritaUty and an energy
then discemible in the legislation of Congress, which

204 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
diffused life and spirit into aU departments of busines*.
The nation looked to its govemment for proper encour
agement and relief under the yet depressing influences
of the war, and soon the whole country smUed with
prosperity, and gave token of speedy release from the
thraldom of cramped legislation. The spirit of the age
brooked no fastidious obstruction. Even when the Ex
ecutive halted and wavered, the majority of Congress
came off victorious from every trial of strength between
them. The black clouds arising from the Missouri
question, in 1820, shed a passing gloom over the bright
prospect; but patriotism triumphed over fanaticism,
though not without an unwary sacrifice. The internal
health of the country otherwise was never so great;
and it is a fact worthy of notice, that tMs very period,
when genuine WMg poUcy and principles were de
cidedly in the ascenadnt, is now looked back to by
aU parties as the age of good feeling and of golden
times. But the elements of strife were not long wanting.
The great Presidential contest of 1824 afforded ample
material -with which to reconstruct a system of party
warfare, although it is remarkable that no sohtary po
Htical principle was involved m the contest. There
was no attempt to keep up, but every effort to keep
do-wn, old party organizations. The Federal party, as
we have ah-eady remarked, had been extmguished.
The Democratic party had been dismembered. It had
become rude and unfashionable to couple the name of
Federalist -with that of any gentleman. A Democrat
was considered no better than a Jacobm. The words
were never heard m political cfrcles. It was almost
impossible to draw a Une of distmction between the
aspirmg' poHticians, or to set up any distinctive party
standard by which to judge their opimons. Old mea-

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED, 205
sm'es and the division!s they had occasioned had passed
away. New measures, under entirely new and variant
circumstances, had been brought forward ; yet nothmg
is more true, as we have, already inlpnated, than that
aU the leading measures of Congress were of the genu
ine WMg stamp, that they involved the same princi
ples of interpretation, and required the same course of
argument in their defence, that Whigs have used fbr
the past twenty years.
It -wiU readUy suggest itself to every mind, that a
contest for the Presidency, under such circumstances,
would be resolved whoUy into a contest of mere per
sonal preference among the people. The original can
didates were Jolm Quincy Adams, WiUiain H. Craw
ford, John C. Calhoun, and Henry Clay. There being
no party differences between them, the strife became
one of a peculiarly fierce and acrimonious character.
It was soon exasperated and rendered more furious by
the unexpected and unwelcome appearance of a fifth
competitor, m the person of an Ulustrious mUitary cMef
tain, whose hot temperament and passionate energies
were not Hkely to soften the asperity of the contest.
TMs was Andrew Jackson. His appearance on the
field was at once productive of two most important
events. It caused the prompt ¦withdrawal of Calhoun,
who became the candidate for Vice President on the
Jackson ticket, and materiaUy weakened the prospects
of Henry Clay, by diriding the preferences of the West.
Jackson had been a senator and representative in Con
gress, but had not taken even a respectable stand as a
pohtician. It was quite common to ridicule his aspira
tions for the Presidency as being mere mockery. His
nomination was generally considered too absurd to
have been made in good faith. It would not at first
be credited that a man notoriously deficient in educa.

206 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
tion, SO uninformed as to the duties of a civUian as to
have resigned several offices with the frank admission
of incompetency, fonder of sport than of study, and
whose training had been mainly in the camp or on the
frontier, would be seriously urged for the first office hi
the RepubUc, on the single merit of one fortunate bat
tle. Those great quahties of mind, or rather of wiU,
which afterwards made him the most popular and pow
erful ruler that ever wore the executive mantle, wMch
commanded the worship of his friends and the admirar
tion of Ms opponents, and which identified the Ameri
can name and nation with his o-wn strong and heroic
character, were not then kno-wn to the nation. IDs
only claim to office was based upon the rictory of New
Orleans ; and tMs alone made him formidable, and gave
him a decided advantage over his three competitors.
With such fearful odds against them, the friends of
the- other candidates sought now to make fevor -with
the people, by endeavoring to prove each that their
candidate was, par excellence, the true RepubUcan can
didate. Crawford's partisans did not stop at this.
They sought to obtain a more thorough advantage by
procuring for him a regular caucus nomination, accord
ing to the ancient usages of the party. It is to be re
marked, in tMs connection, that Cra^wford numbered
m the ranks of Ms foUoAvers a greater proportion of the
old Jeffersoman Democrats than either Adams or Clay,
notwithstanding his known Uberal opinions. These,
considering themselves as the true standards of genuine
Repubhcan orthodoxy, insisted on assembling a caucus,
although they were seriously opposed. They would
not Hsten, when reminded that. Federalism baring long
ceased an organized opposition, such a course was not
now necessary to secure the ascendency of the Repub
Ucan party. They grew intolerant when told that such

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 207
a resort to party machinery, in the absence of aU the
higher motives for combination, was the evidence of
an endeavor only to subserve the purposes of faction,
and to give an undue advantage where none was really
deserved. They persisted in their resolve, and called
together their caucus, on the 14th of February. The
movement resulted in an entire failure. Out of two
hundred and sixty-one members of Congress, only
sixty-four attended the meeting in person, and there
were two proxies. Crawford, of course, received the
nomination. Sixty-four out of the sixty-six votes were
cast for his name ; but more than half of these were
from Virginia, Georgia, and New York. No one ¦wUl
contend that such a nomination was entitled to any
^eat authority or weight. It could scarcely make
pretension to even fifll and fair party organization,
much less to nationahty. But its contrivers claimed
for it aU these, proclaimed it as the regular nomination,
and invoked aU true Repubhcans to respect and sustain
it as such. The responses, however, were far from
equalUng their expectations ; and we think that it wUl
now be readUy conceded that the movement rather
injured than benefited Cra^wford's prospects for the
Presidency. It is certain that many of his devoted
and confidential fiiends incHned to such opinion, and
among others, one whose letters now Ue before us,
¦written at the time of wMch they speak. TMs was
Thomas W. Cobb, then one ofthe senators from Geor
gia." He was recognized as the most intimate and fa
vored of Crawford's personal associates, and was bound
to him by every tie of admiration and gratitude. He
was attached to Cra-wford's party not only from princi
ple, but from affection for its head. From the time of
Crawford's nomination to the day when defeat and
disease conagned him to premature retirement, Cobb

208 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
embarked m Ms cause -with a zeal that never flagged
or abated, and pressed his claims with almost frantic
fervor. He moumed his overthrow with a grief more
akin to personal devotion than poHtical attachment;
and imbibing, doubtless from this cause, a settled dis
taste for pubHc life, soon afterwards threw up his senar
torial commission, and retired -with Ms friend to the
quiet of private life.
It is clear, from the tenor of this gentleman's letters,
that the Crawford caucus had not been foUowed by
such auspicious demonstrations as hope had flattered
his friends to expect. He now writes to one of Ms
fiiends, Dr.' Meriwether, that the caucus had not been
productive of very favorable manifestations. In feet,
tMs movement seems to have drawn down upon the
Crawford party the concentrated and increased bitter
ness of both the Clay and Calhoun factions, wMle it
gained them no additional strength among the partisans
of Adams. Notwithstandmg that Calhoun had openly
declined for the Presidency, the newspapers fevorable
to Ms election stUl kept his name up in connection ¦with
that office, ¦with the evident intention, as Cobb ¦writes,
to prevent Ms supporters from going over to Cra'wford
ere the coaUtion -with Jackson had been defimtely
effected. The caucus movement was received -with
approbation only in the States of Virgmia and Georgia.
North CaroHna was not so decided, though Macon's
infiuence in that State was considered sufficient to
secure its vote. There had never been, even before
the caucus, any doubts as to the preference of Georgia
for Crawford. In Virgima he was equaUy popular.
But in New York the result was very different, and the
caucus met with decided opposition, notwithstanding
the efforts and influence of Martin Van Buren. Van
Buren was considered one of the most dexterous party

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 209
managers of that day and time. His success with the
people of New York caused him to be regarded with
deep interest by the various candidates for the Presi
dency. He was at first understood to o^vra some prefer
ence for Adams,- but his final decision was in favor of
Crawford. There was much and varied conjecture in
connection -with this decision at the time, even among
the poHtical friends of the parties. Crawford had a
comprehensive and sagacious eye, and could read men
¦with as much accuracy as most other poHticians. Being
at" the head of a dominant and powerful party in Geor
gia, he resolved upon a stroke of pohcy wMoh, un
seemly as it might and did appear even to his o^wn
fiiends, it was hoped might ¦win to Ms support the great
State of New York. This was none other than the
nomination of Van Buren for the Vice Presidency by
the State of Georgia. The project was no sooner made
known than carried out, for Crawford's ¦wish was law
to Ms party in that State. The nomination was made
reluctantly by the Crawford party, and was received
with laughter and ridicule by his old enemies and op
ponents in Georgia, the Clarkites. The act appeared
so Ul-timed and so barefaced, in riew of Van Buren's
then obscure pretensions, that the term " Vice President
Van" was jocosely bandied at every comer, and soon
became a bye-word and slang expression. Long and
crueUy did the ClarMtes use it as such agamst the
Crawford party. As an amusmg iUustration of tMs,
when the next General Assembly ofthe State convened,
the ClarMtes, bemg in a decided minority, kept Van
Buren as their standing candidate for aU the lower
order of appointments, ¦with no other design than, by
thus showing then: contempt for the nomination, to
annoy their sensitive opponents. There are many now
U^ving who may remember ¦with a smUe the description

210 ¦WILLIAM H. CEA^WFOED.
of tickets that were exhibited and read out on such oc
casions. They had Van Buren caricatured on them m
every possible form. Sometimes it was a half man
joined to a half cat, then half fox and half monkey, or
half snake and half mink — aU bearing some resemblance
to the object of ungenerous and indecent satire. He
was designated on them as "Blue Whiskey Van,"
" Little Van," " Vice President Van," and many other
nicknames, far more disgraceful to the perpetrators
than disparagmg to Van Buren. It proved to be the
more disgraceful to them from the fact that, in a few
years subsequently, the caricaturists and satirists tumed
to be the cringing partisans of him they had thus as
saulted. But the pohcy (whether intended as mere policy or
a legitimate party manoeuvre) did not succeed. The
nomination of Georgia for the Vice Presidency met
with no response. New York proved obdurate and
refractory, and showed signs of wavering between Ad
ams and Clay. The Crawford party grew desperate,
and began bitterly to accuse and denounce Henry
Clay. Macon, Cobb, and others laid to his charge all
the injuries and reverses they had sustained in New
York. But Van Buren did not despair of carrying the
State so soon as his party friends. He was not one to
give up ¦without first usmg serious and zealous efforts
to effect the object in riew. "If we can get New
York," said Cobb, " we shaU then be sure of Connecti
cut, New Jersey, and Rhode Island. Without New
York, we are lost." TMs opinion was known to Van
Buren, and tending, of course, to confirm Mm in the
Uke view, he went to work to secure the desired object
¦with an earnestness and adroitness that had seldom
faUed of success before. There is no question but that
personal attachment to Crawford, as weU as the usual

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 211
aUowance of poUtical ambition, influenced Van Buren
on tMs occasion. He had long admired Cra-wford, and
now, m the hour of trial, when his enemies were about
to triumph over his defeat, the noble exertions and
emment abihty he brought to bear in the endeavor to
save and secure the election of his favorite, must ever
excite a kmd remembrance m the bosoms of Crawford's
femUy and friends. His efforts, at one tune, had come
very near the point of success. He had now found out
that Crawford was clearly not the choice of the people
of New York. Up to this period, the electors for
President in New York had been nominated by the
Legislature ; and it was in the Legislature that Van
Buren and his party, certain of defeat before the people,
now determined to take refuge. The majority of the
House of Representatives was against Crawfoi-d. His
fiiends carried a majority to the Senate, and a fierce
contest now ensued. The people were clamorous to
take into their o^wn hands the election of President.
Consequently, a biU to that effect passed the lower
House, ¦with only a few dissentmg voices. The Senate
promptly rejected it, when sent up for its concurrence.
Scenes of the most intense and rabid excitement fol
lowed, in the midst of which the Legislature adjourned.
Popular resentment rose to a resistless height, and the
Govemor reconvoked the Legislature, ¦with a view
that the wiU of thepeople might be expressed and exe
cuted. But the same scene was re-enacted ¦with the
same result. The Senate again defeated the biU, and
before any thing was done to meet the popular demand,
another and final adjournment occurred. In the end,
however, the people carried their point. The mani
festations against Crawford had been too decided ; and
when tlie nominations were made by the Legislature,
he sustained a signal and crushing overthrow.

212 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
This result abundantly foreshadowed the grand
finale, so fer as Crawford was concerned, especially
when taken in connection with another untoward event
which occurred during the canvass, and which put a
final extinguisher on his chances for election. This
event was a sudden and violent attack of paralysis,
wMch deprived him for a time of his speech, his sight,
and the use of some of his limbs, and which so shocked
his whole nervous system as seriously to impair Ms
memory and to obscure his inteUect. This sad news
effectually depressed the spirits of Ms friends, whUst it
raised the hopes of Ms enemies. He was forced, in
consequence of this affliction, to give up the business
of his office, ceased to appear m public, or to receive
any but select company, and was removed to a dehght
ful cottage in the vicinity of Washington, in the vain
but fond hope that the quiet of rural Hfe and the purer
breath ofthe country air might induce a speedy convar
lescence. But that hope was never fully gratified.
After a struggle of many months, Ms speech, to a great
extent, was restored ; he regained the use of Ms limbs,
and Ms rision was shghtly improved. But the great
inteUect which had once controUed the opinions of a
nation, and had made his name famous wherever that
nation was known, had been bUghted to a degree wMch
human sMU could not reach, and was never again to
return ¦with its original strength and lustre.
The extreme iUness of Crawford was not generaUy
kno^wn, and the canvass was carried on ¦with unabated
warmth. There, being four candidates in the field, it
was soon ascertained that there could be no election by
the people. Adams and Jackson ran ahead, but for a
considerable time it seemed to be uncertam whether,
under the constitutional prorision. Clay or Cra^wford
would get to be the third candidate before the House

¦WILLLAM H. CEA-WFOED. 213
of Representatives. The State of Louisiana held the
die, and the fiiends of Clay confidently expected that
it would be tMown m Ms favor. But then- calculations
were not verified, Jackson and New Orleans were as
sociated by a common glorious Unk, and the memory
of his great rictory tumed fortune in his favor, at the
very moment that the die was cast. He obtained a
majority of her electoral vote, and Clay was thus
thro-wn out of the contest, TMs left a smaU balance in
favor of Cra-wford, who now went into the House of
Representatives -with an electoral vote nearly two-tMrds
less than that of Jackson, and not quite one-half that
of Adams, In December, 1824, Congress met. Washington
was the scene of an intense excitement, growing out
of the pending election for President, and scarcely a
day passed that some new phase of the contest did not
occur, or that a new poHtical trump was not tm-ned up.
But the excitement was of a strictly legitimate charac
ter. No threats of riolence by force of arms were re
sorted to, as in 1801, durmg a simUar contest between
Burr and Jefferson, when it was proclaimed, on the au
thority of Jefferson himself, that, in case the House
should defeat Ms election, " the Middle States wotdd
arm." Such seditious, Jacobimcal sentiments, would
not have been tolerated at the time in question. But
there was not less of anxiety or of interest. The
friends of aU three candidates were aUke' energetic, and
the movements of each party were watched and sifted
with sleepless jealousy. Not a step could he taken,
nor a proposal made by one, that was not immediately
traced and rebutted by the others. Nor was the ex
citement confined to the members of Congress, Every
citizen of WasMngton was an electioneerer for the one
party or the other in some shape, and every risitor

214 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
within its waUs was an active, working partisan. The
hotels were only so many caucus or club-rooms^ in
which to plan and direct the various schemes of party
procedure.' The drawing-rooms were thronged alike
-with the votaries of fasMon and the satelUtes ofthe dif
ferent champions ; nor were these limited to the sterner
sex. The theatre was monopolized by one particular
set of partisans in regular turn, as the most proper
place for a pubHc demonstration; but the artificial
representations of the stage flagged and faded before
the real exhibitions of the poUtical drama. The legis
lative business of Congress received Uttle or no atten
tion. The members thought about nothing, talked
about nothing, and wrote home about nothing but the
Presidential "election. Calculations were tortured by
each party into results suited to their o-wn prospects of
success. A letter written by Cobb about the middle
of January, to a friend in Georgia, affords a strikirig
illustration of these illusory calculations ; and being a
legitimate link in the Mstory of its time, we shaU quote
from it at some length, for the reader's satisfaction :—
" Doubtless, in common with others, you feel the greatest anrie^
about tbe Presidential election. Recently, few changes have been
manifested on that subject. Every thing has depended, and does de
pend, on the course which the Western States friendly to Mr. Clay
may take. Should they join us, even to the number of two, the game
is not desperate. It is impossible to decide -with certainly whether
tiiey -will do so. Their conduct has been extremely mysterious and
doubtful. At one time, they led us to believe they would nnite with
us. At another, they are antipodal Two days ago we received the
news that the Kentucky Legislature had instructed their representa
tives to vote for Jackson, This information has brought ont five of
them who -will do so ; tbe others (seven) have not yet declared. Ohio
is divided, but this morning I have the positive declaiatiou of one of
their most honest and intelligent members, that they have determined
not to vote for Jackson. But it is not settied how they vrill go be
tween Crawford and Adams. The objections made by those friendly

-WILUAM H. CEAWFOED. 215
to us in both Kentucky and Ohio have their root in the state of Craw
ford's health; and as an honest man I am bound to admit that,
although daily improving, it affords cause for objection. He is very
fat, but his speech and vision are imperfect, and the paralysis of his
hand continues. His speech improves slowly. His right eye is so
improved that he sees well enough to play whist as well as an old
man without spectacles. His hand also gets stronger. Yet defect in
all these members is but too evident. My brothor-ia-law, Mr. Scott,
has not positively promised to support him, but I think he has made
up his mind to do so. So also do I think of Mr. Rankin. If, how
ever, I am deceived in all these calculations (in which I think I am
-not), General Jackson -will be elected on the first ballot. It is true,
Maryland and Louisiana are now said to be divided, but I doubt not
they -win unite on Jackson, which, -with the Western States, secures
his success, inasmuch as be would have New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
Maryland, South Carolina, Alabaina, Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennes
see, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri. New York is yet set-
tied for no one. 'Wb count sixteen, certain. We want two to make a
majority, and these we shall get, as I am told by an intelligent mem
ber, Mr. Clarke, upon whose judgment I would sooner rely than on
Van Buren's.
" Should one or two Western States withhold their vote from Jack
son, Crawford's election ia probable. The New England States are in
excessive alarm. We have told them that Mr. Adams has no right to
calculate on any support from us. This is in some measure true.
Jackson's strength is such tiiat Adams can gain nothing from him.
The Yankees are determined tliat a President shall be made.
" New Jersey is willing to join us, if success becomes probable,
and I am assured that five out of sis of New England wiU do so too,
when Adams's prospects are blasted. Sbould Cra-wford be elected, it
-will be by a combination of Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island,
Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Jersey, Delawaare, Virginia, North
Carolina, Geor^a, Mississippi, Missouri, Kentucky or Ohio. Dela
ware, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia have nailed their flag,
and will sink vrith the ship. New England, if they -wish to prevent
the election of Jackson (and they say they do), must come to us, for
we will not go to them. Colonel Benton is active in our cause, and
is likely to do us good. Could we hit upon a few grecU principles, and
unite their support -with that of Crawford, we should succeed beyond
doubt. But the fact is, we are as much divided as any other people.
On the wholo, Ido not feel alarmed, though I am not confident. Here

216 ¦WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED,
they call me croaher. I say I will not express a confidence whidi I
do not feel."

This letter speaks for itself, and unfi)lds much that
is interesting in connection -with the Mstory of that
memorable contest. Congress had now been more
than six weeks in session, and yet there had been no
developments which could point the result, even to the
most sagacious. There was, indeed, much to cause
Cobb's expression of " mysterious and doubtful," be
cause, so nicely balanced was the apparent strength of
Adams and Cra-wford, that the Clay party were imable
to decide which would prove the most avaUable to de
feat, by a united movement, the election of Andrew
Jackson, Thus much, it would seem, the majority had
resolved to do from the beginning of the strife ; but
that majority was scattered among three distinct and
unfriendly parties, and Clay held the power of firing
the desired union. On Mm, therefore, as is weU kno'wn,
aU eyes were eagerly festened. It was known that he
viewed Jackson ¦with unfeigned distrust ; that he had
held him amenable to the censure of Congress for law
less and unconstitutional conduct as an officer of the
army ; that he never hesitated to pronounce Mm to be
unfit for civU office ; and that he had already expressed
a determination not to vote for him. Jackson never
expected him to do so, and with his usual frankness had
caused it to be proclaimed that such a vote by Clay
"would be an act of dupUcity." But the Legislature
of Kentucky had instructed him to sustain Jackson,
and the Jackson party, therefore, buUt up Mgh hopes.
But they Httle knew the man ¦with whom they were deal
ing, if they ever supposed that such mstructions would
guide Mm any further than they might comport -with
his own judgment. He took, and has ever maintained

"WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 21*7
the ground that the Legislature had no right to instruct
him, and that he felt no more respect for such instruc
tions coming from the Legislature, than from any other
assemblage of Ms feUow-citizens. Under these circum
stances, therefore, he was forced to make a choice be
tween Craw&rd and Adams. StUl, the friends of Jack
son did not cease to importune him with their efforts
to obtain Ms ' support and influence for their favorite.
It has even been shown that some of them advised and
recommended an arrangement by which Clay should
be tempted into his support by the aUurements of Mgh
office, in case Jackson was made President. On the
contrary, there has never been exMbited the least
shadow of proof that the friends of Adams or Crawford
made overtures of any character to Clay or to any of
his fiiends. That both of these were anxious to secure
Ms co-operation by aU legitimate means, there can be
no doubt. There is some reason to think that Clay's
inclination, as weU from their personal as poHtical asso
ciations, rather impeUed Mm to a preference for Craw
ford. But hia stem temperament has never been
warped by private preference contrary to Ms sense of
pubHc duty. His disposition is marked rather with the
severe attributes of Roman character, than -with the
flexUe impulses of the softer tempered Greek.
We have seen already that Crawford's health was
extremely precarious, and that Western members had
been urging this as as a reason why they ought not to
support him in preference to Adams. His UMess, and
the serious afflictions -vrith wMch he had been -visited,
were weU known to Clay, He spoke of them often,
and always with unfeigned kindness and sympathy.
Anxious and interested partisans had, it is true, sent
abroad through the country very exaggerated accounts
of Ms convalescence and impro-ring state of health, but
10 .

218 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
in Washington the whole truth was kno-wn. But his
immediate friends attempted no concealment, although
they were sincere in the beUef that he was rapidly
gro-wing better, and would soon be sufficiently restored
to enter profitably into the discharge of any official
duty to which he might be caUed. Under tMs illusory
impression, in order as weU to confute the mahcious as
to con-rince and persuade the doubtful, they resolved
upon a course wMch, though corroborative of their sin
cerity, resulted fetaUy to their hopes and expectations.
It had been now a long time since Cra-wford had min
gled with the pubhc. He had not been present at any
of the numerous festive and social meetings for wMch
this season is famous. To drawing-rooms and soiries
he was an utter stranger. Only a select and intimate
few were in the habit of risiting him, even at his home,
A few days prerious to the time of election, however,
and to the surprise of nearly aU WasMngton, his friends
conveyed Mm to the Capitol, and kept him there m
company for several hours. The old man looked much
better than was generaUy expected, and deported him
self with accustomed amenity and digmty. Many who
saw Mm only from a distance, were most agreeably
disappointed. Those -with whom he shook hands and
spoke, however, were observed to leave Mm -with grave
faces, and -with aU the signs and tokens of a melancholy
interriew. Among these last was Clay himself; and it
was afterwards remarked by one of Cra-wford's friends,
who was present, that his manner on that occasion told
plainly enough that their hopes of his co-operation and
support were at an end. " Defects were but too evi
dent," as Cobb had -written to Ms friends, and these
sounded the funeral kneU to his chances for the Presi
dency. The contest was at length harrowed down io the

WILLLAM H, CEA-WFOED, 219
issue between Adams and Jackson, as nearly every one
had, from the first, predicted it would be. Parties
stUl contmued immovable and uncertain. It was diffi
cult to teU where either had lost, or'where either had
gained. Calhoun hkd been elected Vice President by
a large majority, and refused to take part or mingle in
the election either way. He was kno^wn, however, to
be bitteriy opposed to Crawford, and he afterwards de-
dared that he had no preference as between Adams
and Jackson, though his friends were already zealous
for the latter. Clay maintained a steady and decorous
reserve, which many, whose anxieties were zealously
excited, characterized as mysterious and poUtic. The
Crawford party no longer expected his co-operation,
and the Adams party, relying on his weU-known dis
trust of Jackson, and fiiUy informed of Crawford's
¦wretched health, confined their electioneering efforts to
an intercourse marked only by cordiaUty and respect.
There is not on record the least particle of eridence
that they ever made any overtures to Clay's friends, or
approached himself improperly. But the partisans of
Jackson pursued a different poUcy altogether. It is in
proof, on their o^wn testimony, that prominent members
of their party consulted frequently as to the propriety
of coaxing Clay's friends to support Jackson by an in
timation that, in the event of the latter's election, the
" second office of the govemment " would be tendered
to Clay, They even went so far, in guarding against
the rumor that Jackson had declared his intention of
contmumg Adams in the State Department in case of
election, to persuade Jackson to aUow them to an-
noimce pubUcly and by his authority, that he had made
no such declaration, that he had not decided as to any
official appointments, and that, if elected President, he
should be free to fiU the offices of government as he

220 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
chose, WhUe doing this much, however, Jackson took
very especial pains to denounce all attempts at intrigue
or improper collusions, and expressed hiniself ¦with char
acteristic emphasis and honesty of purpose. We must
candidly say that we beheve Jacksdn himself was intent
on running the race ¦with Adams for the Presidency
fairly and independently ; although we must further
say that his subsequent conduct showed a rindictive-
ness that is whoUy irreconcUable ¦with the general
frankness and manliness of Ms disposition.
It has not transpired whether these declarations
were ever formally communicated to the fiiends of
Clay. But when the Jackson party found- that Clay's
resolution was stUl fixed not to sustain the pretensions
of their favorite ; that neither persuasion, nor flattering
intimations, nor attempts to intimidate could move
him from his purpose ; that the star of the hated Adams
was rising to ascendency; that Clay and Ms fiiends
would certainly make Adams the President, their rage
seemed to know no bounds. Their execrations were
uttered without regard to decency or propriety. Then
it was that the first hoarse wMspers of the " bargain
and intrigue" were heard. They were hissed serpent-
Uke through the poUtical circles of WasMngton, though
the venom was first discharged ¦within the bosom of a
quiet and obscure rural district in a neighboring State.
No one doubted then, no one doubts now, the source
from whence those charges sprang. It is one of the
infirmities of our nature to judge others by ourselves.
They who had so cautiously discussed the policy of
iUicit overtures within their o^wn cabal, were naturaUy
imable to account for their defeat upon any other than
the ground that they had been outbidden by their wit
tier adversaries. But they directed their attack beMnd
a masked battery, and attempted to resolve the contro-

WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 221
versy into a personal issue bet-w'een Clay and an old,
simple-minded Pennsylvama Dutchman, by the name
of Kremer. Kremer was a member of Congress, and
from his character, habits, and standing, was evidently
selected -with special reference to aU these, as the in
strument to fire the train of this infernal machine. It
seems that he was notorious for ignorance, insignifi
cance, and vulgarity. In his address to the House,
Clay alludes to him with a species of kind contempt,
implymg less of malevolence than scornful indifference ;
and afterwards he teUs Ms constituents that to have
held such a man responsible would have subjected him
to universal ridicule. Nobody beUeved that Kremer
composed either Ms original letter charging Clay with
corruption and bribery, or the subsequent elaborate
letter wMch was sent to the committee raised to act on
those charges. The only thing he himself did -write,
wMch was a positive contradiction of his original
charge, was seized and pocketed by one of Ms friends,
who at the same time admonished him to do nothing
¦without advice. That he was a mere tool of others, is
seen by his origmal letter, in wMch he makes charges
that he afterwards domed were charges of either bar-
gaui or bribery, and about wMch he evidently under
stood nothing at aU. That he was a vainglorious blus
terer, is proven by his vaunting reply to Clay's card
denouncing the charges of his letter as false. That he
was a driveUer, if not a fool, is evidenced by Ms whole
subsequent conduct. His cringmg demals, his bolstered
re-affirmations in the face of those demals, Ms verbal
confessions to Clay's fiiends, Ms written statements
given to Clay's enemies, Ms chaUenge before the com
mittee, and his subsequent disgracefiil retreat, at one
time boastnig, at another time begging, and al^ways
bUhdly ol)edient to his dictators, all these show clearly

222 ¦WILLIAM H. CEA^WPOED.
that he was much better fitted to mould cheeses and to
manufactm-e sourkrout than to conduct a plot or dis
cuss state affairs. His only redeeming quaUty is to be
found in Clay's own admission, that " he may have pos
sessed native honesty."
Such was the man and the instrument which was
thrust forward by the contrivers of this atrocious plot
to confront and accuse Henry Clay. Having faUed to
flatter or to frighten Mm into the support of Jackson,
they now assaUed Mm through the more trying medium
of his sensibUities. They endeavored to compel Ms
support by leaving to him only a choice between com
pUance and the chances of political destruction. Their
scheme faUed as to the first, as every body knows,
Clay was not shaken for an instant, but chaUenged in
vestigation and defied conviction. At the same time
he caused Ms friends to assert pubhcly and positively,
that he had resolved not to sustain Jackson under any
circumstances short of the most extreme and improba
ble necessity. But the conspiracy, especially in view
of its subsequent identification with Jackson himself,
who endorsed the accusations in the very zemth of Ms
gigantic popularity, did indeed result in the destruction
of Clay's chances for the Presidency. The strongest
armament of proof that was ever before arrayed in a
similar case, (and that, too, the proof of a negative,)
has not been sufficient to clear Mm, before the masses,
of these groundless charges. Every effort to make
him President, from that day to tMs, has feUed, solely
in consequence of the unwelcome fact, that Ms fiiends
have been met at every corner with these deatMess
charges ofthe bargain and intrigue of 1825, It was in
vain that they were disproved ; that all proof was in
rited and challenged ; that it was shown no proof ex
isted, or ever had existed. One letter of five lines

WHJJAM H. CEAWFOED. 223
from the Hermitage, contaimng the mere declaration
that the opinions of its revered and idolized master had
"undergone no change" on the subject, was enough to
confute a world of substantial e-ridence, and to stamp
the baseless charge -with the seal of di-rimty.
It is a significant and an instructive fact that the
fi-iends of Cra-wford, so far from aidmg and abetting
this unworthy attempt to destroy the character of a
Mgh-minded opponent, -with the view to force him to a
course wMch his judgment and incUnation both con
demned, accorded to Clay their generous and steadfast
support in aU attempts which were made to obtain the
action of the House on the charges contained in the
Kremer letter, Forsyth came zealously to Ms aid, and
put forth m Ms cause the splendid parUamentary ac-
comphshments and abUities which made him the orna
ment of Congress, Cra-wford himself turned his face
agamst the conspiracy, with feelings that appeared to
have partaken of both horror and disgust, and after
wards -wrote to Clay a letter expressive of surprise that
he should ever have been thought capable of beUeviag
such charges, and assuring him that he " should have
voted just as he did, as between Jackson and Adams."
At the same time, the Crawford party, warmly devoted
to their chief, never pretended to disguise their hostiUty
to Clay, in consequence of Ms preference for Adams
over their o-wn candidate. They were mostly of a
school of poUtics wMch repudiated the latitudinous
constitutional theories of the day, and considered Ad
ams as being more obdurate and unreUable on such
score than Crawford,
At length the day of election arrived. It was a
cold,, stormy day of February, The haU was beset and
crowded at an early hour by every class of spectator.
Every member was at his post, and the area was jammed

224 -WILLLAM H. CEA-W^OSD.
with pririleged dignitaries. Senators, ex-members of
Congress, members of State Legislatures, judges,, and
foreign ambassadors. Doubt was portrayed in every
coimtenance ; anxiety throbbed in every bosom. The
galleries and lobbies, fiUed to an excess that almost
stifled the eager multitude, presented a sohd sea of un
covered heads ; nor was there, perhaps, a sohtary mdi-
¦ridual of that vast number, who had- not made a choice
and a preference between the three opposmg candidates
for President. It was the second time in the Mstory of
the Government, and within a quarter of a century, that
such a Mgh duty and responsibUity had devolved on the
House of Representatives. Most of those present were
alive and m poUtical Hfe when Burr and Jefferson came
as contestants before the same assembly, and some had
been actors m that memorable scene. They now recaUed
with misgiving the frightful recoUections of those seven
days' baUotings, wMch had been carried on amidst
threats of rebeUion and of armed interference. It was
now to be tested whether the lapse of twenty-five years
— ^years aUied with glory, ¦with greatness, and ¦with un
paralleled prosperity — had imparted the salutary influ
ences necessary to dispel and subdue seditious resorts,
and to substitute a spirit of aUegianee for a spirit of an
archy. The foreign mimsters present, observing the
immense concourse, and the absence of soldiers and
guards, seemed by their looks to have agreed that the
occasion would fuUy confirm or disprove the repubUcan
theory of our poHtical system. But there were no in
dications of a character that seemed hkely to lead to
any untoward development. At the usual hour the
Speaker ascended to Ms chair, and the rap of Msham-
mer brought the House to order. The roU was caUed,
and the first busmess being to proceed with the election
for President, in conformity with the terms of the Con-

•WILUAM H. CEAWFOED. 225
stitution, tables were duly arranged, and teUers ap
pointed. John Randolph presided at the table on the
Speaker's left, and Darnel Webster at that on his right
hand. The vote was to be taken by States, and amidst
breatMess stUMess and the most painful suspense, the
baUoting commenced. When aU the votes had been
deposited and counted out, Webster rose, and with
deep, sonorous tones, announced that at his table, Ad
ams had received thirteen votes, Jackson seven, and
Crawford four. Scarcely had he agam taken his seat,
when the vrild, shrUl voice of Randolph was heard
ringmg high above the buzz which foUowed Webster's
announcement, as he proclaimed a simUar result at his
o-wn table, but so varying Webster's phraseology as to
say that the respective candidates had received the
votes of so many States, instead of so many votes.
There being at that time but twenty-four States of the
Union, and a majority only required to elect, it ap
peared that Adams had obtauied. just the complement,
and was, of course, duly and constitutionally elected
President ofthe United States.
So - soon as tMs result had been officially made
known, there was heard some , sUght demonstration of
applause m one of the gaUeries. McDuffie, a member
from Eouth Carolina, and a fierce partisan of the Jack
son faction, sprang to his feet ere scarcely the first
sounds were distinctly heard, and in a manner that in
dicated every symptom of anger and keen mortification,
moved that the gaUeries be instantly cleared. This
motion, aud the corresponding order which was imme
diately given by the Speaker, seemed to produce great
surprise among the foreigners present, in view of the
immense and excited crowd wMch fiUed the haU. It
seemed to them incredible that such an order at such a
time coifld be carried out, and that, too, by an inrisible
10*

226 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
force. But their surprise was luUed, and their incredu
lity satisfied completely, when the Sergeant-at-arms
proceeded quietly to motion the crowd to the doors,
and when that crowd quietly obeyed ; and aU skepti
cism, if any had reaUy been entertained, as to the bind-
mg influence of law in the absence of physical force,
must instantly have Vamshed, when, in a few moments,
those spacious seats, which were so recently teeming
-with conscious, anxious spectators, presented nothiog
to the eye but the magnificent colonnade and the long
rows of empty benches. The House now soon ad
journed, and every body quitted the Capitol, some
fiUed -with joy, and others struggling to conceal the de
feat of expectations which had been more fed by hope
than by reason. The important question had been ir
retrievably decided by a first vote, not-withstanding
that many had ianticipated that a struggle simUar to
1 I that of 1801 was about to occur again.
On the evening of the same day, the drawing-rooms
ofthe Presidential mansion were thro-wn open, and aU
WasMngton flocked to -witness the scene. The gather
ing was brUliaiit beyond paraUel or precedent; and
amid the universal exhibition of good feeling and appa
rent vivacity, it was difficult for a stranger to distin
guish the victors in the moming's contest from the
vanquished. Adams was there, but the same fiigid
and caUous deportment which always belonged to him
was not exchanged for a manner of even seeming
warmth. The bright and piercing eye alone gave
token that deep feeling, and stormy passions, and acer
bities of temper that partook of stem Jesuitism, dwelt
withm a bosom to aU appearance so imperrious and
phlegmatic. The polished amenity and -winning suarity
of Jackson shone m marked contrast -with the less en
gaging manner of Ms successfiil rival. There was not

"WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 227
the sUghtest symptom of even a lurking disappointment
observable in his mild, dignified deportment. He
shook hands -with and congratulated Adams with a cor
diaUty that seemed to defy scrutiny or question. No
one could have ventured to predict that the frank and
fiiendly courtesies of that evening would so soon be ex
changed for a personal warfare, vindictive beyond what
has ever occurred m the Mstory of the repubhc. Yet
no one ¦vriU now question but that Jackson's beharior
on that occasion was forced and insincere, and that his
bosom was even then burning ¦vrith wrath and the de
sire of vengeance. How these were afterwards •wreaked
against both Adams and Clay, history has told -with a
particularity" of detaU more truthful than welcome.
Crawford was not present ; disposition and tastes
would have -withheld him from going, even had Ms
state of health aUowed. Besides, the result of the
morning's contest had both astonished and disappointed
him. He had never, perhaps, shared the sanguineness
of his fiiends, but we are told by one who had long
stood in a very confidential relation to him, that he was
evidently not prepared for so early and abrupt a ter
mination of the struggle before the House. His friends
were prepared no better for a decision on the first bal
lot. They had hoped and •wrought for a protracted
contest, conscious that Crawford's only chance lay in
some sudden turn ofthe game which might spring from
the animosity of the stronger factions, and finally bene
fit him as a compromise candidate. Consequently, they
were astounded when the vote was announced, though
they betrayed no outward sign of chagrin or mortifica
tion. Some of the most intimate of their party repaired
to Cra^wford's dwelling shortly after the adjournment,
and among these were Macon, Lowry, and Cobb. The
first two of these went immediately into the room

228 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
where Cra-wford was calmly redimng in Ms easy chair,
wMle one of Ms famUy read to Mm from a newspaper,
Macon saluted Mm, and made known the result -with
dehcacy, though with Ul-concealed feeUng. The mvaUd
statesman gave a look of profound surprise, and re
mained sUent and pensive for many minutes, eridently
schooUng his mind to a becoming tolerance of the event
which had for ever thwai^ted Ms political elevation.
He then entered freely into conversation, and com
mented on the circumstances of the election as though
he had never been known as a candidate. He even
jested and raUied Ms fiiend Cobb, whose excess of
feeling had forbidden him to see Cra^wford untU the
shock had passed — ^for he knew tha.t the enfeebled vet
eran would be shocked. The conversation, on the part
of these friends, was not untinged with bitterness and
spite, vented against the prominent actors in both the
adverse poHtical factions, but more espedaUy against
those of the successful party, as being more immediately
responsible for the crushing overthrow of their o-wn be
loved candidate. Crawford himself reframed from giv
ing utterance to the least exceptionable sentiment, and
behaved, during the remainder of his stay m Washing
ton, -with a mUdness and an urbanity befitting one of
Ms exalted station, who had just staked and lost his
poUtical fortune. As a proper conclusion to this por
tion of our task, we again draw some extracts from the
correspondence of Thomas W. Cobb, under date of the
thirteenth of February, just *ur days after the contest
had been decided in the House.
" The Preadential election is over, and yon will have heard the
result. The clouds were black, and portentous of storms of no ordi
nary character. They broke in one horrid bursty and straight dis
pelled. Every thing here is silent. The victors have no cause to
rejoice. There was not a siiigle window lighted on the occasion, A

WILLIAM H. CEA'WFOED. 229
few free negroes shouted, ' Huzza for Mr. Adams !' But they were
not joined even by the cringing populace of this place. The disap
pointed submit in sullen silence. The friends of Jackson grumbled
at first like the rumbling of distant thunder, but tbe old man himself
submitted without a change of countenance. Mir. Crawford's friends
nor himself changed not their looks. They command universal re
spect. Adams hias caused it to be announced that they shall have no
cause to be dissatisfied. Two days ago, the Treasury Department
was tendered to Crawford, and refused. On the same day, General
Jackson paid him a friendly and civil visit, but nothing passed but an
interchange of civilities  Crawford will return home,
and we must do the best we can vrith him. Should he and our
friends wish, that he should again go into the Senate, the way shall
be open for him. I am sick and tired of every thing here, and wish
for nothing so much as private life. My ambition is dead."
The events of this memorable campaign, and their
consequences, afford an mstructive page of Mstory, and
may be easUy traced to an mtimate connection with
the party, poHtics of the country from that day to the
present. They served to form the tempest wMch suc
ceeded to the calm of the preceding eight years. The
absence of aU principles from the contest, gave to it
pecuUar virulence and acrimony, and made defeat to
be far more keenly felt. It caused a general prevalence
of the behef, that the cessation of party strifes, based
¦upon honest differences of opimon on the fundamental
theories of the govemment, was rather injurious and
hazardous than beneficial to the poHtical safety of the
repubhc. Hitherto, since the day of Washington, on
whom even his opponents bestowed their suffrages, the
conflicts of the poHtical world had turned on substan
tial and great principles. From 1824 to 1848, compe
tition has turned principaUy upon personal attachments
and preferences on one side, and personal antipathy
and hatred on the other, Andrew Jackson was not
the man to restore harmony ; and Ms advent, at such a

230 WILLLAM H. OEAWTOED.
period and crisis, must ever be regarded as having ma
terially balked and impeded the progress of the great
national interests, although no one can consistently
question his honesty or his patriotism ; whUe aU must
admit that, in the eye of the world, his administration
gave a character and tone to the American name wMch
the lapse of many future generations ¦wiU not alter or
obliterate. His passions and his pride were ahke un
regulated, and the permcious and corrupting principle
of favoritism was a prominent element of Ms nature.
He gave out to his friends to expect from Mm every
thing m the way of patronage, and wamed Ms oppo
nents to expect nothing. He very seldom showed
quarter m battle, never in the poHtical world after Ms
accession to the R-esidency, These strong passions
came to be mutual and reciprocal as between the lead
ers and followers of both parties ; and they increased
in mtensity untU, at last, the poHtics of the country
was resolved into personal idolatry, a sort of man-wor
ship on both sides. The highest pubhc interests were
subordinate considerations, and the support of a' favor
ite cMeftain became the primary object in the poHtical
struggles which foUowed. It wiU be aUowed by all,
we thmk, that tMs state of things was most inauspicious
to a regular and constitutional operation ofthe govern
ment, and to a ¦wise and stable pohcy in any branch of
pubhc interest or economy. True it is that the nation
has prospered m every branch of industry, and our ter
ritorial Hmits have been vastly increased -within the last
twenty years, though we doubt whether tMs last wiU
eventuate m good or evU to the pubHo interests. For
nearly the whole period intervening since Jackson's
election, the Democratic party has held the reins of
government, and partiahty or ignorance of poHtical
history might beget an inference in favor of Democratic

WILLLAM H. CEA-WFOED. 231
policy, at first sight, in -vie-w of the increased national
importance durmg its sway. Nothing, however, could
be more fellacious. No government ever -withstood
such violent assaults on its mtegrityfand strength as
tMs govemment has withstood, durmg the period of
Democratic ascendency, against the wUd spirit and
radical tendencies of Democracy. Its domestic peace
has been twice seriously threatened m consequence ;
and the govemment owes its rescue, on both occasions,
mamly to the conservative infiuence of the Whig party.
The commercial and mercantUe interests of the country
were visited -with a blow that had weU nigh disabled
them for ever. Their resuscitation has been brought
about by a resort to WMg measures. In feet, the
WMgs have been routed and overthro^wn only because
the Democrats have adopted and acted on their princi
ples, whUe repudiatmg their name. The only Whig
measure which has gone do^wn entirely beneath Demo
cratic furor, is that of a national bank. That is obso
lete and dead, beyond recovery or resurrection. On
the other hand, the two cardmal prindples of the Whig
party have been permanently impressed on the country
by Democratic men : ¦riz., those of protection to na
tional mdustry, and a moderate system of internal im
provements. Early in the spring foUovring, having declined the
offer from Adams of the department he had so long
presided over, Crawford set out from Washington on
his return to Georgia, PoUtical life had no longer any
charms for Ms ambition, and his whole famUy seemed
to rejoice that its idoUzed head was at last cut loose,
even though abruptly and mortifyingly, from the re
straints and the miseries of a pubhc career. The state
of Crawford's health was too feeble and precarious to
withstand the rapidity and discomforts of a public con-

232 -WILUAM H, CEA-WFOED,
veyance, and it was decided that they should travel in
his private carriage, and pursue their route by easy
stages. They were accompanied by his fiiend, Mr.
Cobb, whose devotion to the faUen statesman was never
bounded by the measure of prosperity or success, but
clung faithfiiUy in the hour of misfortune and faUure.
His aspirations for poUtical greatness seem to have ex
pired ¦vrith the close of the day which had ¦witnessed
Crawford's final overthrow for the presidency: it was
but Httle more than two years afterwards that he threw
up his commission as senator, the rictim of severe do
mestic affiictions ; which, added to his keen mortifica
tion at Crawford's defeat, fixed his determination to
leave the theatre of pubUo life.
The people of Georgia met Cra^wford at every
county-town through which he passed on his return,
¦with aU the eridences of affection and respect. A few
mUes from Lexington, the court-house site of Ms own
county, the citizens of Oglethorpe, headed by his an
cient and unwavering friend, Judge John Moore, were
gathered in considerable numbers to receive and escort
to Ms home their iUustrious but afflicted friend and fel
low-countryman. After greeting the old statesman
¦with a warmth that indicated the deepest sincerity of
attachment and admiration, and -with an enthusiasm
none the less ardent that he had been overthro-wn by
the nation, they formed in procession, and conducted
him to the to^wn amidst demonstrations rather of tri
umph than of mortification. He was here quartered
in the hospitable mansion of Judge Moore, and the day
was devoted to the reception of his earliest and fastest
friends, many of them descendants of those who, twenty
years before, had first caUed him into poHtical Hfe.
They riewed the friend of their youth ¦with mingled
feelings of curiosity, veneration, and sorrow ; many

¦WILLIAM H, CEA-WFOED, 233
years had passed since he had been in Georgia ; a great
many of those present knew him only by report. Theu-
fathers had told them of Ms greatness, and had encour
aged their youthful exertions by pointing Ms career to
them as a proud example of industry and apphcation.
But he was not now the Crawford of Ms prime ; dis
ease had robbed him of that fine appearance and ma
jestic carriage which had so impressed aU who knew
Mm in the zemth of his career. The commanding in
teUect which had won the reverence of a nation no
longer shone -with original splendor ; he was, m fact,
the mere shadow or -wreck of what he had been. Some
who went in -with beaming eyes came away saddened
and downcast, when they caUed to mind the vast dif
ference between the Cra-wford of 1812 and the Craw
ford of 1825, All had heard of Ms sickness, and they
expected to find him somewhat altered, but none were
prepared for the awful change which met their -vision.
He could scarcely see ; he spoke with great difficulty,
and. even with apparent pain ; his walk was almost a
hobble, and his whole frame evidenced,' on the least
motion, that its power and vigcJr had been seriously
assaulted. Those now Hvuig who met Crawford on
that occasion, mention the interview as bemg one of
the most melancholy of their Uves.
Three miles distant from Lexington was Wood-
la-wn, Crawford's private residence ; tMs was now Ms
next and last stage ; and the family entered -within its
grounds with feelings more akin to those of exUes re
turning from a painful banishment, than such as might
be supposed to oppress those whose ambitious aims
have just been disappointed. It is a retired, pecuharly
rural spot, unadorned -with costly or imposing edifices,
afid boasts of no artificial embeUishments of taste ;
every thing around partakes of the simphcity and un-

234 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
ostentatious habits of its Ulustrious owner. It was
fronted with a magnificent forest of oaks, throu^
which the mansion was approached from the main
road, along a romantic and winding avenue, just -wide
enough for veMcles to pass -with convemence. In the
rear opened an extensive clearing which formed the
plantation, dotted here and there with peach and apple
orchards, and affording an agreeable prospect of MU
and meadow ; around and through these meandered a
clear little brook, which found its source in a dehght
ful spring, only a few yards distant from the mansion,
and which lent a charmingly pastoral appearance to the
whole scene. The garden bloomed with an abundance
of shrubbery, and of choice, tender fruit-trees, which
were planted and tended by Crawford and Ms elder
cMldren alone, and smUed in the luxuriance and gayety
of its numerous flower-beds. A rich carpet of blue
grass covered the lawn m front ; and here, of a calm
summer evening, beneath the shade of a venerable oak,
might be seen frequently gathered the entire famfly,
the retired statesman himself being always in the midst,
and ever the happiest and Uvehest of the group. The
memories of the past, laden ahke -with greatness and
-vrith gloom, seemed now to have faded to mere secon
dary and subordinate importance. The quiet joys of
domestic life, unnrixed -with aught that could mar their
lovehness, spread content through the famUiar circle,
and euHvened his secluded homestead -with a warmth
of affection and harmony too pure and too substantial
to be compared -with the fleeting pleasures and ephe
meral honors of the poHtical world.
The derangement of private business consequent on
such long absences from home, and the very depressed
state of Crawford's finances, drove him to embark, even
in Ms enfeebled health, once again in professional life,

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 235
with the hope of restoring Ms pecuniary affairs. His
sons were yet under age ; and it was not untU four
years later that he gave the hand of his eldest daughter
to Mr. Dudley, that daughter who had been so long his
most trusted ahd confidential friend, whose deUcate
hand had dra-wn or arranged many of his most import
ant official papers during the progress of his malady,
and whose quaUties of heart and of mmd distmguished
her as weU in the fashionable as in the poHtical and
social circles wMch centred at her father's residence in
Washington. WMle yet he was determining the mode
of Ms return to professional life, it so happened, how
ever, that the bench of the circuit m which he lived
was made vacant by the death of its mcumbent, the
celebrated cynic and -wit, James Dooley. Govemor
Troup immediately appointed Crajwford to ffll the va
cancy, and tMs timely compliment secured for him at
once an honorable official station, and an annual salary
of three thousand doUars. He was elected to the same
office, the year foUowing, without opposition ; but, as a
singular and striking iUustration of the instability of
poUtical fame, when the subject of Ms re-election came
again before the legislature, three years afterwards, the
pitiful majority of only three votes decided a contest
between a man of less than ordinary abUity, and of
scarcely second-rate standmg as a la-wyer, and a man
of pre-eminent talents and position; who had fiUed the
enhghtened world -with his reputation.
We must now turn reluctantly from these pictures
of domestic fehcity and quiet professional duties, and,
as a candid and impartial reviewer, give our serious
and close attention to a subject far different m charac
ter, which brought in its train much that was unpleasant
and mortifying in Crawford's latter life. The calm and
content of Woodlawn were but of short existence : he

236 -WILLLAM H. CEA-WFOED.
who had been so long associated -with the strifes, the
struggles, and the maUgnities of the poHtical arena,
could not be expected or suffered to close these con
nections by retiring suddenly from their perplerities.
Others were stUl struggling whose mterests had been
involved with his o-wn, and who would not surrender
him to private Hfe whUe a hope of their own promo
tion, either by his influence or his instrumentality,
glimmered in the poHtical horizon.
The conffict for the presidency bet-wixt the friends
ofthe admimstration and the party of General Jackson
had waxed violent and warm early in 1827. Calhoun
was again the candidate for Vice President on the
Jackson ticket, and was understood to be high in the
esteem and confidence of that cMeftain, Most, if not
aU, of the old Crawford party had taken sides in the
same cause ; and the combined forces of aU these an-
dent and stiU unreconcUed foes were tumed into a
common crusade against the coaUtion of Adams and
Clay, which had wrested from their respective favorites
the crown of success in the late election. The cry of
the ", bargain and intrigue " was the theme of every
Jackson editor throughout the Union, and, as remarked
by HamUton of South Carolina, formed the sole " elec
tioneering staple " of the Jackson party. The contest
was one of desperation on the part of the coahtion
wMch held the rems of govemment ; Clay mingled
personally in the strife, and struggled -vrith a gaUantry
that has never been equaUed m the Mstory of partisan
warfare. He met Ms accusers -with a proud defiance,
and went even to the headquarters of one ofthe oppos
ing fectious- to gather testimony in his favor. He ob
tained from Crawford the letter to which aUusion has
been already made, and pubhshed it in Washington,
The effect was umversal sui-prise and consternation in

•WTT.T.TAM H. CEA-WFOED. 237
the hostile camp. This letter showed that Crawford
did not share the general behef of the party with which
Ms fiiends were acting, and, in fact, directly acquitted
Clay of any improper act or motive, so far as the opin
ion of its writer was concerned. Crawford evidently
bore no personal iU-wUl to Clay; ifhe had. Clay never
would have obtained from him aught else than sheer
justice might have demanded from a fair and honora
ble enemy. He went farther, however, and expressly
endorsed the choice of Clay as between Adams and
Jackson ; and yet, as Lf to afford but the melancholy
evidence of decayed faculties by exhibitmg the most
remarkable of mconsistencies, a few months later we
find Cra-wford busUy corresponding to secure the elec
tion of Jackson over Adams m 1828. His letter to
Clay, appro-ving the choice of the latter m preferring
Adams to Jackson in 1825, is dated m February of
1827. In the April foUo-wing he authorized Ms opin
ions in favor of Jackson's pretensions, as he declares in
a letter to one Alfred Balch. This letter, first made
pubhc in the great quarrel between Calhoun, Crawford,
and Jackson, bears date in December of the same year ;
in wMch, wMle decidedly advocating the claims of
Jackson, he denounces Calhoun as bemg iaimical to
the General, and urges that his name on the Jackson
ticket -wUl create difficulty in the State of Georgia.
His dislike of Calhoun outweighed Ms preference for
Jackson ; and as he could not, without separating from
his friends, support Adams, this feet had weU mgh
fixed him in a state of neutrahty, so fearful was he that
Jackson's election " might benefit Calhoim." He even
wished to stipulate -with Jackson that such benefit
should not foUow on Ms election, and urges Balch, who
was a near neighbor and friend of Jackson, " to ascer
tain " if such cannot be distinctly understood. He and

238 -WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
Calhoun had been enemies for many long years, and the
events of 1824 had produced an open personal rupture
between them ; their intercourse had been confined to
the mere ordinary . civilities of life, and retirement did
not bring any abatement of Crawfbrd's animosity. , He
was as little prone to fbrgiVeness as Jackson himself,
where his dislikes had taken firm root-; he believed
that Calhoun was an unrehable and a deceitful man,
and, being now favorable to Jackson's election Mmself,
he could not bear " to see Mordecai, the Jew, sitting
at the king's gate." In other words, he believed that
Calhoun was too bad a man to stand in such intimate
relations with a President of the United States, or to
be quietly aUowed thus to ride into power on Jackson's
popularity. It is clear that this intolerance did not
proceed from envy, or ambition, or that meaner feehng
wMch craves company m disappointment. Cra-wford
no longer aspired to office, and thought as Uttle of ever
being made President as of succeeding the Great Mo
gul ; but it is beyond doubt, in our mind, that his sub
sequent unfortunate agency in bringing about the cele
brated controversy which drove Calhoun from power
and place, was owing alone to the depth and earnest
ness of this long-cherished enmity. The connection of
Cra-wford -with this memorable quarrel between the
two first officers of govemment, is too weU kno-wn, and
has been too much censured, to be passed over -without
a most rigorous and impartial investigation at our
hands ; and as our judgment has led us to conclusions
quite variant -vrith the common impressions in regard
to his conduct, we shaU proceed- candidly to set forth
the reasons wMch have mduced such conclusions,
Crawford's opposition to Calhoun was deep-rooted
and interminable; and to effect his defeat he began,
early in the faU and during the winter of 1827, to cor-

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 239
respond extensively ¦with his friends in the "Western
States, denouncing the candidate for Vice President as
unworthy ofthe support of Jackson's friends. Among
these letters was one written to Alfred Balch, of Nash-
vUle, m wMch, after acknowledgmg the receipt of one
from his correspondent, Crawford goes on to deprecate
being made prominent in the approaching contest for
President, declares -with great candor his preference
for private Hfe, but says, nevertheless, that he had
already authorized Van Buren and Cambreleng, who
Jiad visited him the previous April, to make known his
opinions. These opinions were favorable to the election
of Jackson ; but Crawford continues by asserting that
there is some difficulty in consequence of Jackson's as
sociation -with Calhoun, Then foUows a series of accu
sations against Calhoun, fixing upon him the charges
of dupUcity, inconsistency, and enmity to Jackson.
The letter, on the whole, though emmently iUustrative
ofthe candor and honesty wMch had ever characterized
Cra-wford's intercourse -with his feUows, is a wretched
and most incoherent specimen of composition, sho-wing
much more of determined prejudice than of care or taste.
It bears not the sUghtest resemblance to the fimshed
compositions which had emanated from its author in the
days of his prime ; his speeches in the Senate, Ms re
ports as Secretary of War and ofthe Treasury, and his
diplomatic papers wMle Minister to France. It is so
awkwardly expressed m some parts, and the commix
ture of personal pronouns so incongruously strung to
gether, as to require every auxiliary of emphasis, pa^
renthesis, and aU kindred resorts, to pomt and explain
his meanmg. True, there are to be found unmistakable
traces of the author's mind, though not the mind of
1811 ; the pohshed style and classic elegance wMoh dis
tinguished the productions of his zenith are, however.

240 ¦WILLLAM H. CEA^WFOED.
nowhere to be discerned in this series of letters. This
fact, of itself, must be held to demonstrate what has
been already assumed m this reriew, that the mteUect
of Cra^wford had been seriously impaired by the attack
with wMch he was risited in 1824.
This and other letters were shown to Jackson, but
they produced no visible change m Ms feelings for Cal
houn, nor did they, as expected and hopedj influence
the result, so far as Calhoun was concerned, in the
popular elections. He was elected Vice President by
a decisive majority, on the Jackson ticket ; but the
electoral coUeges for President and Vice President yet
held the final determination. These have always been
held ¦with pecuHar sacredness in our system of govern
ment : the electors are the trustees of the Mgh sover
eign power of the people of the States, as it relates to
the choice of the two first officers under the Constitu
tion. The degree of fidehty ¦with wMch this trust is
thus discharged, control^ in a great measure the opera
tion of our governmental system. StUl obstinately bent
on effecting the poHtical ruin of one he held to be so
unworthy of confidence as Calhoun, Cra-wford did not
now hesitate even to strike' at him through the electoral
coUeges; he wrote certainly to two of his friends, aiid
urged them " to use their influence" to secure his ene
my's defeat in the coUeges, when they should respect
ively convene. We are obhged to say, that whfle this,
strictly speaking, was a legal, and perhaps an honest
course of poHtical opposition. It was not fair or unex
ceptionable. The coUeges are not specifically intrusted;
but the received opinion is, that they are bound to
carry out the popular preference as evidenced by a
majority ofthe votes cast in the respective States which
they represent. Every body knows that these votes
are cast -with reference to the known riews of the dif-

WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 241
ferent candidates for electors who are before the people.
The successful ticket is, therefore, the sure index of
popular preference as to the candidates for President
and Vice President. At the same time" then, that we
insist on upholding Crawford's character for integrity
and candor, we most decidedly condemn, in view of
the grounds here taken, any attempt to influence an
electoral coUege contrary to the evidences of popular
preference. Jackson and Calhoun were recognized as
runnmg on the same ticket in the State of Tennessee,
the first for President, and the last for Vice President
of the Umted States. TMs had been proclaimed by
the electoral candidates, and the people had voted ac
cordingly ; we therefore enter protest against the pro
priety of Crawford's course, when he undertakes, in a
letter of a date subsequent to the popular elections of
that State, to persuade Ms friend CampbeU, one of the ¦
successfiil Presidential electors, to endeavor to cut off
Calhoun fi-om the vote of Tennessee as Vice President.
Nothing could be more hurtful to the integrity of our
poHtical system than to adopt his course on tMs occa
sion as a legitimate precedent. That ¦wUl be the sad
dest day m the Mstory of tMs repubUc, when an at
tempt to countervaU and nuUify the popular decisions
shaU succeed through the medium of extraneous influ
ences brought to bear upon the electoral coUeges.
There is not a more deUcate feature belonging to the
Federal Constitution than the mode of makmg a Presi
dent, and its very deUcacy argues its ¦wisdom. The
trust is one entirely of honor, and dreadful is the re
sponsibiUty of accounting to the people for the forfeit
ure of such confidence; the very absence of aU pre
scribed safeguards to enforce compUance ¦with their
decision, makes dereUction the more terrible to be en
countered. If there was a legal penalty involved, a
11

242 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
legal and fuU defence would be necessarUy allowed.
Both are precluded, and the safety of our government
lies in the strict observance ofthe sacred obligation im
posed on the electoral coUeges.
The fact that Crawford wrote letters both to Gen
eral CampbeU and Colonel Barry, urging them to use
their influence to defeat Calhoun before the colleges, is
unquestionably true ; the political world was made ac
quainted with the fact -more than twenty years since.
That he intended mischief to the Constitution, no one
can or wUl say, not even his fiercest enemies ; but. that
Ms advice involved miscMef, is clear and undeniable.
That advice was melancholy evidence of his waning
faculties of mind, which were now too far impaired to
comprehend prudential political considerations, where
no direct invasion ofthe Constitution or the law was
. mtended, and where the aim was to defeat a man whom
he honestly thought to be unprincipled and dangerous.
This project fkUed signaUy, Calhoun went into the
office pf Vice President by a triumphant majority, was
considered first in the confidence of the President, and
was generaUy regarded as the most prominent aspirant
for the succession. Together, he and Jackson were duly
instaUed on the fourth day of March, 1829, Every thing
went on prosperously and S'wimmingly •with the party in
power; the admimstration at once attained to a popu
larity that seems, at tMs distance of time, to have been
nearer akm to blind idolatry than rational approbation.
The country went mad with admiration of Jackson, and
Ms favorites and ministers were so far lifted along on
tMs scale of popularity as to be thought incapable of
dohig -wrong; and among these, Calhoun stood con
fessedly Mghest. . Havmg feUed to effect Ms overtMow,
Crawford had now retired from the contest, apparently
reconcUed to the inevitable course of events. But new

WILUAM H. CEAWFOED. 243
actors now suddenly appear on the stage. A conspira
cy — ^for it can be caUed by no other name, m our judg
ment — ^was hatched and perpetrated, of which Crawford
was made the unconscious instrument, of wMch Jack
son himself was the dupe, and of which Calhoun was
the victim. This was to drive Calhoun from power and
popularity by destroying him m the confidence of the now
all-powerful President. The same motive which actu
ated Crawford's efforts in the late election, here again
prompted him to pursue Calhoun : inveterate personal
enmity, wMch aimed at nothing short of the disgrace
of one aUke distrusted and hated. When we say that
Crawford was the unconscious instrument, we do not
mean to say that he was unconscious of attempting to
ruin Calhoun ; we think it is quite clear that he was
expressly aiming to effect that end, by making public
certain transactions of Monroe's Cabinet, which had
been discussed m 1818.
On a sudden, the nation was astounded with the
news that an irreconcUable feud had sprung up between
the President and Vice President. This was m the
spring of 1830, but little more than twelve months
since the mauguration. A copy of a letter had been
placed m Jackson's hands, which excited on the instant
the whole ferocity of his nature, and made him the
mortal foe of Calhoun. TMs letter made known that,
at a meeting of Monroe's Cabinet in the summer of
1818; caUed to deUberate on the eVents ofthe Seminole
war, Calhoun had distmctly proposed that the com
manding general, Jackson, " should be reprehended in
some form, or punished in some form," for aUeged un
authorized and iUegal conduct m the prosecution of
said war. The writer of this letter was WUHam H.
Cra^wford, and it was directed to John Forsyth, one of
the Senators from the State of Georgia. How or for

244 WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED.
what reason such a letter was wrung from Crawford at
such a time is, to some extent, a matter of conjecture
to this day ; though no one who is informed of aU the
facts, doubts that the design was to effect a personal
breach between Jackson and Calhoun, and thereby to
destroy the poHtical consequence of the latter. Craw
ford had authorized Forsyth to show Ms letter to Cal
houn ; tMs is proof that he believed what he said, and
that he desired no concealment. Forsyth, for some
reason, did not comply ; he sent the letter immediately
to Jackson, and Calhoun never saw it. A copy was
given to Mm, but it was not a complete copy; impor
tant and significant names were left in blank, wMch the
author would have scorned to conceal. He was play
ing, if not a magnammous, at least an open game.
Cra-wford was the last man on earth who would conde
scend to palpable meanness or to disguise ; he was both
too independent and too fearless to resort to either.
If he was guilty of -improprieties, they were improprie
ties consequent on a fidling and an erring judgment,
not the offspring of a bad heart or of wilful wrong.
But others were neither so nice nor so frank. We are
whoUy unable to find an excuse for Forsyth, much less
for the contrivers of the plot ; we tMnk that Forsyth
was bound to show the original letter of Crawford to
CaUioun, as directed, before he gave it into the hands
of Jackson. There was no injunction laid on him by
the writer to show it to Jackson at all, though few wUl
doubt that such was intended. But there is a twofold
reason why Cra-v^ord must have desired and why he
directed that the letter should be shown to Calhoun m
the original. In the first place, it was due to candor
and feimess of deahng ; and m the next place, Crawford
eridently desired that his enemy might have the chance
of attempting a correction, if he had inadvertently

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 245
erred m the statement of facts. Had his directions
been foUowed, the main correspondence would then
have occurred between Mmself and Calhoun, mstead of
between Calhoun and Jackson. Besides, m such event,
much injury might have been averted from Calhoun, as
he would then have possessed the fuU means of unravel
ling the plot — the suppressed names in the copy beuig
undoubtedly the index. Much mortification might also
have been spared to Cra^wford, After the correspond
ence had been opened -with Jackson, in consequence of
Forsyth's omission to obey his friend's injunction, Cal
houn peremptorUy and quite haughtily refused to re
cognize Cra-wford as a principal in the controversy, re
tumed his letters with a most insultmg reply, and
decHned aU correspondence except through the Presi
dent, We must say that, on the whole, we think For
syth occupied quite a remarkable, not to say unenriable
position m connection -with this affair ; and we are at a
loss to reconcUe Calhoun's ready admission that he did
not allude to Forsyth as bemg concerned in the efforts
wMch were bemg made to cause a rupture between
Jackson and himself. No matter what may have been
Forsyth's motives (and these we shaU not impeach), it
is clear that the breach was effected tMough his imme
diate instrumentaUty. At the request of one HamUton,
of New York, a friend and poUtical aUy of Van Buren,
Forsyth writes to Cra-wford, askmg a statement of the
Cabinet transactions of 1818, relative to Jackson's con
duct Ln the Seminole war. HamUton asked this of
Forsyth at the request of Jackson, who states that he
was induced to make the request from what had- been
told a friend of Ms by the Marshal of Columbia Dis
trict. TMs certainly looks quite mysterious, especially
in -riew of Hamilton's connections. 'Who was the friend
that had thus informed Jackson of the Marshal's state-

246 -WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.
ment, and of Hamilton's knowledge of the same fact':
viz., that Calhoun had moved to punish Jackson at the
Cabinet meeting aUuded to ? This personage has never
been positively known, though conjecture (and circum
stances were pointed to which were held to authorize
such conjecture) has settled the identity on Martin
Van Buren. This we shaU not attempt to confirm dr
to confute ; but it is clear that Forsyth's mterference
at this period of the plot directly caused the rupture
between the President and Vice President; and his
omission to comply -srith Crawford's directions to show
the letter to Calhoun, would seem to imply, on his part,
at least a very questionable mdifference as to the re
sults that were sure to follow.
During the progress of the controversy, several
questions of veracity arose between Crawford and Cal
houn, which were never definitely settled, so fer as Ms
tory is concerned. The first of these was in relation to
a letter from Jackson to President Monroe, dated pre
rious to the mvasion of the Spanish territories, wMch
Crawford asserts to have been produced at the Cabinet
meetmg in question. This Calhoun- denies positively,
and brmgs to his aid, as proof of the demal, a long ar
ray of letters from various heads of departments, aU of
whom profess to recoUect notMug about such a letter
as Cra-wford had designated. The last was the aUeged
change of opimon on Cra"wford's part, regarding the
conduct of Jackson on the same occasion. Calhoun
again brings in letters from McDuffie and others to sub
stantiate the charge. We shaU not attempt to pass
judgment on so delicate a point ; we may beheve that
Cra^wford was Uable to err, and, from a treacherous
memory, probably to mistake facts, inadvertently, as
most men may do. But no testimony could induce us
to entertain for one moment the charge that he was

WILLIAM H. CEA-WFOED. 247
ever guUty of deUberate falsehood. We have ever
held an equaUy Mgh estimate of Calhoun's mtegrity,
and thus feel restramed from dweUing further upon so
unpleasant a matter. In long years after, when the
immediate families and friends of each party shaU have
been gathered to their fathers, and when feelings in
duced by the controversy shaU no longer glow within
Uvmg bosoms, then the impartial reriewer may enter
-with propriety on the discussion, and thus eriscerate
the truth of history.
The quarrel between Calhoun and Jackson was per
manent and irreconcUable, and it was most probably
intended by those who had fomented it, that no recon-
ciliation should fake place. The object was evidently
much more aMed -with motives of poHtical advancement
and degradation, than -with private enmities and prefer
ences. Calhoun was driven from power, and Ms national
popularity sank beneath the irresistible fiat of his more
admired though less gifted rivaL He never afterwards
regained Ms former hold on the affections and confi
dence ofthe American people, and it is seriously demed
by his friends that he ever made any attempt wMch
looked to such object. He quitted the post of Vice
President, and obeyed the voice of his beloved State,
wMch had caUed Mm to the United States Senate, to
there expound and advocate, -with his great powers of
mind and of debate, the unfortunate doctrme of nuIHfi-
cation. He devoted the balance of Ms Hfe to the pro
mulgation and defence of this and kindred doctrines,
and became whoUy sectionalized in feeUng and in con
duct, although the whole country acknowledged, to Ms
dymg day, the powerful iofluence of that splendid, com
manding inteUect, wMch had made him a giant of Ms
time, and had sustained him m aU Ms parliamentary con
flicts with the combined forces of our greatest statesmen.

MAOAULAT'S HISTOET OF ENGLAND.*
Since the days when the celebrated novels of Sir
Walter Scott were issued fi-om the Edinburgh press,
and heralded forth to the eager and admiiing world as
productions from the magic pen of the unknown "Au
thor of Waverley," no work has created such Mgh ex
pectations or been read with such Hvely enthusiasm as
that now before us. Indeed, it has been rather de
voured than read, and seems to have been sought after,
(if we may be pardoned the expression in connection
-with so popular a book,) more -with the desire to gratify
an ephemeral curiosity than with a riew to soHd im--
provement. This species of fur<yr is harmless and tol
erable when produced by the pompous annunciation of
a new novel from Bulwer or Alexandre Dumas ; but it
is very apt, if not quite sure, to prove fetal m the end
and consequences, to the permanent popularity and
esteem of a grave history — and more especiaUy of a
history of England. The impressioiis of fiction are
pleasing, Hght, and transient, and even where a novel
is deficient as to style and sound moral instruction, the
interest of the story, if only tolerably sustained, wiU
rescue it from harsh or condemnatory judgment. But
it is far different with a work of history. Diffuseness
* Macaulay's History of England. New York : Harper and Brothers.

MACAULAT'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 249
of Style, sparkling sentences, entertauimg and briMant
episodes, occasional and tasteful metaphors, •wiU do
weU in romance, and it is mainly in romance that such
things are looked for by the refined loveft of literature.
In a work of history these aU, in our humble judgment,
are both untasteful and sadly out of place, especially if
the author's ambition is directed less to ephemeral pop
ularity and to the desire for speedy profits, than to a
lasting fame and lofty place among historians who wUl
be read in after ages as reUable for authority and refer
ence, as weU as for useful mstruction. We shall be
much deceived if the brUHant and gifted author of the
work now before us, does not experience the truth of
the above remarks before many years wUl have passed.
We are much mistaken if Mr. Macaulay does not soon
find that Ms hopes of greatest fame must rather be re
posed on those splendid Selections and Miscellanies,
recently coUected and pubUshed from among his nu
merous contributions to the Edinburgh Reriew, than
upon tMs work of greater labor and higher expecta
tions. The first may chaUenge not admiration only,
but the severest and harshest scrutmy also, as to
beauty, novelty and terseness of style, acute and un
equalled powers of criticism, splendor of description,
correctness and vigor of judgment, and rare fertUity
and chasteness of imagination. Besides aU this, the
MisceUames are replete -with sound lessons of mstruc
tion in etMcs, the sciences, and poUtics. They abound
with nice and elaborate illustrations of human character
in all its featm-es, and of human nature in all its as
pects. AU of this description of -writing that we find
in his Mstory, we shaU find previously and better done
in his MisceUames. Nor is Mr. Macaulay at all singular
in the notion, if, mdeed, he has chosen to rest his repu
tation on the work which has cost him most time and
11*

250 MACAtTLAT'S HISTOE-T OF ENGLAND,
labor, in preference to what he doubtless deems his
Hghter productions. Both Petrarch and Boccaccio
were engaged for years in writing ponderous volumes
of Latin on wMch to repose their fame, and through
the medium of wMoh they had fondly expected to be
handed down to a remote posterity. Yet these works
of labor are scarcely kno-wn, never or very rarely read,
and are passing from aU connection or association with
their names ; whUst the Sonnets of the first, and the
enchanting Decameron of the last, written by both at
mtervals of leisure and as mere pastime, have attained
to a world-wide fame, and, as specimens of elegant and
pure Italian, have long been preserved as precious and
priceless treasures of the literature of the fourteenth
century. MachiavelU labored arduously and long at
his Mstory of Florence, a work wMch embodies vast
leammg and whieh contains many reflections that afford
a clue to Ms real poUtical sentiments and governmental
notions, and by wMch he doubtless hoped to Hve in the
memory of after generations. Yet it was in the gloom
and sad seclusion of a prison that he produced that
singular Httle volume, — singular both for its power of
thought and atrocity of sentiment, — which has con
signed Mm to an eternal fame of odium, and coupled
his name with that of " the Prince " of demons. Even
Sir Walter Scott thought seriously, near the close of
his unparaUeled career, of discarding his grandest pro
ductions as a basis on wMch to rest his permanent
fanie, and even boasted at the weU kno-wn " Theatrical
Fund dinner," that a work was soon to see the light
from the author of Waverley, that would throw all
other productions from that celebrated and gifted
source, completely mto minority and secondary esti
mation. TMs work, thus singularly announced, was
Ms life of Napoleon Bonaparte. Yet the contrary, as

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 251
doubtless every sagacious hearer imagined when the
declaration was made, has been the case. The biogra
phy, except for the beauty and power of its style, is
generaUy regarded as imperfect in point of main facts,
and as every way unworthy of its Ulustrious author ;
wMle the novels, — read now in every class of society
-with the same mterest and enthusiasm as when, years
ago, they flew from the .press like Ughtmng, to dazzle
and charm a bewildered world, — have been long set
aside and marked for perpetual stereotype. Mr. Ma
caulay, then, has distinguished associates, if mdeed, Uke
them, he has been weak enough to suppose that the
volumes before us, bearing though they do, the marks
of untiring labor and dUigent research, wUl be hailed
by a succeedmg generation m preference to his Miscel
lanies, as the enduring monument of his fame.
But, apart from considerations of tMs character, it
is very certain that no book of the present time has
been welcomed from the press with such general lauda
tion and eagerness, or read -with such blinded aridity.
So popular a miscellaneous writer has surely not ap
peared m the character of a Mstorian since, the days of
Sir Walter Scott. And although we must candidly
confess our disappointment in the work, yet its popu
larity is so great and the prestige of the author's name
so overshado-wing, that we feel it to be an act of prcr
sumption and temerity to offer even the least disparag
ing criticism. And if it be true that Mgh expectation
is almost always foUowed by disappointment, as Lord
Jeffrey remarks, it is scarcely possible that any readers
of Macaulay's history should not be disappointed. It
is by no means our design in employing this remark to
reflect upon the general merits of the production, or to
depreciate its justly high fame, even were it in our
feeble power to do so. . On the contrary, we regard it

252 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
as one of the most briUiant and entertaining histories
we ever read, or expect ever to read. True, it con
tains Uttle that is new m point of general facts — ^httle
that could not be learned from Hume, or Fox, or Bur
nett. But the minutise of those facts are spread out
-with taste, amplified, and explained in a manner that
must interest even the most fastidious. The condse
and discriminative review of English history, previous
to the epoch on wMch he mtends finaUy and prmcipaUy
to treat ; the learned and methodical disquisitions on
EngUsh Church History, the mce and finely drawn de-
Imeations of party differences Ln the different ages; the
bold portraitures of monarchs and statesmen and aU
descriptions of distmguished persons, either in poHtics
or ecclesiastical Mstory; the power and splendor of
diction, the brilHancy of description, the flashes of -with
ering sarcasm, the beautiful episodes, the occasional
lovely pictures of domestic life, of love and of death
scenes fiiU of agreeable pathos and tender associations,
— aU these, and much else that might be justly added,
form awholeof virid and absorbing mterest that could
spring only from a mind of extraordinary vigor and
versatUity, But it is not Hke a history from the aus
tere pen of HaUam, profoundly coUated, tersely con
densed, meditative, and perspicacious; bringing mat
ters to the test of severe scrutiny rather than of super
ficial or critical reriew. It does not impress -with the
force of the smooth, well-arranged, and methodioiil
narrative of Robertson. We do not find m its pages
the analysis, the profound phUosophy, and rapid but
digested condensation of Hume. Mr. Macaulay, there
fore, must not expect, when the " hurly-burly's done,"
and when the buoyant emotions of curiosity, excited as
well by the pompous heraldry of interested bookseUers
as by his own great literary reputation, shall give place.

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ISNGLAND. 253
to the calm and sober reflux of uncaptivated judgment,
to sit unchaUenged by the side of great historians.
That time wiU surely come, and it is not, we incline to
think, very distant. He who has so often wielded
against other aspfrants to a like Mgh place the fierce
weapons of criticism, must not think to be aUowed to
pass unassaUed and unscrutinized.
Thus far, indeed, our author has swept critics and
fault-finders from before him, and the pubUc has sus
tained him. The only promment critic who has inked
his pen for the task of reriew was so bitterly and un
quaHfiedly assaulted by editors and journalists, so bul-
Hed by Quixotic litterateurs, and so worried by personal
attacks, that Ms effort may be said to have increased
rather than diminished the popularity of the work.
There were, however, two aU-sufficient reasons why the
merits of that criticism were disregarded. In the flrst
place, it was put forth at an Ul-chosen time. The whole
Hterary world was in a blaze of excitement and silly
enthusiasm. Had the excitement been of a rational
- character, or the enthusiasm been kmdled by less furi
ous elements, had the longmgs of rabid cmiosity been
in the least degree sated, the criticism might have
been received and treated with more lemency. But a
stronger reason agamst its favorable reception existed.
It was known that it was from the pen of one hostUe to
Mr, Macaulay, and who owed him a grudge. This, of
course, determmed its fete. But the circumstances of
the case are different now. The excitement and enthu
siasm are fast subsidmg. It may not, therefore, be
deemed presumptuous to scan the merits and demerits
of tMs great work, impartiaUy and fairly.
The introductory chapter of tMs Mstory is -written
after the true style of its author. No one who has
read his MisceUanies eould faU to teU that both must

254 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND,
be from the same gifted pen. It abounds with excel
lent ideas on the nature and consequences of early his
torical events, impartmg at once useful information and
suggesting whple trains of deep and unprovmg reflec
tion. EspeciaUy were we pleased with the author's
suggestions concei-ning the ancient pUgrimages, the
crusades, abbeys, and the spiritual supremacy arrogated
by the Pope hi the dark ages. From aU these the au
thor very clearly and justly deduces unportant and
beneficial results on society and on governments. The
pUgrimages caused rude and barbarous nations to be
come acquainted •with the refinements and civilization
of Italy and the oriental countries. The crusades un
folded the secret ofthe benefits to be derived from na
tional combinations, or coaUtions between different
powers in a common cause. " It was better," as the
author says, " that Christian nations should be roused
and umted for the recovery ofthe Holy Sepulchre, than
that they should, one by one, be overwhelmed by the
Mohammedan power," It is certain, we beUeve, that a
superstitious zeal and a fanatical spirit saved the whole
of Europe, on this occasion, from the corrosive influ
ences and inteUectual darkness of Islamisra. PoUtical
considerations merely, on the rough diplomacy of that
early age, could never have brought about those im
mense and formidable combinations wMch diverted the
arms of Saladin from conquests and invasions, and
drove him to defend his o-wn soU. It is equaUy certain
that if priestcraft had not Ln that age been predominant,
and Hterature nursed and cultivated m quiet cloisters,
the world would not yet have •witnessed the lapse of
the dark ages. The sombre shadows would stiU have
rested over mankind, and the lore ofthe early ages
been unrescued from the womb ofthe past. The spiri
tual supremacy ofthe Pope was a species of mUd patri-

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 255
archal dominion which formed a strong bond of union
between the nations of Christendom. A common code
of international or pubHc law — a fraternal tie — an en
larged benevolence, were among the happy conse
quences of this supremacy, generaUy denounced as
arrogant and unrighteous m the sight of God and man.
" Even in war," says the learned author, " the cruelty
of the conqueror was not seldom mitigated by the re
coUection that he and his vanquished foe were aU mem
bers of one great federation." It is to the reception of
the Anglo-Saxons mto tMs reUgious federation, and to
the consequent inter-communication between the Island
ers and ItaUans, that Mr. Macaulay traces the fu-st
da^wn of a permanent improvement in the cirilization
and Hterature ofthe English people.
A condensed and spirited Mstory of the Norman
character and conquest foUows upon these reflections,
and then the author travels by long and rapid strides
to the reign of John of Anjou, the brother and succes
sor of Richard Coeur de Lion. An event in this reign
wMch has been generaUy represented by EngHsh histo
rians as disastrous and disgraceful, is here demonstrated
by the author as having been the basis of aU the pros
perity and glory of England. This event was the ex
pulsion of the English monarch from Normandy by
PMhp Augustus of France. The Norman barons and
nobles were now forced, from motives of mterest, to
confine, themselves and their hordes of wealth to the
island. They began to look on England as their coun
try, amalgamated -with the Saxons, made common
cause -with the Saxons against a bad and weak monarch,
and then foUowed the memorable scenes at Runymede
where the Magna Charta was extorted. Here, says
Mr, Macaulay, commences the history of the EngHsh
nation, Mr. Hallam also, m the first part of his " Con-

256 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
stitutional History," appended to his Middle Ages,
speaks of tMs event as haring been the first effort to
wards a legal government. Yet the same author, in a
previous chapter, ascribes the date of many ofthe lead
ing and valued features of the English Constitution to
a period earUer than the reign of Alfred the Great ;
and m another sentence, declares that there is no single
date from which its duration is to be reckoned." Cer
tain it is that the main features of the judicial system,
and especiaUy the right of trial by jury and the num
ber of jurors, were in eristence before the time of
Alfred, were further improved by that •wise monarch,
and were at last confirmed and permanently defined in
the Great Charter.
No reader of Mstory, it is true, can well question
the fact that it was at this period that " the English
people first took place among the nations of the world ; "
but their authentic history, many of the noblest and
most admired features of their great Constitution, may
be feirly traced to a period of time much earUer than
the conquest. The Great Charter of Hberty — ^the es
tabhshment of the House of Commons — ^the distribution
of civU rights to aU classes of freemen — ^the preservation
of national independence under the ancient Une of sov
ereigns, which some were rashly anrious to exchange
for the dominion of France — the definition and limita
tion ofthe king's prerogative ; aU these, however, date
their tangible origin and adoption from this period ;
and, in this sense, English history proper may also date
its beguimng from the same era.
At page 46 (Harper's edition), after asserting that
it is doubtfiil whether England owes more to the Ro
man CathoHc rehgion or to the Reformation, the author
opens his account of the origin and character of the
Church of England, Much that follows is tinctured

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 257
with a good deal of that party asperity and bias which
poHtical feehng nught very naturaUy engender in the
bosom of a WMg Mstorian when treatmg of this epoch.
No one who reads these pages can faU to discern, at a
glance, the poHtical and reUgious sentiments of the dis
tmguished historian. It is perhaps to be somewhat
regretted that the author, hi tMs instance, had not
drawn a more salutary and substantial lesson from a
complaint wMch he bitterly utters on a previous page ;
viz., "the drawback," wMch EngHsh Mstory has re
ceived fi-om bemg " poisoned -with party strifes." The
author, in the true and bigoted Presbyterian spirit,
seeks to rob the church of aU claims to that spiritual,
apostohc origm which emment and erudite di-vines have
long labored to demonstrate as being her due. With
a disputatious reference to some mere petty differences
between her first estabUshed clergy, Mr. Macaulay ab
ruptly narrows do-wn and attributes the origm of the
church to a motive of poHtical necessity alone — a poHti
cal "compromise" between confficting Protestants.
He -wUl find many, we imagine, to disagree •vrith 'him on
these points. It is an attack against the whole plan of
spiritual economy mculcated and held by her ablest
mmisters. If Mr. Macaulay's premise and reasoning be
true, a fatal blow is given to the Mgh pretensions of
the church. Episcopahans believe, and labor to prove,
that the church proper existed m England long prior
to the date of Henry VIH.'s apostasy, and its subse
quent permanent recognition and estabUshment under
EUzabeth, It would be as well, they would contend, for
Mr, Macaulay to assert that Christiamty itself had no
tangible or respectable existence untU its adoption and
legal establishment by the great Constantme ; for what
is most unquestionably true, untU that period the Chris
tian religion was held to be the lowest, most contempti-

258 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND,
ble, and plebeian form of i-eHgion then practised in the
world, and scarcely more than dared to show its face
for fear of utter and helpless anmhUation, The msig-
nificance and poHtical debasement of the early AngHcan
zealots,, the lioUards and others who preceded them,
are not to be used as an argument adverse to their
holy, apostoHc caUing, if we beheve with eminent di
vines of the present day. EngHsh bishops, say they,
were known to have sat m the Council of Nice, a coim-
cU which was held long anterior to the date of Augus-
tin's visit to the British Islands. They persuade us
that the flame ofthe Church was burmng stealthily but
SteadUy through long ages of persecution, untU at lastj
by a concurrence of great events, divinely directed, it
shot to its zemth amid the tempests of the Reformat
tion. Right or -wrong, therefore, the opinions and ar
guments of learned and accomphshed prelates clash
directly and fundamentaUy -with those advanced by iMs
great historian. In his character of reviewer, Mr. Ma
caulay had the fuU right to advance and maintain such
opinions, and none could find fault with him. It was
Ms individual opinion only, and -carried no further
weight than his personal influence and consideration
were entitled to receive. But these opinions and riews
carried into an elaborate historical work, intended to
be' used as authority, and as a guide, for opimon to
future generations, is quite a different matter; and we
much question if Mr, Macaulay wiU meet with tacit
assent on the part of astute and proud di'vines of the
communion of the EngHsh Church and its branches.
His character of Cranmer too, though true as to
fact and history, must be viewed more as a caricature
than a faithful portrait of that distinguished and unfor
tunate prelate. If governed by Mr, Macaulay alone,
we would be seriously at a loss, in forming our rela,tive

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 259
estimate of character, whether to plant our deepest ab
horrence on Cranmer, the hypocritical vUlam, or Jef
freys, the open and shameless vUlam. Certain it is that
no previous •wi-iter of EngHsh history, with whose works
we are acquainted, has dealt half so harsMy and severely
with this most esteemed of aU Protestant martyrs who
expiated their faith m the flames of persecution. In
deed, from the author's frequent reference to Bossuet,
a bitter and bigoted Roman Catholic -writer, the reader
might very weU suppose, that, discarding aU contem
poraneous EngHsh authorities, Mr. Macaulay had as
siduously drawn Ms character of the Archbishop from
the jaundiced picture left by that biassed Frenchman.
Even Hallam, who, when dissecting character, as our
author himself says m his elegant review of the " Con
stitutional Mstory," most generaUy draws on the "black
cap," deals ¦with remarkable caution and kmdness when
he comes to speak of Cranmer. He attributes Ms faxQts
more to the effect of circumstances than of intention,
though he insmuates that the Archbishop might have
avoided placing himself in situations where those cir
cumstances were almost sure to occur. " If," says Mr.
HaUam m his Constitutional history, " castmg away aU
prejudice on either side, we weigh the character of
this prelate in an equal balance, he wiU appear far
indeed removed from the turpitude imputed to him by
his enemies, yet not entitled to extraordmary venera
tion." This is a mUd, and, as we mcUne to beUeve, a
just sentence. If Cranmer was entitled even to vener
ation at aU, he cannot have been considered so bad a
man by Mr. HaUam as he is represented to have been
by Bossuet, with whom Mr. Macaulay mainly agrees
m opimon. Mr. HaUam condemns, as aU right-thinking
men must condemn, the execution, under Cranmer's
management, of the woman conricted of heresy, a.nd

260 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND,'
of a Dutchman who was found guUty of teaching Arian-
vsm. Yet these reUgious atrocities were the prevaifing,
sin and shame of the age, and may be ascribed, m this
instance, more to the weakness and intolerance of edu-.
cation, and to the influence of generally sanctioned cus
tom, than to any rancorous or unusual mahgmty on the
part of Cranmer.
A truly charitable and unbiassed mind ¦wUl find
much in the melancholy scenes of Cranmer's closing
days to paUiate, if not to justify his aUeged errors and
weaknesses. He had been marked by Mary, and her
vmdictive advisers, as a victim, for whom death, speedy
and without torture, was not deemed a sufficient pun
ishment. His grave, unassuming piety, his anti-Catho
lic counsels to Henry the Eighth, the reverence ¦with
which he was regarded by the Protestant . world, his
equaUy notorious opposition to Mary's succession, Ms
exalted position in the Church, and his abhorrence of
papal supremacy, were aU taken into account in that
barbarous reckoning which possessed the bosom of the
fierce and implacable queen, and prompted her to visit
such awful and appalling vengeance on the eldest Pa
triarch of the Church of England. With this riew,
Cranmer, in the first place, was committed to the
Tower for treason, m September, 1563, a short time
after Mary's accession to the throne. In the month
foUo-wing he was conricted of tMs crime for his share
in Lady Jane's proclamation. An mhuman motive
soon prompted Mary to pardon him ; and then began
the first scene in that bloody drama. It was resolved
to take his life for heresy, the more to satiate revenge,
and to signalize his execution. With this view he was
cited to appear before the Pope at Rome, and although
a close and guarded prisoner in England, was promptly
condemned for his non-appearance as contumacious.

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND, 261
His first punishment was degradation at the hands of
one who was nearer akm, in Ms nature, to fiends than
to men — ^Bishop Bonner. Then Mary began with her
blandishments and unholy cajoleries. His total infamy
and dishonor, before death, was the object of these de
ceits, Cranmer was risited and entertamed by Catho
Hc digmtaries, was treated -with marked courtesy and
hospitahty by the queen's servants, was tempted by
every aUurement of hope, was courted to Ms doom by
every seductive art. High expectations of preferment
were fiattermgly held out to him, and then, by way of
awful contrast, and to confirm the work of flattery by
arousing his fears, the warrant for his execution was
sho-wn to him. Cranmer, overcome by a natural fond
ness for Hfe, and appaUed by the prospect of the tor
tures wMch awaited him, unwarUy feU into the snare.
He signed his recantation of the Protestant faith, and
subscribed to that of papal supremacy, and of the real
presence. Then the monsters of the queen's vengeance
mockmgly laughed in his face, and were unable to con
ceal their fiendish exultation. Cranmer at once saw
through the plan, and divmed Ms fate. But he re
solved to thwart their unholy schemes, and to tui-n his
recent apostasy and his a^wful death to the benefit of
his beloved Church. When it was beheved that he
was about to make a pubhc confession of Ms conversion
to popery, and when the church to wMch he was car
ried was fiUed with crowds of anxious and exultant
CathoUcs, Cranmer surprised Ms audience by solemnly
abjuring Ms recent recantation, by confessmg humbly
Ms weakness, and by declaring his firm resolve to meet
death as a martyr to the Protestant reUgion. He was
immediately hurried to the flames, and died heroicaUy.
This, surely, cannot be the man, aUo-wing for aU his
human and natural weaknesses of character, whom Mr.

262 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
Macaulay bitterly stigmatizes as " saintly in Ms profes
sions, unscrupulous m his dealings, zealous for nothing,
bold in speculation, a coward, and a time-server in ac
tion," and as one every way quaUfied 'to bring about a
coalition of church and state, where reUgion was to be
sacrificed to poUcy! This same man is eulogized by
David Hume, the most learned and accompUshed of aU
EngUsh Mstorians, " as a man of merit ; as possessed of
leammg and capacity, and adomed ¦with candor, sin
cerity, and beneficence, and aU those virtues which
were fitted to render him useful and amiable in socie
ty." Sir James Mackintosh goes even further than
Hume, and no one can doubt that these two were pos
sessed of cfuite as many fects, and full as much infor
mation, concerning Cranmer's character, as Mr. Macau
lay. We are told by Mackintosh, when speaking of
the primate, that " courage surrived a pUbhc avowal
of dishonor, the hardest test to whieh that rirtue can
be exposed ; and if he once fataUy faUed in fortitude,
he, in his last moments, atoned for Ms faUure by a
magnammity equal to Ms transgression." The united
testimony oif these distinguished and impartial Msto
rians, united on points which contravene materially
that of our author, though, doubtless, collated fi'om
the same sources, should serve to qualify, to some
extent at least, in the reader's mind, the distorted and
uninviting portraiture bf this venerable prelate's char
acter, as given by Macaulay, -with such bitter emphasis.
We do not doubt that Cranmer was faulty in many
particulars, and deeply so ; but it is going further than
Mstory would seem fairly to warrant to characterize
Mm as base, crafty, hypocritical, and perfidious.
We come next to one of the most interesting di-
risions of the first chapter, and, indeed, of the whole
volume. It is ground on which Mr. Macaulay may

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 263
tread fearlessly, for he has elsewhere evinced that he is
thorougMy master of the whole subject. We mean
the reign of the first Charles, "a period," says the
author, " when began that hazardous game, on which
were staked the destinies of the Enghsh people." It
is truly dehghtful to travel along with the author
through tMs portion of his task. You see, at every
stage, the unmistakable impress of the great mind,
-with whose thoughts you have grown famUiar in the
MisceUanies. Every scene of the preliminary drama
of the rebelhon, is brought vividly before the mind's
eye, and every part and feature of each scene, even to
the minutest. detaUs, are as vividly arrayed. No one
can rise from the perusal of this account of that in
teresting period without a feeling of conscious improve
ment and instruction, -without feehng that he has be
come much better acquamted with the causes an'd
character of a contest which exercised such mighty
infiuence on the English Government. The da-wn of
the coming strife — ^the contests between king and par-
Hament, growing graduaUy fiercer as we turn each
page — the towering energy and unbridled ambition of
the one, often so mortifyingly humbled ; the mUd and
adroit opposition, of the last, untirmg, undivertible,
proof ahke agamst buUymg and cajolery, and at last
strengthenmg into open and formidable resistance ; —
the rush and confusion of civU war ; — -the impetuosity
of the gaUant cavaUer; — the calculating, irresistible
strategy, the cautious ambition, the vaulting aspira
tions of CromweU, never revealed tUl developed by the
consequences, yet never miscalculated or misdirected ;
— the trial, execution, and heroic fortitude of the un
fortunate Charles, are all pictured -with startling effect,
and treated in a way wMoh teUs aU who read that a
master's hand is guiding them through the mazes of a

264 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
period in the world's history, where smaU mmds should
never intrude for other purpose than to inquire.
We cannot find that our author anywhere condemns
the execution of the king as an act of injustice, or
moral turpitude, on the part of his grim slayers. Yet
we must venture to say that we have always viewed it
as such in the most aggravated form, at the same time
that we fuUy admit the faults and crimes of Charles.
We can never be brought to beUeve that subjects have
the right to inflict, in cold blood, and under a mock
form of trial, the last penalty of the offended law, or
rather, as m aU instances of this character, of no law at
aU, on the person of their constitutional and legitimate
monarch. Yet we do not, by any means, subscribe to
the doctrme of passive obedience. We object only to
the character of the remedy. The punishment of James
the Second was quite as efficacious, as to consequences,
as the more revolting punishment wMch overtook his
hapless brother. One is justifiable and proper, and the
undoubted right of every free people ; the last is odi
ous, unwarranted, and whoUy inexcusable, m point of
justice and sound moraUty. It cannot be defended
even on the grounds of necessity, pohcy, or example.
The bamshment or imprisonment of Charles would have
been sufficient security to the new government, as was
evidenced both m the case of Charles the Second, and
of James the Second ; and as the office of king was
about to be aboHshed, it was needless on the score of
example, Mr, Macaulay, however, in a most beautifiil and
powerful passage, demonstrates the execution of Charles
to have been, if not a crime, at least that wMch Fouch6
pronounced as worse than crime, a poHtical blunder.
His pubhc execution, Ms fortitude, his christian meek
ness and courage in riew of death, his adroit protest

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 265
against the forms and authority of his condemnation,
his pubhc appeal in favor. of the ancient and venerated
laws of the realm, threw all advantages agaiast Ms
enemies, and clothed him in the apparel of a martyr.
" From that day," says our author, " began- a reaction
in favor of monarchy and of the eriled house, a reac
tion which never ceased till the throne had agam been
set up m aU its old dignity."
The succeeding pages, descriptive mainly of the
Protectorate of OHver, though ¦written ¦with great
power of argument, and perspicuity and splendor of
style, betray agam the erident penchant of the learned
author to lay hold on every thmg which may be ¦wield
ed, even through the august medium of history, in
fevor of the principles and poUtical tenets of that party
to which he is so prominently attached. The EngHsh
people may weU be proud of the government of the
great Protector, but, to the eye of Mr. Macaulay, it
seems to afford pecuUar charms. The praises which
he has taken care to " dole " (begguig Ms pardon for
usmg a phraseology wMch we humbly think he has
fairly ridden do^wn in these volumes) so sparingly out
to the monarchs and statesmen at whom he has been
previously glancing, ingemously lavished on this cold-
hearted, unprincipled, though gifted usurper, -with
showery profiision. Not that there is aught of elabo
rated eulogy or fiilsome panegyric. Every body ac
quamted ¦with Ms ¦writmgs must know that Mr. Macau
lay does not at aU belong to this class of authors. He
possesses too much of taste and stem unbendmg mde-
pendencefor such a task. He appears greatly to pre
fer the office of judge to that of advocate, of censor to
that of flatterer. But he seems now to forget, or to
be too willing to pass over the crimes and odious quaU
ties of the regicide m the high admiration which he evi-
12

266 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
dently feels for the lofty gemus and bold character of
the Protector of England's proud Commonwealth. At
the same time he cannot refrain from an occasional tilt
¦with Ms favorite weapons of sarcastic, crushmg ridicule
against the sanctimomous pretensions and drawling
hypocrisy of tMs arch politician and mtriguer. WhUst
we hear much of the glory and greatness of the Pro
tectorate — its formidable power — its promment um
pirage m Europe — ^the dread it inspired abroad — ^the
respect it extorted at home ; we are reminded now and
then of the author's fondness for " old Mortahty," or
" Woodstock," by a sly thrust at corporal preachers,
versed in Scripture, leading the devotions of back
sliding colonels and majors ; at Canting, sour-faced
hucksterers who cover a thirst for blood under the
garb of righteousness and godly pretensions, and at the
contemptible, -ludicrous picture of Lord Oliver's Bare-
bones Parhament.
But it is very easy to perceive from a perusal of
this portion of the history, when taken m connection
¦with other productions from the same gifted pen, that
Mr. Macaulay is not only a Roundhead in sympathy
and poHtical prejudices, but that, of aU great men who
have ever stamped undying influence upon the world,
CromweU occupies the first and highest place in Ms
estimation. Whether tMs exalted opinion of one so
generaUy hated by aU readers of Mstory, is mduced by
an undisguised detestation of Charles and Ms party, or
by an excusable pride in the glory wMch CromweU
threw around English character, or by community of
poHtical and rehgious predUeetions, we shaU not ven
ture to say. Certam it is, however, that wMle our
author ranks him inferior to Csesar only in taste and
poUte accompHshments, he places Mm far ahead of Na
poleon in native strength of mind, and m all the car-

MACAUIAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 267
dmal quahties (mvention only excepted) wMch form
the characters of truly great men. We do not find
this comparison in the pages wMch now lie open before
us ; but we find it in pages far more brUliantly written,
brUUant as these are, and where it is -evident Mr. Ma
caulay spent his prmcipal force of thought and power
of composition. Indeed, the character of CromweU is
far more forcibly drawn m the admirable re^riew of
HaUam's Constitutional History by this author, than in
the more labored work of his English Mstory. It is
from the review that we derive our opimon, mainly, of
the author's antipatMes and predUeetions. Indeed, the
recoUection of these previously expressed, and, doubt
less, more candid sentiments, prepared us to examine
tMs portion of the Mstory closely and cautiously. We
wished to guard against unwary temptations by a brU
Uant author, who might carry into a work of Mstory
the bias of early and cherished prejudices, and the
iofluences of that Jesuitical acerbity of thought which
kindles so easUy in the mind of a partisan reviewer.
We now fmd that we did not act un^vrisely. The same
course of thought, and the same one-sided, prepossessed
judgment wMch we easUy discover in the reviewer, we
find existing in aU their original force in the mind of
the historian, only somewhat retrenched, perhaps, and
attempered more to the graver character he now as
sumes. The CromweU of the reriew, so feehngly and
eloquently eulogized, is eminently the CromweU of the
history. The only discermble shade of difference is,
that, m the last, the scope of the reflector through
which the reader looks, although one and the same m
both cases, is sensibly and prudently diminished.
. We were not a Httle startled on finding that Mr,
Macaulay, by a kmd of specious negative insinuation
rather than by direct assertion, attempts to persuade

'268 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
his readers of a fact which we have never hesitated to
disbelieve. This is, that CromweU alt one time had se
rious notions of interfering to save the King from mur
der by his infuriated partisans — ^infuriated, too, by
Oliver's own artful teachings and profound intriguings.
Our author even goes farther, in another place, and en
deavors to leave the uiference that CromweU, if he had
been left alone, would have desired to restore the Stu
arts. The two passages from wMch we take these im
pressions are the foUo^wing : " CromweU had to deter-
mme whether he would put to hazard the attachment
of Ms party, the attachment of his army, his own great
ness, nay, Ms o^wn life, m an attempt wMch would
probably have been vain, to save a Prince whom no
engagement could buid. With many struggles and
misgivings, and probably not -without many prayers,
the decision was made — Charles was left to his fate," —
{p. 119.) Agam, a few pages afterward, we meet with
the following m describing the dUemma in wMch Oliver
found Mmself placed after he had slam Ms sovereign :
" The course afterward taken by Monk was not open to
CromweU, The memory of one terrible day separated
the great regicide forever from the house of Stuart." —
{p. 124, vol. 1.)
Now, in the first place, Mr, Macaulay wUl find it
difficult to persuade most of his readers that this crafty
usurper ever put up a smcere prayer after he had be
gun his pubhc career, or after the first faint sparks of
his lurking ambition had begun to kindle and bum.
Measuring the rise, and the stealthy, deeply-plaimed
progress of this amaziag career by its stUl more amaz
ing consequences, no one can faU to perceive that from
the very first outbreak of civU war, the designs of
CromweU were directed to nothing less than supreme
power. His own mysterious and poHtic conduct on all

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 269
important occasions, the assiduous court which he man
aged always to pay to the army whUe trainmg and
inuring it to the strictest discipline, his fierce and unre
lenting mode of carrymg on the war, tog^her -with the
concurrent opinions of aU prerious -writers of EngHsh
Mstory, leave this clearly to be deduced.
In the second place, it is quite discemible, we tMnk,
that Mr. Macaulay, in Ms great zeal to throw every
paUiative circumstance around the character of his
great favorite, has been led to adopt this opmion from
contemporaneous journals and memoirs of mterested
witnesses, many of whom are referred to and quoted by
Mr. HaUam, Ministers, officers, and associates (¦who
mainly compose tMs class of writers), who survived
OHver, and who Hved after the Restoration, would be
very naturaUy inclined to interpolate every thing of
this character in their account of a period which was
abhorrent to the reigning femUy — and the friends of
. the Protector had too long possession of the pubhc
arcMves and documents, and were too vrily and saga
cious to have neglected such an opportunity of prepar
ing for a reverse or reaction. If, a century or two
hence, a historian of the French Consulate and Empire
were to buUd up the character of Napoleon from mate
rials of tMs description alone, and to discard those more
vigorous tests of deeds wMch the Saviour of manldnd
Mmself mculcated as the true standard of judgment,
and to wMch selfish man must be brought if we would
ascertam his true nature — ^who of that generation could
question the patriotism or purity of a single act of his
pubUc Hfe? We choose, therefore, to put aside aU
e^ridence of this character in making up an opmion of
CromweU, and to trust to it no further than it can be
legitimately reconcUed to his deeds. By those deeds
and their intrinsic merits must we alone seek to meas-

270 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
ure the great Protector. The feats of personal prowess
performed on the field of Marston Moor, the consum
mate generalship so conspicuously displayed at the de
cisive battle of Naseby, the haughty expulsion of the
Long ParUament, was no more done by OUver to save
Charles's life or to restore the Stuart dynasty than was
the fiery charge of Napoleon at Areola, or the disper
sion of the French deputies at St. Cloud hazarded with
the riew of restormg the Bourbons, Covetousness of
supreme power, ambition to rise on the ruins of govem
ment, were the govemkig influence and chief motive
with both the stem Englishman and adroit Corsican.
The concludmg pages of the first chapter abound
with the vigorous and spirited description characteristic
of this ¦writer. They are read ¦with the intense mterest
which is created when one is drawing nigh to the
denouement of a novel like KenUworth or Woodstock.
Like the novelist, our author holds Ms readers in a de-
Hghtfiil suspense when dweUmg upon the feigned ir
resolution of Monk ; and we almost forget, in our ad
miration of the smgular power -with wMch the exciting
scenes are brought to their conclusion, that the catas
trophe has been famUiar to us from chUdhood. Fancy
pictures ¦with a viridness that amounts almost to reaUty,
the eager suspense in each countenance, when first the
tidings of Monk's advance were announced in London,
Then appears the whole gorgeous panorama of wMch
all England was the scene, HUI and vale, field and
forest, teem with multitudes fiocking, ¦with open arms,
to welcome the hardy legions of the Scottish army.
CavaUers and Roundheads, MonarcMsts and Repubh
cans, Churchmen and Regicides, make up tMs enthusi
astic and strange assemblage — all united against one
artful and dangerous faction. Every eye is now anx
iously tumed on the cold-blooded, tacitum, inscrutable

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 271
general, on whose decision rests the destmy of England.
At length he summons that convention which invited
the long exUed and friendless monarch to the home and
inheritance of his ancestors. Then are seen the flushed
cheeks and sparkUng eyes of the do-wn-trodden, perse
cuted cavaliers, whose Hps, after long years of tortuous
sUence, are now at last unsealed — and the excited
reader almost fmds himself Ustening to catch the wUd
strams which ascend heavenward, as thousands of glad
voices mingle in chantmg one of those pensive lays
which were treasured secretly during the iron sway of
" Old NoU," and rude snatches of which Sir Walter
Scott so aptly puts into the mouth of Ms unique charac
ter of Roger WUdi-ake : —
" Though, for a time, we see -Whitehall,
With cobwebs hung around the wall,
-yet heaven shall make amends for all,
¦When the king enjoys his own again.''
Then opens the beautiful picture which closes aU,
and wMch our author so briefly but brUliantly describes.
We see again that exciting scene which so charmed us
in the closing pages of Woodstock. Clouds of dust in
the distance, blazing rockets streaming against the
brighter rays of the sun, teU us that the restored wan
derer is approacMng, " Onward come, pursuivant and
trumpet ; onward come, plumes and cloth of gold, and
waving standards displayed, and swords gleaming to
the sun ; and, at length, heading a group of the noblest
in England, and supported by his royal brothers on
either side, onward comes "King Charles." * He is seen
to pass amid smiles of welcome, and tears of joy, and ex
ultant acclamation. But what suUen, sour, staid faces
are those wMch, amidst this general joy, alone venture
* Woodstock— page 283, vol. 2.

272 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
to frown at the monarch's approach ? Let the answer
be given in the matchless language of our author.
" On Blackheath the army was dra^wn up to welcome
the sovereign. He smUed, bowed, and extended his
hand graciously to the lips of the colonels and majors.
But aU Ms courtesy was vain. The countenances of the
soldiers were sad and lowermg, and, had they given
way to their feelings, the festive pageant of which they
reluctantly made a part would have had a mournful and
bloody end."
We have long thought that tMs splendid scene, on
wMch both "the great Unkno-wn" and "the great
Known ", have bestowed their inimitable powers of de
scription, must have been one ofthe most excitmg and
joyous spectacles that the world has ever -witnessed ;
and this declaration, w^ trust, will find us some aUow
ance with the reader who may chance to judge us aus
terely for thus long dweUihg upon it.
Havmg, at the end of the first chapter, safely
" lodged the restored wanderer in the palace of Ms an
cestors," Mr. Macaulay opens his second with a whole
some and'astute, though rather unmter esting disquisi
tion on the condition ofthe EngUsh Government at the
era of the Restoration. He condemns the inconsistency
and bad pohcy of aUo-wing the exUed famUy to return
without exacting new and rehable securities against
mal-admiuistration, though he mcHnes to disagree with
the majority of historians in representing the Restora
tion as a disastrous event. He seems to think, and
justly, no doubt, that tMs event, aU unqualified as it
was, dehvered the English people from the domination
of a soldiery that equalled the Pretorian bands of Rome
in capriciousness and ferocity. The crisis wMch fol
lowed the deposition of the weak successor of Crom- •
weU was, indeed, one of imminent danger to the integ-

MACAULA^sr'S HISTOEY OF ENfiLAND. 273
rity of the ancient and venerated constitutional govem
ment of England, A fanatical and mtolerant faction
had seized the reins, and supreme power was on the
verge of passmg into hands which would soon have de
moHshed aU the cherished landmarks of constitutional
Uberty, and substituted mstead a rule more gaUing,
more repulsive, and far more precarious than that even
of the Rump ParUament which had been indignantly
Mcked out of doors by CromweU. Then or never,
therefore, was the time for all lovers of rational liberty
to harmonize and unite, adjoummg, as Mr. Macaulay
says, aU factious differences untU a more convenient
season. Monarchy was found to be far preferable to
anj,rchy. The body of the English people acted ¦vrith
characteristic judgment and good sense; dissenting
politicians and rehgiomsts united for the common weal, ,
and the fruit of that union was the speedy and timely
restoration of the exUed monarch.
This chapter is truly a history ; differing thus from
the first, wMch is more m the style of a review. It is
a succinct and neatly arranged narrative of facts, inter
spersed with less of that digressive and continuous es
saying wMch we find in the precedmg, with fewer of
the romantic and entertaining episodes which abound
m those that foUow, and -with very Uttle indeed of that
proneness to tiresome biograpMcal detaU wMch dis
figures the entire work. If the whole had been -writ
ten in the style and method ofthe present chapter, the
book might truly have been less brUHant, less enter-
tainmg, and less rapidly sought after by the multitude.
But, at the same time, there can be Uttle doubt, we
tMnk, that it would more surely have outHved this
mere ephemeral and superficial popularity, ahd be
finaUy stored away with such authors as Hallam, as
Robertson, and as Clarendon, as a work to be consulted
12*

274 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
hereafter, more for sohd iostruotion and authority than
for entertainment merely.
During the earUer years of Charles the Second's
reign, England may be said to have been in a state of
transmutation. Duririg the reign of the Puritans all
kinds of pubUc and private amusements were sedu
lously and harsMy discouraged. The whole country
was a vast religious camp-ground for the operations of
drawling snufflers Hke " Tribulation Wholesome," or
" Zeal-of-the-land Busy," Hke " Praise God Barebones,"
or "Boanerges Stormheaven." The cottages were
fiUed with prototypes of " douce David Deans," — ^the
palaces -with sycophantic minions of Pym and Harrison.
The public squares, the viUage-greens, and cross-roads
were nowhere made merry by Punch and Judy, or
May-day festirities. Drawling sermons, tortuous pray
ers, and nasal psalmody in "linked sweetness long
drawn out," had supplanted aU such abominations and
sacrifices to the beast and to Baal. The nose of Ichar
bod Crane would have been rarely valued in an age
which produced Ludowick Muggleton, and other fer
vent "sons of grace," Hke himself. Such was the so
cial condition of England when the " merry monarch"
came home to his mheritance ¦with WUmot and VUUers,
and their accompanying trams of bastards and prosti
tutes, and pasquinaders and buffoons. The transition
was sudden — startling — ^bewUdering ; but, in one sense
it was complete. It was Uke exchangmg on the mo
ment, the sombre gloom of a prayer-meeting conducted
by samts and psalm-singers, for the gorgeous briUiancy
and entrancing scenes of an opera saloon. In a short
time, too short, it seemed, to be otherwise than a pleas
ing vision of the night, the churches wMch had long
been closed to the estabhshed form of worship were
again opened, and nave, and arch, and gallery, whose

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 275
echoes had long been sUent, once more resounded with
those loved and melodious strains which the solenm
organ hymned forth to celebrate this joyous exit of in
tolerance and persecution. The down-trodden and
proscribed drama was speedUy resuscitated, and the
play-houses were crowded mghtly -with blazing de
votees of fasMon and pleasure. The glittering pa
geantry of WMtehaU dazzled eyes which had long
been accustomed to view with awe the grave and
stately pomp of CromweU's court. The voluptuous
charms and winnmg graces of Eleanor Gwynn and
Louise de Qu^roauUe, shone ¦with a lustre in the saloons
and drawing-rooms that called up Hvely images of Ver
sailles and Marly, and wMch dimmed the vision of those
who could scarcely credit that these were the successors
of Mrs. Ireton and her staid sister. Armed troopers
and godly expounders of the Word were no longer
jostled in the ante-rooms of the presence-chamber.
Ambassadors, and nobles in their robes of State, lords
of the bed-chamber in their flo^wmg, splendid vest
ments, gaudUy attired pages in waitmg, and Hveried
lacqueys had now taken the place of these ; wMle, in
the presence-chamber itself was seen a showy, easy-
mannered and accomphshed personage, affording, in
every respect, a singular contrast to the grave deport
ment and mean appearance of his grim predecessor.
In fact, it was every where erident that the dommation
of the saints, both sociaUy and poUticaUy, was for ever
done. Nor is it to be taken for granted, that aU even
of this class moumed the do^wnfall and overthrow of
the sombre and cheerless reign. Many humble cot
tagers and peasants who had conformed to the pre
vailing habits doubtless for peace and security, rejoiced
when the time came that they might safely indulge
once again m fond Christmas festivals, and week-day

276 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
conviriahties ; and wUd country squires, and rude
jockeys and sportsmen, haUed the return of that hb
erty which reUeved their halls of crop-eared lecturers
and exhorters, and allowed them again to bear-bait and
horse-race. Some who, m the days of the Protectorate,
had been most fervent and vociferous in amens and
ejaculations during worship, afterwards took petty
bribes to pimp for Buckingham, and introduce favored
rivals of the kmg to the boudoir of Barbara Palmer,
Indeed, if the di-vine standard of secret thought and
forced compUance to right be erected by wMch to
judge, we should doubt most seriously whether the
moral condition of England was at a lower ebb after
the Restoration, than durmg the saintly dominion of
CromweU, We were pained, however, to find on page 169 of
this chapter, more eridence of that bitter spirit wMch
mfluences our author m his opposition to the Episcopal
form of religion. Not satisfled -with denouncmg the
prevaUmg immoraUty of Hbertinism, both in the poHti
cal and social world, Mr. Macaulay indirectly, and by
insmuation, seeks to lay some of the blame on the
Church of England. We are prepared to admit that
her clergy were too intent on reUgious vengeance
against Puritans, and too eager m extorting amends
for the piUage and deprivations they had suffered from
then- stem persecutors. But the pure morahty of the
Hturgy, the whole admii-able economy of the Church,
stand forth in noble vindication of slurs which a Ms
torian, whose duty is rather to mstruct than to prose
lyte, should be cautious m tMowmg out. Yet our
author does not hesitate to use the language ofthe fol-
lowmg sentences: "The ribaldry of Etherege and
Wycherley was, in the presence, and under the sanc
tion of the head of the Church, pubUcly recited by

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 277
female Hps in female ears, whUe the author of the PU-
grim's Progress languished in a dungeon for the crime
of proclaiming the Gospel to the poor. It is an un
questionable, and a most instructive fact, that the years
durmg which the political power of the AngHcan hie
rarchy was in the zenith, were precisely the years during
wMch national virtue was at the lowest ebb." — {p. 169,
vol. 1.)
It is impossible to mistake the intention of the au
thor in these sentences, or to avoid the mference so
unfevorable and unjust to the mtegrity of the Church
of England, Does Mr. Macaulay mean to say that the
Church was scandalized m the person and by the vices
of the monarch, or that she is responsible for the same ?
And yet it would seem that such are the points of al
lusion, inasmuch as " the head of the Church " aUowed
and countenanced ribaldrous indecencies. Under the
statute of Henry the Eighth, the kmg " is reputed to
be the only supreme head in earth of the Church of
England." This important relation of the king to the
Church is attributable to the connection in England
between Church and State, and is of a legal or govern
mental character exclusively. In this capacity he has
the right to nominate to vacant bishoprics, to convene,
prorogue, restrain, and dissolve aU ecclesiastical convo
cations. He alone receives a resignation from the chief
dignitary of the Church, the Archbishop of Canter
bury ; and to him Hes the ultimate appeal in Chancery,
from the sentence of every ecclesiastical judge. This
is the sum and substance of Blackstone's interpretation
of tMs connection of the king, as the supreme head,
vrith the Church. But, m no case is the king named
al guardian ofthe spirituahties of the Church. " Dur-
iftg the vacancy of any see in his province," says the
great commentator, in speaking of the Archbishop of

278 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
Canterbury, "he is guardian of the spirituahties there-
of, as the king is of the temporaUties." Under this
view of the subject, we think Mr. Macaulay's readers
have the right to complain of Ms dismgenuousness in
this mstance. It certainly is unfair to arraign the
Church for the immoralities of a king who is only her
supreme temporal head by rirtue of Ms sovereign pre
rogative, and who is the recipient, and never the dis
penser, of her spiritual benefits. The expression, alto
gether, is less worthy of an impartial historian than of
a disputatious and biassed controversiaUst, and forms
an exception to the general tone of the chapter.
The latter part of this first sentence, qjioted above,
can only be characteiized, we are bound to say, as
demagogical, and as being strangely out of place in a
grave work of Mstory. Nor is this aU. It does not
strictly convey the truth, nor does it leave the truth to
be inferred. At the time of Bunyan's most unjust con
finement he was not "the author of the PUgrim's Pro
gress," and it is more than probable that had he never
" languished m a dungeon," that beautiful and treasured
aUegory would never have been given to an admiring
world. During the civU war Bunyan had borne arms
in the Parhament army, and imbibed aU their austere
notions of reUgious duty and severity of life, as Hs
after career proves. Ha^ving inflicted upon himself a
series of mental tortures wMch would have teri-ified a
monk or a friar, he turned preacher, and, in open defi
ance ofthe law, began to proclaim tenets and doctrines
wMch were deemed miscMevous, and as being too
nearly allied to the dangerous inculcations wMch had
led to the fierce persecutions of the commonwealth, to
be pubUcly aUowed; and for this contumacy and oppo
sition to Government, and not "for proclaiming the
Gospel to the poor," was John Bunyan thro^wn into

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 279
prison, and left to drag out a miserable confinement of
twelve years, narrowly escaping the transportation to
which he had been condemned. It did not matter m
the eye of the law, nor do we presume that it was in
quired mto on his trial, whether Ms hearers were men
of wealth, or poor men ; the sentence, in either case,
would have been the same. It was during this long
and painful imprisonment that Bunyan conceived ideas
of authorship ; and then it was, in the depths of a dun
geon, more sombre and sohtary than the valley of the
Shadow of Death through which Christian is made to
pass hi his road to the Delectable Mountains, that he
indited that jvonderful book wMcIi has made Mm the
deUght of nurseries and firesides, of the palace and of
the cottage, and wMch has given immortahty to the
name of a tmker's son. It may not be without its pur
pose, that we add to this narration the fact that Bun
yan was, at last, released from prison through the
mfluence and intercession of one of that "AngHcan
Merarchy," wMch Mr. Macaulay so sweepmgly dispar
ages m the page before us.
We are unable to perceive any thing else than the
ebuUition of strong prejudice in the " unquestionable
and mstructive fact" wMch the author states in the
last sentence quoted. Apart from this, we cannot dis
cern its force and meanmg. We cannot discern its
pertinence to the history at aU. But, admitting the
fact, we deny the truth of the inference intended to be
deduced. The fact may be true, and yet not detract,
in the least, from the spiritual integrity or moral pre
tensions of the Church. If the legal re-estabUshment of
the " AngHcan Merarchy," after years of persecution
and proscription, is to be termed the " zenith of its po
Utical power," we do not perceive why this should con
nect the same with the profligacy of the age, or make

280 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND,
the Church responsible for the " low ebb of national
¦\ii-tue," immediately after the Restoration. PoHtical
power may be conferred and confirmed in a day, and
from the date of the enactment. Spiritual influence is
the work of time, of labor, and of unremittmg diligence.
At a time when all England was wUdly engaged in
celebrating the joyous Carnival which had, in this in
stance, succeeded a tortuous and long Lent, was deliri
ous ¦with excitement, and mad with deUght at escape
fi-om Puritan domimon, it might not have been safe or
politic — ^it certainly would have been no easy task-^for
the Church strmgently to have mterfered so soon after
her o^wn restoration, and to have impres^d her pure
morality and admirable precepts on a giddy population.
We have very great veneration for the ancient and
venerable Church of England, as weU as for its more
faultless branch in the United States, and, American
though we are, would most sincerely lament its down-"
fall as poUticaUy connected with the Government. We
beheve that separation would prove fatal ; or, in other
and plamer words, that the destruction of the one
would be the ineritable destruction of the other.
Much of England's national glory and aU of England's
happiness is attributable to her admirable and cherished
social attachments and associations, and these last are
closely mterwoven with her EstabUshed Church. We
can appreciate and understand our author when he
speaks of CavaUers, who, mdisposed to " shape their
lives accordmg to her precepts, would yet flght knee-
deep m blood for her cathedrals and palaces, for every
line of her rubric, and every thread of her vestments."
She is Ultimately connected ¦with aU the associations of
love, ¦Math aU the tender relations of marriage, and with
aU the fond endearments of home and of femUy. She
is a bond of umon between hostUe factions in the state.

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND, 281
Even ci^vU war and ruthless proscription could not
eradicate her influence, or destroy the strong hold she
has on the affections, the associations, and social preju
dices of a majority of the English people. It is, in
deed, " an unquestionable and a most instructive fact,"
that since her legal existence and connection "with the
state, no hostUe foot has trodden her soU, even if we
make an exception of the descent of WUHam the Third,
wMch was mvited and comiived at by the whole nation,
and in wMch Englishmen were the prime movers. We
have no desire to see these strong ties severed, or this
fortunate miion of Church and State broken, in a coun
try where is centred the peace and prosperity of two
great contments. We fully beUeve Mr. Macaulay when
he says, " that a civU war of a week on English ground
would now produce disasters which would be felt from
the Hoangho to the Missouri, and of which the traces
would be discemible at the distance of a century." —
{p. 32.) And it is for these reasons, and these alone,
that we regret that a writer of this author's great in
fluence and celebrity should partiaUy convert a work
of history to the purposes of depreciatmg an institution,
and disparaging an estabhshment, ui the most vital of
its claims to honor and reverence, on the perpetuity of
which, as we humbly conceive, depends the welfare of
the EngHsh Govemment, and, in that, the peace and
prosperity of the whole world.
But the same people who, m this age of profligacy
and immorahty, were entertained with the lewd pro
ductions of Congreve and Wycherley, were also suffi
ciently impressed ¦with the interests of ciril Hberty and
private rights to project and extort the great act of
Habeas Corpus, the day of the sanction of which our
author justly denominates " a great era in EngUsh Ms
tory," TMs key to the dormant and inactive immum-

282 MACAUIiAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
ties contamed in the Great Charter -was reluctantly
given over to the EngUsh people by their jealous mon
arch. Our" author teUs us (page 232) "-that the kmg
would gladly have refiised Ms assent to this measure,
but he was about to appeal from his Parliament to Ms
people on the question of the succession, and he could
not venture, at so critical a moment, to reject a biU
which was in the Mghest degree popular." So mate
rially, we thus perceive, do the most treasured rights
of manldnd depend on the caprice or pohcy of seMsh
rulers. In this chapter we are treated to concise and spirited
accounts of the Popish Plot, the Ryehouse Plot, the
perjuries of Titus Gates, so sickeningly bloody in conse
quences, and the treasons of Monmouth, Charles's bas
tard son by. Lucy Walters, who was married by Ms
father to the heiress of the noble Scotch house of Buc-
cleuch, a house from which coUateraUy descended, in
long after years, the " mighty vrizard of the North,"
the great " Author of Waverley." The important and
romantic interest which belongs to the hfe of this un
fortunate nobleman, together with the melancholy fate
wMch overtook him in the reign of his cruel uncle, au
thorize Mr. Macaulay in dwelHng on his birth, parent
age, and early court Hfe and military acMevements,
which he does m a manner at once the most entertain
ing and instructive. We are next introduced succes
sively to three of the most noted poUtical characters
wMch figure in EngUsh history. These are the younger
Hyde, Godolphm, and Lord Hahfex, whose name has
been commemorated, in divers ways, as weU in these
United States as in England. Mr. Macaulay has given
a description of tMs distmguished and influential states
man (the most so of Ms tune), wMoh, wMle it raises our
previous estimate of his consunomate abiUties, rather de-

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 283
predates our opmion ofthe consistency and mfleribUity
of Ms character as a statesman and minister. And we
might extend this remark to most .of those great men
whose portraits make up the general contents of this
volume and part of the next. It is a characteristic of
Mr. Macaulay, as a Mstorian as weU as reriewer, to deal
rather with the dark than the bright side of human
character. He goes mostly upon the levelUng princi
ple, and before he has done -with a character of history,
the reader scarcely knows whether to admire or to de
test ; and between the two issues, generaUy leaves both
for a feehng of contempt. We shaU give examples of
this propensity of our author before these desultory re
marks are brought to a conclusion.
The ludicrous account of the Dutch war excites our
contempt, at the same time that it moves us to laugh
ter; and the language in which this dark story of
Charles's reign is told, shows in a manner the most em
phatic, our author's utter detestation of " that feeble
tyrant," trembhng m Ms luxurious palace at the sound
of De Ruyter's cannons. " Then it was," says our au
thor, " that tardy justice was done to the memory of
Oliver. Every where it was remembered how, when
he ruled, aU foreign powers had trembled at the name
of England ; how the States-General, now so haughty,
had crouched at Ms feet, and how, when it was known
that he was no more, Amsterdam was Hghted up as for
a great deliverance, and cMldren ran along the canals
shouting for joy that the de^vU was dead.''" {p. 179.)
And, mdeed, at no period of her Mstory had the cMv-
alry of England been at an ebb so low, or her resources
so Httle understood or at command. Buckingham and
Rochester could flirt ¦with women, and venture a tUt
at swords ¦with jealous gaUants or outraged husbands
and fathers ; but they did not relish the sterner game

284 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND,
of meetmg armed Dutchmen ui battle. The few gal
lant spirits around the person of the king were dis
gusted with these insolent favorites, and shrank from
encom-aging a contest in which such mimons and para
sites might exert an influence at once to be deprecated
and dreaded. The position of England ui the Euro
pean system during this entire reign was far from being
important, if it was not even despicable. Indeed, she
was almost regarded as the mere vassal of France, as
her monarch certainly was the stipendiary of France's
king. And yet it was during this same feeble reign,
as Ave learn further on, that sprung the first germ " of
that great and renowned army, which has in the pres
ent century marched triumphant into Madrid and Paris,
into Canton and Candahar," To tMs army England
owes aU of her glory and aU of her greatness. Com
mercial houses whose operations extend from the
Thames to the Ganges, and from the Exchange of Lon
don to the bazaars of Pekin and Benares, would never
have reached beyond the European or American Con
tments, if even so far, if the miUtary spirit and strength
of the nation had been less fostered and cultivated.
Even so late as the present century, England might
have shared, at the hands of the French Conqueror, the
fate of Prussia and of Austria, but for this energetic
and formidable development of her martial power. It
can scarcely be doubted that, if rictory had declared
for Napoleon on the field of Waterloo, England would
have been crushed, or, at least, severely and ritaUy
crippled. And yet the civU Hberties of England are
not at aU endangered by her grand miUtary system.
Experience has abundantly sho-wn that the arm of- gov
ernment generaUy deemed the most dangerous to free
constitutions and free systems elsewhere is in tMs
country skilfuUy converted into an efficient and power-

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND, 285 .
ful arm of defence to both, England was never truly
great commerciaUy and poUticaUy, untU her regular
standing army was regularly established and appointed.
Here, in our judgment, May be found the best means
of solring the enigma which for two centuries has puz
zled mankind. It was not until then that her poHcy
expanded and ripened, not until then that her enter
prising citizens found that great wealth and great glory
might be made to travel hand in hand, and that both
must be found elsewhere than -within the narrow limits
of their o-wn island. From that moment, through aU
diasters and reverses consequent on long and bloody
wars, aU classes of society began to improve, and her
commerce began to spread and to prosper. Sirice then,
it is true, England has scarcely seen a whole year of
uninterrupted peace with the whole world, but, in the
mean time, she has scarcely experienced even the
slightest retrogression. Trite maxims of ethics may
do to inculcate as the basis of aU proper govermnent
in some countries ; England has staked her destinies on
pursumg the more practical system of poHtics.
The strong faith of Mr. Macaulay m Ms own plan
of -writing Mstory, as laid do-wn in his essay on " Ms
tory," and given to the world years since through the
pages of the Edinburgh Reriew, is abundantly sho-wn
in the third chapter of the first volume now before us.
The whole tenor and nature evince Ms desire to come
up to his own standard. The conformity of the his
tory to the model erected in the essay, in point of long
and occasional prosy detaU, m point of anecdote and
memoir, in point of biographical narration, and in pomt
of minute statistical inquiry, is admirable and emiaently
successful. The same ideas are advanced m his pleas
ing review of Mackintosh's history of James the Sec
ond — "a Mstoiy- of England" — ^he there says, after

286 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
having gone through Ms imaginary plan, " written in
tMs manner, would be the most fascinating book of the
age. It would be more in request at the circulating
Hbraries than the last novel."
A fleeting shadow of this coming event to be real
ized so gratifyingly in Ms own case, doubtless prompted
this remark. If Mr. Macaulay's ambition was directed
solely to attain the name of having written a Mstory
most mtensely " fascmatmg," and which would outstrip
cpmpetition with works of fiction m the race of demand
at the book depots, he has every reason to be satisfied,
for -Ms history has been even more sought after than
any of the " last novels." But with all becoming def
erence to so august a judgment, we stUl thmk that his
tory should be written mainly -with a view to some
thing else than these "charms" so pecuharly fancied
by Mr. Macaulay. With aU his staid and severe nar
rative, and " majestic etiquette " of method and style,
w^ must say that we tire less soon of Henry HaUam
than of T. Babiugton Macaulay, with all his flowing
redundancy of narrative, his rare accomplishment of
style, and his total disregard of those " conventional
decencies" of historical compUation which he denounces
as " absurd."
The chapter under consideration may be useful to
the masses of the curious, and to such as are fond of
mmute statistical research, especiaUy m England, but
we must hazard the confession that its great length, its
scrupulous, underiating particularity, even in the nicest
points, and its barrenness of general Mstorical interest,
wearied us sadly before we saw its end. The cause of
this may be, and we are bound to consider was, less in
the distinguished author's want of taste, than in our
o-wn want ofthe proper appreciative feculties, but so it
was, any way, and the confession must_pass for what it

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 287
is worth. We surely wished that the author had sought
less to avoid an error which he so unsparingly condemns
in other writers when, m the essay on Mstory, he speaks
of the most characteristic and interesting circumstances
being omitted or softened down, because too trivial for
the majesty of history. After preparing to read grave,
condensed Mstory as that " phUosophy which teaches
by example," we cannot find much of interest in length
ened descriptions of the size of great towns in such and
such a century ; of how mUliners, toy-men, and jeweUers
came down from London, and opened bazaars under
the trees which surrounded the watering to-wns of
Cheltenham, of Bath, of Brighton, and of Tunbridge ;
and of how fiddlers played, and morris dancers capri
oled " over the elastic turf of the bowHng green " of
fine gemal evenings. We do not look for such things
in a -work which has just absorbed our interest in re-
countmg the more solid scenes of Cromwell's career,
and of grave contests between monarchs and their par-
Haments. In Miss Pardee's Court of Louis the Four
teenth, andm Mrs. Jameson's Beauties ofthe Court of
Charles the Second, we deUght to read of these pleas
ing interludes and romantic indulgences ; but, after
conducting us to the very eve of that stirring epoch on
which he has promised his readers more particularly to
dweU, the ardent admirers of Mr. Macaulay (m the list
of wMch we regard ourselves) must pardon us for say
ing that the author wearied us by this long account of
what we conscientiously look on as "too trivial for the
majesty of history." The poUte Hterature of this brU
Uant Hterary age does not long arrest the attention of
Mr. Macaulay. A few pages of pithy, forcible reriew
make up all that we hear of it, whUe science and phy
sics are aUuded to only with distant reverence. Both
are themes eminently worthy of the historian's atten-

288 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
tion, but our author had treated of them too fully
elsewhere to patiently pause and go minutely over old
ground. The change in the character and spirit of Hterature
at tMs period is mainly to be ascribed to those essential
differences which marked the seventeenth century from
the preceding. With the substitution of living for the
dead languages, new tastes had been introduced and
were grown popular. The sixteenth century teemed
-with scholars of profound erudition ; but, in the latter
part of the seventeenth, the new phUosophy began to
obtain. As the great writer from whom we derive
these reflections remarks, " men were less leamed, but
more able ; " more subtle understanding and more ex
quisite discernment had been diffused through the re
public of letters. At the era of the Restoration every
species of taste had grown more sprightly, and from
this the Hterature of that period took tone and charac
ter. Literary ambition and interest were then mainly
absorbed in the drama, and to. this department the
change m taste had also penetrated. In France the
racy and brUHant productions of MoHere and Regnard
had supplanted those of the grave ComeUle, and more
exquisite and refined Racme. In England, as was
quite natural at such a time, the austere and prescrip
tive antipathy wMch had banished aU sources of amuse
ment durmg the reign of the saints, broke up effectu-
aUy the continuity of those works of elder dramatists
wMch had given tone before to sentiment, and made
way, after the Restoration, for a hghter, more fiivolgus,
and more meretricious species of dramatic entertain
ment. One extreme m any department of poHcy
adopted by one party, is sure to lead to the adoption
ofthe opposite extreme by another party, in retahation,
if from no other higher motive. Such was the case m

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 289
tMs instance, and it was under this new order of thmgs
that the gemus of a Congreve, a Dryden, an Etherege,
and a Wycherley, rose to the cuhnmating point, and at
tained to such enviable ascendency. To the more en-
tertainmg and hvely pecuUarities of style m these wri
ters over the old school, was added another attraction
wMeh lent superior lustre and fascination to dramatic
amusements. TMs was the introduction on the stage
of female performers, who had never been admitted
under the ancient r&gime. To tMs bold but adroit m-
novation on established custom, the theatre-loving
world is indebted for its long subsequent acquaintance
with the briUiant histriomc talents and accomphshments
of Mrs. Siddons and Miss O'NeU. In riew of the many
attractions of tMs fruitful theme, and of our admiration
of Mr. Macaulay as a -writer, we have sincerely -wished
that he had chosen to retrench other portions of the
chapter before us, and dwelt more at length on its de
scription. The few pages, however, wMch he devotes
to its 'consideration are captivatmg beyond aU paraUel. .
We only regret that we cannot transcribe largely for
the benefit of readers who have not met -with the Ms
tory, if, mdeed, there be such. We may add that these
fe-9 pages form the only oasis in the whole barren waste
of this chapter, m point, at least, of true historical in
terest. To quote, then, the fuU language of Jimius — we
now " turn with pleasure from tMs barren waste, where
no verdure quickens," and where no mterest fastens,
and open at a page wMch more than compensates for
aU of dryness that may have been encountered in the
precedmg chapter, and wMch kmdles at once to the
most mtense and ririd pitch. We ghde Hngeringly
over the successive paragraphs, and almost sigh when
the brUHant though melancholy scene is closed. It -will
13

290 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
be understood, of course, by those who have read tMs
book, that we allude to the author's grapMc and suc
cinct account of the dying hours of King Charles the
Second. AU the personages of the mournful drama,
aU the scenes and their smgular changes, appear at
once before the eye, traced and drawn out ¦with re
markable clearness and power. Barbara and Louise,
and Hortensia, the queenly and voluptuous Duchess of
Mazarin, mece of the great Crrdmal, were aU there, ra
diant ¦with robes and gems, lustrous in aU the glories
of matchless personal charms. We see the timid, mUd-
mannered queen, abashed before the superior beauties
of the king's frail sultanas, venturing nervously to the
bedside of her distressed husband, fearful, even in that
awfiil extremity, of indifference and repulse. There,
too, for the first time distinctly, we behold the grim
lineaments of the stem James, striving ¦with bastards
and prostitutes in kindly attentions to his departing
brother. Then comes the trials and struggles of
.Charles with the Protestant clergymen— their efforts
to console and absolve — ^his .strange apathy and indiffer
ence. At length the solemn hour approaches, the se
cret has been unraveUed by the devoted Louise ; and,
by that secret staircase wMch has so often been used
by CMffinch to introduce frail damsels, to his master's
bedchamber, a priest of the Roman CathoHo Church is
ushered into the room. Then the dying monarch
raises hunself from Ms piUow, receives meekly the last
solemn sacrament, and preserring to the last that " ex
quisite urbanity so often found potent to charm away
the resentments of a justly incensed nation," thanks his
attendants for thdr attentions and kindnesses, apolo
gizes for the length of time he had been dymg, and
then resignmg himself to the stroke, passes away with
out a struggle.

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 291
This is the mere abstract of pages which might fiir-
nish to a poet ample material for a tragic drama. No
scene was ever more splendidly or grapMcally described ;
no Uvmg moring scene was ever more cleai-ly realized,
or ever afforded more intense and absorbing deUght.
Innovation, bold and broad though it be, upon the con
ventional, estabUshed form of -writing history, to intro
duce so lengthy and minute a picture of a monarch's
death-bed, we yet cannot be so untasteful as to find
fault ¦with that which has afforded us such exquisite en
joyment. Immediately on the heels of this foUows the account
of the proclamation of James the Second as King, and
then comes that hollow-hearted speech to the CouncU,
so profuse in satisfactory promises wMch were after
wards so shamelessly falsified. From this point the
tM-ead of legitimate Mstorical narrative is taken up and
pursued, with very few exceptions, to the end of the
volume, ¦with unexceptionable tenacity. With the
odious retaliatory measures of religious persecution
which disgraced the reign of tMs cold-blooded mon
arch ; the tortures of the perjurer Gates ; the cruel
treatment of the Scotch Covenanters ; the contumeHous
secret negotiations ¦with France ; and the assiduously
pursued, crafty, mad-minded effort to crush the Estab
hshed Church, m order to restore the supremacy of
that of Rome, we have Httle or nothing to do in foUow
ing up the object of these remarks. The chapter con
tains much of biograpMcal delineation. Sir George
Jeffreys and the brutal quahties of character and disposi
tion so ¦vrithermgly attributed to him, fiU the reader ¦with
sensations of unmitigated disgust and loathing ; while
John ChurchiU, the fiiture illustrious Duke of Marlbo
rough, is described m that characteristic manner which,
as we have before said, leaves us in doubt whether to

292 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
abhor or to admire a man who fiUed the world with his
fame. The account of his early life really inspires con
tempt, and causes a regretful and unpleasing train of
emotions when we connect the same ¦with earlier and
more gratefiil impressions of the ¦rictor of Blenheim and
RamUUes, the proud conqueror of VUlars and a briUiant
array of brother marshals; the Captain-general of a
coahtion which embodied such commanders as Eugene
and Peterborough. We give Mr. Macaulay fuU credit
for candor and accuracy, but we cannot thank Mm, in
riew of these agreeable associations, for spoiling, ¦Midth a
dash of his cuttmg propensity, so interesting and ex
citing a connection of historical inquiry. There is
something unmeasurably disgustmg — especiaUy, as we
should thmk, to a proud Enghshman — when we connect
the hero of such mighty battle-fields, the active agent
of so mighty a coaUtion, ¦with the mean, low-mmded,
despicable, and petty miser and sharper of the history ;
vrith the kept minion of Barbara Pahner, Duchess of
Cleveland, from whose adulterous bed he was once
forced ignominiously to fly at the king's sudden ap
proach, or with the cringing recipient of a heavy purse
of gumeas from the haughty paramour, for ha^ving ac
compUshed, so successfuUy, a feat at once so ¦wither
mgly ridiculous and fuU of hazard. We should as little
feel obliged to an American Mstorian who, m gi^ring
the account of Washington's early manhood, should
choose to represent the Father of Ms Country in the
midst of Ms slave quarters, engaged in flogging a re
fractory negro tied naked to the stake. Such scenes in
connection ¦with the world's venerated heroes should
never find a place in history, wMch, we are told, is phi
losophy teaching by example. We can tolerate, m such
a memoir as that ofthe Duchess of Abrantes, the story
of Napoleon, as " Puss m boots," quarreling ¦with pert

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 293
young girls, and of Ms playing, whUe Chief Consul, at
chUdish games of leap-frog and prisoner's base, during
his recreations at Mahnaison. But how would such a
page as tMs appear m TMers' History of the Consulate
and Empire, where tMs same man is sho^wn to us as the
stem arbiter of the Duke d'Enghein's fate, as the victor
of Marengo and Austerhtz, and as the haughty Dictator
of prostrate kingdoms and empires ? As httle did we
expect to derive from the volumes before us impressions
of contempt for the character of the greatest Comman
der ever born in England, and the loftiest ornament, of
her history. As Mr. Macaulay is the first, so we trust
he ¦wUl be the last of historians who seek to combme
¦vrith the gravity and decorum of legitimate history
gossiping memoir and scandalous anecdote.
We come now to that portion of these volumes
wMch has, doubtless, startled all American readers.
In tracmg the character of WiUiam Penn, the venerated
Patriarch of one of our greatest States, our author has
opened a chapter of his life which we confess is new to
us, and, we imagme, to a great many others who have
preceded and may succeed us in readmg this work. It
is somewhat to be wondered at, that a man whose
shining virtues and spotless benevolence of character
have won for him heretofore the admiration and eulo
gium of historians, and whose name has been handed
do^wn through generations, even, of ¦wUd, untaught sav
ages as the choicest model of Ms Mud, should come in
for so immoderate a share of our author's keen sarcasm
and pungent exacerbation. Even Voltaire, the most
critical and supercUious of modem authors, and not
famous for universal leniency and tolerance, yet as
cribes to this good man quaUties of heart and of char
acter that alone would have made him immortal. —
{Diet. Phil, Art. Quakers.) Yet Mr, Macaulay would

294 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
have Ms readers to beheve that WilUam Penn would
have been delighted to take air passage from London
to Paris to have witnessed the tortures of Damiens.
He would have them beheve that he was miserly and
extortionate, cringmg, time-servmg, and hard-hearted,
to an extent that begets abhorrence. Penn, again,
belongs to that class of persons alluded to some pages
back, whom Mr. Macaulay first • exalts, then abases ;
praises in one breath, in the next damns ; and then
leaves Ms readers to doubt and to contemn. This pro
pensity remmds us of an anecdote, famihar m Missis
sippi, of a certam juror, who was caUed on to try an
issue between two suitors as to the right of property in
a calf The plaintiff's lawyer states Ms case, and our
juror at once conceives a verdict in his favori The
defendant's lawyer next explains the nature of his claim,
and our juror yields his first impressions. FmaUy, the
Judge sums up , the testimony, and expounds the law,
and, in this charge, so mixes up the points in dispute,
that our juror finds himself completely riddled, and
protests that he cannot say who does o-wn the calf.
But — asking the pardon of our author's admirers for
tMs Hberty — we must introduce one or two extracts
from the work to convey these impressions the more
properly, and to exempHfy the justice of these remarks.
After devotmg nearly an entire column to the praises
of WUHam Penn, our author {p. 471, vol. l) says: "Ms
enthusiasm for one great principle sometimes impeUed
him to violate other great principles which he ought to
have held sacred. Nor was his integrity altogether
proof against the temptations to which it was' exposed,
in that splendid and polite, but deeply corrupted soci
ety, with which he now mingled. The whole Court
was in a ferment with intrigues of gallantry, and m-
trigues of ambition. The integrity of Penn had stood

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 295
firm against obloquy and persecutions ; but now, at
tacked by royal smUes, by female blandishments, by
the insinuating eloquence and dehcate flattery of vete
ran diplomatists and courtiers, his resolution began to
give way. It would be weU if he had been guUty of
nothing worse than such compliances with the fasMons
of the world. UnhappUy it cannot be concealed that
he bore a cMef part m some transactions, condemned,
not merely by the rigid code of the society to which
he belonged, but by the general sense of all honest
men." Now, these involve a charge ofthe deepest corrup
tion, sensuahty, and hypocrisy. The courtier Peim,
intriguing with fraU, pretty women, seduced from hon
esty by flattery, easily cajoled and easUy bribed, and
the grave, benevolent-hearted, scrupulous patriarch
Penn, treating with, and winning the confidence of
rude sons of the -wUdemess, ruhng a colony by the law
of justice and moraUty alone, and then spurning to
obtain royal favor by abjuring the customs of his soci
ety, are two dissimUar characters wMch we cannot
reconcUe. The one is despicable, the other venerable.
We do not mean at all to impeach the authority of
Mr. Macaiday, but we must see the proofs before we
can be brought to beheve in their identity of person.
In this we are fortified and sustained both by the gen
eral voice of Mstory and the solenm denial of Mr. Penn
himself, when charged as guUty by his enemies of the
court. The mere fact that such charges were made hi
Penn's lifetime cannot be taken as proof of their truth.
Any man who occupies an enried position is Uable to
be -ritally impugned by his contemporaries. The
charge of " bargam and intrigue " to obtain the office
of Secretary of State under John Quincy Adams, has
been leveUed by unscrupulous enemies against Hem-y

296 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
Clay for more than a quarter of a century ; yet no de
cent Mstorian would venture to aUude to it otherwise
than in the stern language of reprobation. Even Wal
ter Scott suffered in pubHc opinion when it was found
that, m his life of Napoleon, he had condescended to
dignify with Mstorical notice petty scandals agamst his
illustrious subject. We -wiU hazard the assertion that
proofs just as strong going to show that Henry Clay
was basely bribed, that Napoleon caused Pichegru and
Captain Wright to be strangled m prison, and that he
wMspered proposals of incest in the ear of the Princess
Borghese, (both of wMch are aUuded to by Sir Walter
Scott, though quahfied with the expression of his dis
beHef m their truth,) can be brought up by active,
low-minded enemies, as any that can be arrayed to
show that Penn intrigued with the court beauties of
James the Second, and was bribed through Ms " vam
ty," as Mr. Macaulay intimates, to abet foul corruptions
repulsive to "the general sense of aU honest men."
Yet no one ever candidly believed the first, every body
rejects the second ; and we may safely add that no Ms
torian has ever before taken such pains to prove up the
third. During the reign of terror and bloody assizes under
Ja.mes the Second, a company of young girls who had
borne a banner in honor of Monmouth's entry into
Taunton, were suddenly arraigned and imprisoned, at
the instigation of the queen's maids of honor, in order
to -wring heavy sums in their ransom from the pockets
of wealthy parents and friends. The maids made sev
eral attempts to engage gentlemen to undertake this
task of unworthy extortion, but met with indignant
rebuffs and scornful answers. At length they appUed
to WUHam Penn. " Penn," says Mr. Macaulay, " ac
cepted the commission ; " and then the author adds.

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 297
sigmficantly, " yet it should seem that a Httle of the
pertmacious scrupulosity which he had often shown
about takmg off Ms hat would not have been alto
gether out of place on this occasion." — {p. 607.) The
sarcastic tone of tMs sentence cannot be misunderstood,
and betrays sufficient eridence of biassed judgment to
induce us to take Mr. Macaulay's character of Penn
with many qualifications and aUowances. The invidi
ous — at least unnecessary — aUusion, in another place,
to the fact that Penn rode post haste from Tyburn,
where he had just seen a man kick his life away under
the gibbet, m order that he nught not miss the show
of seeing a woman burned in London, strengthens our
impressions in tMs particular. Now we infer from the
general character of Penn, that a Mgh and hoble hu
manity of sentiment prompted him to both these acts
— so liable to be used as the means of blackemng Ms
fame. Never before ha^ving met ¦with either m any
defined form, (never -with the last,) we cannot venture
to contradict or defend further. Mr. Macaulay Mm
self thinks that this was the "probable" motive of
Penn on both these occasions. If we thought for a
moment that such was not certain, our veneration for
the name and memory of Penn would be speedily tum
ed into a feeling of unmitigated abhorrence and detes
tation. The first volume of this history closes amidst scenes
of melancholy and blood, appaUing and sickening to an
extreme that mspii-es disrelish for perusal. The awful
scene of Monmouth's execution; the bloody assizes;
the hanging, dra-wing, quartering, and transportation
of the hapless victims of revenge : rottmg skuUs grin-
nmg at every cross-road; the noisome atmosphere;
harro-wing scenes of domestic affliction and suffermg —
all told in the peculiar grapMc and forcible style of tMs
13*

298 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
author, make up a total of disgusting facts unparaUeled
in the world's history, and wMoh haunt one's reflections
for days after reading of them.
We shaU not extend these remarks to the second
volume, at this tune ; our only remaimng task is, there
fore, to condense and sum up our impressions of the
general tone and character of the first.
Upon the whole, then, we are incHned to regard
this work more as a terse, weU-digested, and brUUant
essay on the Mstory of England, than what it purports
to be — a history proper of England. It is altogether a
new visitor to the circles of the literary world, both as
to manner and method of teUing history, and, in tMs
sense, has attracted, as was naturally to be expected,
unparaUeled admiration. But Hke all preternaturaUy
bright bodies m another sphere of attraction, it par
takes more of the meteoric than of the fixed or mtran-
sitive nature, and, we are inclined to beheve, wUl be
pronounced in the end rather splendid misceUany than
unadulterated Mstory. But it has served its purpose.
Mr. Macaulay has allured many to a branch of reading
which has generaUy been considered forbiddmg and
uninvitmg, and Ms brUHant, captivating style has in
duced and held many to a task who might have been
repeUed by the austere gravity of Hallam, or the pithy
sententiousness and severe condensation of Hume. He
has smothered the harsh frown and -wrinkled brow of
English Mstory, and wreathed her face with wmnmg
smUes, and m this has acMeved a pleasing revolution in
the taste and character of the Hterary world. WMlst,
therefore, he may not inspire the distant, reverential
awe associated with HaUam or Robertson, his pages
-wUl always be opened -with that agreeable anticipation
of healthy and rational entertainment which possesses a
reader of KenUworth or Ivanhoe. Nor do we consider

macaulay's HISTOEY OF ENGLAND. 299
such comparison with these last wonderful productions
at aU disparaging to the claims of this Mstory. Sir
Walter Scott has, it is true, created many of Ms grand
est scenes, and clothed them with a garb and face of
startling reality. Mr. Macaulay has thrown around
real and authenticated scenes of history aU the dazzhng
attractions of fanciful conception. TMs pecuHarity
constitutes the principal charm of his history — a pecu
Harity and novelty of feature that must ever secure to
it, independent of glaring mnovations and bold episod-
ings, a welcome place in aU private Hbraries. It bears
no resemblance to the historical works of the authors
we have named. To compare Mr. Macaulay's Mstory
to that of any of these, would be Uke comparing a
luminous mezzotint, or rich, variegated enamel, to the
more grand, but at the same time more subdued, paint
ings of Rubens or Corregio.
When it was made known to the world that Da-
guerre had published his celebrated discovery — that a
process had been invented by means of wMch lifeUke
representations of person and of landscape could be
taken by the agency of light only, reflected through
the camera obscura, that the images thus produced
were so clearly expressed that sUk- might be distin
guished from satin, and marble from plaster, every body
predicted that the easel and the brush would be abol
ished, and that the art of painting would be effectually
superseded by this more speedy and wonderful method.
And for a time it seemed that this prediction would be
verified. Painters looked sad, and' began to throw
aside canvas and paUet, and to purchase cameras and
copper plates. Curiosity ran -wUd. Old pictures and
famUy portraits became objects of jest and ridicule, and
for a moment the splendid gaUeries of Florence and of
Rome were forgotten and neglected. But it was only

300 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.
for a moment that the daguerreian process held this su
premacy. WMle aU yet admire the genius of the dis
coverer and the strange and novel splendors of the dis
covery, whUe the magic operation stiU contmues to
dazzle and to puzzle beholders, it is yet evident that it
is placed subordinate to the grander and more enduring
acMevements of the pencU. In making the apphcation
of this apologue (if we may thus speak), we mean only
to express our conrictions that historical works of this
class and description, brUHant though they may be, and
sparklingly as they may be welcomed, -wiU be consigned
to a Hke subordmate station when compared -vrith the
labors ofthe elder and greater race of Mstorians. We
do not even mean to say it is our behef that Mr. Ma
caulay -wiU meet this fete. There are many reasons to
beheve that he wiU not. His vast gemus, his profoxmd
learning, Ms Hterary accomplishments, the feme -with
wMch he has fiUed the two hemispheres as a misceUa-
neous -writer and reviewer, added to the fact that he is
the author as weU as leader of this style of writmg his
tory, may, and most probably -wiU, effectuaUy preserve
him from the fate of less gifted or less fortunate imita
tors and successors.
But it is time these remarks should be brought to a
close. We shaU reserve much that we had intended to
say, in this connection, for some future contmuation of
a task which was undertaken less to criticise, than to
endeavor to show that even the greatest -writers, when
movmg in a sphere of authorsMp different from that m
wMch we have been most accustomed and dehghted to
hold converse -with them, are very apt sometimes to
disappoint Mgh expectations.

WILLIS'S POEMS.*
This book is certainly a Hterary curiosity — ^not be
cause of its superior merits or rare composition, but be
cause of its smgular popularity and success, when we
compare these with its absolute unworthmess. Mr.
WUUs Mmself has long been eminent among a certain
class of American Hterateurs, and Ms writings have
generaUy been puffed into a sickUed notice through
their influence ; added to the efforts of a whole legion
of venal journalists, whose mferior talents, whoUy dis
proportioned to their ambition, find always a most
agreeable task m coming to the rescue of poems ema
nating from their cherished model, and whose life and
occupation consist m playing an eternal and endless
game of " Tommy, come tickle me ; " that thus, by a
method of amiable coUusion, they may hoist their con
federates and themselves mto an ephemeral notoriety.
Now, as we, in common -with all true friends to
geniiine American Hterature, have a thorough contempt
for this species of -writers and Hterary representatives —
though these are not the most objectionable class — and
sincerely regard them as obstructions to aU healthful de-
* The Poems, Sacred, Passionate, and Humorous, of Nathaniel
Parker Willis. Complete edition, revised and enlarged. Kew York :
Clark, Austin & Co. 1850.

302 WILLIS'S POEMS.
velopment of a pure national Hterature, we have a mind
to express our opinions quite freely and candidly in
connection with Mr. WUUs's book. But we desire it
to be distinctly understood that no personal antipatMes,
as concerns our author, prompt us to the task. We
have 'no acquaintance, personaUy, -with Mr. Willis. We
never met him or saw him, to Our knowledge, and we
know notMng unfavorable to his character or reputa
tion ; for if we did, we should be very fer from entering
into a reriew of his poems, which, we fear, may justly
be considered harsh and condemnatory. If we had any
personal spleen to vent, we shoiUd seek a more manly
course of satisfection ; whUe we should regard a goose-
quiU ebuUition of wrath as contemptible and ridiculous
— indeed, dishonorable. We are thus particular, be
cause we have an especial object in view whUe we. go
through with our task of criticism, which object mainly
is to expose the unworthiness of Mr. WiUis and Ms co
terie to represent American Hterature, and, at the same
time, to unfold some of the causes wMch make us, in a
Hterary sense, the slaves of EngHsh writers, and the
mere tools of Anglo-American pubhshers. We shaU
address our efforts, in an especial manner, to this latter
class, for we beUeve that they are justly answerable for
the ascendency of that herd of venal pretenders to
literary exceUence, whose daUy flip-flap from job presses
not only discourage meritorious and independent com
petitors, but have created such disgust for home Htera
ture as to divert the mterest of our truly tasteful and
hterary people across the waters, and to sicken them
at the sight of an American work. Their selfish and
unpatriotic conduct is manifested daUy. Not content
with fiooding our country with mutUated and spurious
EngUsh books, we are favored by these enterprising
gentlemen with repiints of foreign magazines and re-

WILLIS'S POEMS. 303
views, to the serious and ruinous disparagement of our
American works of that description. They go even
farther. Their bloated fortunes are sparsely lavished
on EngHsh and French writers, who, unprotected
against American book pirates, and debarred from all
pecuniary profits in this coimtry, are -wiUing to write
for penmes, rather than lose all. A monthly maga
zine may thus be gotten up by influential and wealthy
houses, which -wUl overmatch American productions, as
weU in quantity as quaUty of matter. American -wri
ters and journalists are generaUy too poor to -write and
work for notMng, which they must do if they would
enter into competition with Anglo-American writers
and Anglo-American pubhshers. The absence of an in
ternational copyright law cuts off British writers in
America,, and, vice versa, cuts off American ¦writers
fi-om aU profits m Great Britain. Hence, a large pub
lishing house, like that of the Harpers, wealthy, infiuen-
tial, and anti-American in feeling as concerns Hterary .
development and encouragement, may easUy sweU their
enormous gains by pampering British writers who are
legaUy debarred from copyright in this country, and
who, poorly paid" at home, pleasantly condescend to
pick up pennies from foreign bidders ; whUe an Ameri
can-hearted publisher, devoted to the culture of home
literature, and forced to pay high for good writers, is
crowded out of the market.
It is not difficult to perceive the drift and intent of
these prefatory discursive remarks. We mean to be
understood as endeavoring to demonstrate, that we,
Americans, owe all our literary discouragements 'to
Anglo-American put Ushers. An American journal or
review, Mgh-toned and able in character, is necessarily
very expensive, because its contributors must, in gen
eral, be well paid. But' an Anglo-American pubUsher,

304 WILLIS'S POEMS.
who refuses Mgh-toned American productions, wMch
are protected by law, and casts Ms bait for British
¦writers who have no copyright pri^rileges in our midst,
is at no expense save that of Ms paper and type. The
last can afford to underseU the first, and, of course, ob
tains precedence vrith the pubUc. American readers
are far more famiUar -with British noveUsts, poets, es
sayists, and Mstorians, than with those of the United
States. Thus is America made the slave of England,
literarUy, not for want of equal talent on the part of
her writers, but from the selfish pohcy of large and
influential pubhshers. An American joumaUst is un
derbid by literary poachers on British disabUities. The
American ¦writer offers Ms work to an Anglo-American
pubUsher, only to be told that a British work of equal
merit can be thrown before the pubhc free of all orig
mal cost. Hence American literature is almost in the
dust; and when Irvmg, Cooper, Prescott, and some
few other master souls shall have passed away, it is
greatly to be feared that genuine American hterature
wiU be -without a worthy representative.
Such are some of the hapless causes from which has
sprung the sickly ascendency of such poetry as that of
Mr. WUlis, and his numerous confreres. America is
without a poet, or a poetical prestige. Here, m our
opinion, is the reason. We have no Byron, no Moore,
no Walter Scott. The minds, if any such have ever
been bom m our midst, which felt a consciousness, per
haps, of uisph-ation aMn to theirs, have shrunk from
competition -with mere handicraft pretenders, or else
have been deterred by repulsive and avaricious pub
lishers. But we have Mr. WUlis, and, as the Coryphrous
of his venal band, it is -with Mr. WUlis we mtend to
deal. He has habituaUy assumed to himself, for a long
series of years, a species of supremacy in the second-

WILLIS'S POEMS. 805
rate Hterary circle, wMch makes him pre-eminently flt,
and proper, and legitimate game for our present under-
takmg. The lofty and self-important tone wMch dis
tinguishes, even yet, his weekly editorial buUetms, im
presses, and is doubtless designed to impress, aU readers
-with an idea of Ms judicial superemmence in literary
affairs. Nor have we the least fault to find -with tMs.
On the contrary, we award to Mr. WUUs a Mgh and
enviable degree of moral courage in playing Ms game ;
for it must be confessed, m view of Ms sleilder materi
als, that he plays Ms game -with remarkable address.
It is not every day that we find a man who has the
courage to put forth and father such a production as
Mr. WUUs's " Sacred Poems," and yet complacently
and serenely supererogate weekly patronage to aU
other American poets and -writers.
Nobody -wUl doubt, we imagine, but that Mr. WU
Us has acquired his poetical notoriety by means of a
systematic and weU-directed course of magazine and
newspaper puffing; for no sane person, we are per
suaded, can read his poetry, and trace the same to any
merits he possesses in that line. We know that puffers
can do much. We know that authors, when placed in
certain situations, can do more stiU, to emblazon their
works, and snap pubhc opimon, or rather pubhc noto
riety. But we confess that, to our judgment, neither
puffers ^er se, nor puffed authors ^ar excellence, ever ac
compUshed a more dexterous or unaccoxmtable achieve
ment than when they succeeded in puffing Mr. N.
Parker WiUis into existence as a poet. It is no incon
siderable source of amusement, we may remark en pas
sant, to sit apart and watch the trickery of now-a^day
authors, especiaUy poetical authors, to create for them
selves a salable notoriety* The method is complete,
and may lay claim to quite a venerable antiquity. The

306 WILLIS'S POEMS.
proprietor of a magazme projects a creditable scheme
to disseminate agreeable Hght reading, mingling ¦with
the same fashion plates, fancy engra-vings, and much
leamed talk about tournures and trousseaux. He en
Usts one or two reaUy talented and able writers, and a
dozen or two second and third-rate writers. The first
require too high pay to fill up an entire number -with
their ¦writings. Therefore, the last are caUed m to fiU
up the intervals ; serving the first pretty much m the
same capacity as common actors, m a stock company,
serve the "star" actor. By-and-by the best of the
commoners is selected for a puff offering ; and then the
clangor of editorial clarions begins : " Wonderful gemus
developed," " unrivalled d^but," " Tom Moore surpass
ed," " Walter Scott equalled," " Byron matched," and
many other rare and rich specimens of genume blarney
are blazoned on the covers, and new contributions an
nounced from the pen of some " newly-discovered, fast-
rising, and world-eclipsing poet." The whole pack of
venal pennymen open on the scent, and weeks and
months are consumed in crying up a literary synonym
of " Jarley's wax works,'' or Bamum's " Chinese lady."
In the mean whUe, the readers of the magazine are aU
agape with astonishment at theu- protracted obtuseness
as regards the merits of this amaring chUd of letters.
They have whUed away years of LntLmacy ¦with the
author's writings, and yet were required to be waked
up to his accomplishments. The dm of trumpets is
systematically prolonged; their ears are sp contmu-
ously racketed -with the noise of his acMevements, that,
at length, they read every thing bearing such a re
doubtable name, and tacitly consent to have him en-
roUed as a standard author.
TMs account -wUl not, we incUne to think, be con
sidered too overwrought or exaggeratory to those who

WILLIS'S POEMS. 307
are familiar with the readmg of the various Hterary
newspapers and magazines of our northern cities. At
aU events, we think we may safely say that the " Sa
cred Poems " of our author are mainly indebted to tMs
species of collusive heraldry for their singular notoriety.
And to mcrease the chances of their bemg shelved as
standard specimens of American poetry, Mr. Wilhs has
thought proper, we suppose, to bring them out at tMs
time, m connection ¦with other poems, prefaced with a
serene-tempered, somewhat self-gratulatory introduc
tion, and quite a pretty picture of himself m one of his
most sentimental attitudes.
Whatever may be our opinions, ive are, however,
constrained to criticise Mr. WUlis as a poet. Maga
zine publishers and newspaper editors chromcle his
comings and his goings, his sayings and Ms writings,
his adventures and his onslaughts, as those of "the
poet." He himself teUs us that he " has no hesitation
in acknowledging the pedestal on which pubUc favor
has placed him." We are forced, therefore, to regard
such high authority ; and as he looms forth to the pub
Hc eye, self-sculptured and architraved, we should be
wanting m respect to " pubhc favor," not to recognize
Ms claims to the name of poet.
We expect to confine this article mainly to a notice
of the " Sacred Poems," as these, we beheve, are gen
eraUy supposed to form the principal cornice of that
"pedestal" to which our author refers. We must
begm by saying that they are, to our judgment, very
tame and unsuccessful transpositions of beautifiil Scrip
tural incidents. That which is intended for poetical
amplification and Ulumining, pales and flickers beside
the unpretending but impressive diction of the sacred
writers. Indeed, in the progress of their perusal, we
meet oftentimes, as we shall presently demonstrate.

308 WILLIS'S POEMS.
-with reaUy pitiful and sickly attempts to retouch and
embellish what has been far better told in the original,
thousands of years ago, when languages had scarcely
assumed definite fbrm. They abound with expressions
which are not only shamefuUy unpoetical, but are un-
euphomous, ungraceful, and improper ; whUe they are
most untastefully repeated, as appUed to the different
characters, and for lack of originaHty of thought, in
nearly every poem of the series.
We cite, as an instance of this striking want of true
taste in the choice of expression, the foUo^wing Unes
from the poem of " Jairus's Daughter : "
" The old man sunk
Upon his knees, and in the drapery
Of the rich curtains buried up his face." *
Also the foUowing from the poem of " The Leper : "
"And in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face."
Again, in the " Sacrifice of Abraham," we are fa
vored with the same expression as the first, as fol
lows: " And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself,
And bwried up his face," &o.
In the poem on " Absalom," David is reduced to
the same grievous necessity as Jairus and Abraham,
but the expression is shghtly varied for the better,
thus: " He cover'd up his face, and bow'd himself," &c.
"We next find "Hagar" seekmg hke consolation
as her predecessors in the volume :
" And, shrouding up her face, she went away," &c.
The last example to which we shaU refer in corrob
oration of our aUeged feult against " the poet," is found

WILLIS'S POEMS. 309
in the poem of " Lazarus and Mary," where the latter,
seemingly in a sort of mesmeric commumcation with
Hagar, Darid & Co., resorts to the. very same expedient
wMle grie^ring :
" She cooer'd up her face, and turn'd again
To wait within for Jesus."
Now, we contend that the term " buried up," or
" shrouded up," is not only an unpoetical and ungrace
ful, but a manifestly incorrect term, besides bemg harsh
and discordant ; not to mention the fact that the ex
pression is used six or eight times in short, succeeding
poems, comprising m aU only some fifty-eight pages.
We had better say bury dawn than " bury up," for the
first is more likely; but the phrase, either way, is
clearly unchaste — especiaUy when, seekmg to ghde
softly through the melodious flow of blank verse. We
chance suddenly to stumble against its roughness. In
deed, we must say that Mr. WUUs pays quite a poor
compliment to the taste of his readers when he supposes
that they ¦wUl charitably endure such continuous and
ugly repetitions, in the absence of aU excuse for such,
unless he shaU plead, m extenuation, a want of origi
nality, or an over-desire to obtain those " present gains "
wMch, in Ms preface, he very frankly tells us, were
more Ms object than was any " design upon the fiiture."
We might, probably, account for the uncouthness of
expression more easUy. In truth, we feel greatly in
clined to attribute the same less to a want of proper
discrnninative powers, than to the feeling of arrogant
confidence which easily prompts to immoderate self-in
dulgence and unaUowable Hberties, those persons who
are under the influence of that intoxication which is en
gendered by incautious admiration of themselves.
But more than all, we must seriously object to the

310 WILLIS'S POEMS.
justness of that popular award which seems to ha^ve
greeted these poems, because of their unpleasing, spirit-,
less sameness and resemblance. They are ahke in
thought, in character, in description, and in language,
nearly ; and if the names were not different, and the
scenes shghtly shifted, we might unconsciously mistake
Jairus for David, and Abraham for Jephthah ; as also
the Shunamite mother for the ¦vridow of Nain, Hagar
for Rizpah, and Absalom on his bier, for Lazarus as he
lay shrouded for the grave. There is a gratmg continu
ity of aU the essential features and groundwork which
form each separate poem throughout the entire series ;
and, even if they possessed mtrmsic merits, aU mterest
in them would be marred and spoiled by so inexcusable
a blemish. We turn over leaf after leaf without finding
that reUef which is so necessary when engaged in read
ing poetry; that variety of thought and description
which constitutes the secret of true poetical composi
tion, and without whieh, as they well know, the best
of -poets become soon msupportably tiresome. The ge
nius of Spenser and of Ariosto is universaUy admired
and admitted ; yet no one wades through the Faerie
Queene or the Orlando Furioso, ¦without wearying sadly
under the weighty and monotonous versification. We
do not, by any means' intend to compare Mr. WUlis or
his " Sacred Poems " to these fathers of poetry and
their hallowed chefs d'ceuvre / -we mean only to say that
he has faUen into their only error — and that, not be
cause he mtended to do so on the ground of aUowable
precedent, but because, although poet-bom as he seems
to thmk, he has feUed to learn one ofthe very first ele
ments of the ars poetica. Our private opinion is, to say
truth, that these awkward and uncomely transpositions
of Scripture were squirmed forth by their author just
as the blank pages of Mr. Godey's " Book 'J required,

WILLIS'S POEMS. 311
or as Mr. Godey's purse could afford, montUy offerings
to the pUe of those " present gains." Their arrange
ment and composition do not indicate or foreshadow
that slumbermg genius wMch, after long years have
passed, can now mspire its possessor ¦vrith such exultant
confidence as to herald the pubUcation of his early-day
poems -with an assurance to his readers that the " ripe
ness of poetical feeUng and perception are all before
him." The series forms a perfect famUy, in which the
resemblance between the various meinbers is so great
as to strike the most casual observer. Each succeeding
poem is but a transfiguration of its predecessor ; and
the shade of difference is so slight as to be almost im
perceptible, excepting, as we have said, as to locahty
and name.
Sir Walter Scott, in his book on Demonology and
Witchcraft, if we may pursue farther this course of re
mark, teUs us of a young London gentleman who, from
extreme nervous disarrangement, was seriously annoyed
by a troup of phantoms which appeared to Ms vision
mghtly at a certain hour. He found it necessary to
caU the advice of a medical gentleman. After examin
ing the state of Ms patient, the physician adrised a re
moval to Ms country seat. The change of scene effected
wonders. The patient thanked Ms physician, deter
mined on settling permanently in the country, broke
up Ms house m town, and brought Ms furmture to the
rilla. But this, alas ! proved to be a fatal move. The
sight ofthe famUiar furniture re-rived the unhealthy as
sociations of his malady, and he had scarcely retired to
bed before the whole company of dancing spectres re
appeared -with an expression of countenance that seemed
to say to him, " Here we all are agam ! Here we all
are again ! "
Now this anecdote we take to be aptly illustrative

312 -WILLIS'S POEMS.
of the character and style of Mr. WUUs's series of Sa
cred Poems. We read the first and second, and then,
for a rest, lay the book aside. In a short time we take
the notion to resume. We naturaUy look for some
novelty and refreshment. But, lo ! the third is but the
first and second, dignified mth a change only of inci
dent and name ; the same thoughts, the same concep
tions, the same descriptive outUnes, except, perhaps,
that one transpires at day-dawn, another at noontide,
and the third at t-wUight or late evening. With the
precision of a musical box, which is wound up at mter
vals that it may play over the same tunes agam and
again, we find iSlr. WUUs, in nearly every successive
poem of his sacred series, true to Ms famUiar portrait
ures of a distressed father, an anguished and doting
mother, an interesting corpse, and a mLoistermg spu-it ;
varied only as the scenes are made severaUy to occur
by sunUght, or starUght, or moonhght.
But there are, m these poems, other and more seri
ous blemishes than those of repetition and sameness,
merely. The diction is oftentimes imperfect, and some
times quite obscure. For mstance, in the openmg lines
of the poem of Jairus's Daughter, we have the foUow
ing lines : " The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips,
And as it stirred -with the awakening wind," &o.
Here is a palpable impropriety. The pronoun it must
refer to the noun nominative, or the sentence is without
meaning ; and if it be mtended thus, the idea is non
sensical, for we are at a loss how to imagine that " the
awakenmg wind" can stir the shadow of a leaf; and
yet shadow is the relative of it, as leaf is m the objec
tive case. We have heard of " airy tongues that syUa-
ble men's names," where the scene supposed is mingled

WILLIS'S POEMS. 313
with somethmg unnatural or superstitious; but, in a
plain, matter-of-fact case, taken, too, from Holy Scrip
ture, we have never before observed where shadow is
so complacently made substance. Nor are we at all
satisfied, as a reader of poetry, or of what is meant for
poetry, with the figure of speech to wMch Mr. WilUs
here resorts to bring forth Ms idea. There is somethmg
strained in the idea of castmg the shadow of a leaf on a
dying girl's lips. Her bosom, her cheek, her forehead
— any ofthe three could more properly have been used
than lips. The whole sentence is mawMsh and ungain
ly, even though it had been properly constructed.
A few lines further, speaking of Jairus as he " buried
up his face " m the drapery of cm-tains, he thus goes on :
"And when the twilight fell, the silken folds
Stirr'd vM, his prayer, bnt the slight hand he held
Had ceased its pressure ; and he could not hear,
In the dead, utter silence, that a breath
Came through her nostrils ; and her temples gave
To Ms nice touch no pulse ; and at her -mouth
He held the lightest curl that on her -neck
Lay with a mocking beauty," &c.
Here we have agam a most obscure and incorrect
pMase, msomuch that one cannot easUy imagine how
sUent prayer can possibly stir " sUken folds." There
is, moreover, an ungraceful abundance of anatomical
delineation ; for we have, in the few Hues quoted, Httle
else than a description, in regular succession, of hJands,
nostrils, temples, mouth, neck, &o., besides ' the rather
odious picture of a delicate, dying young lady breathing
through her nose.
The seven or eight opening Hues of the next para
graph -wiU do something better, and possess a moiety
of prettiness : "It was night;
And softly, o'er the sea of Galilee,
14

314 -WILLIS'S POEMS.
Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore,
Tipp'd -vrith the alver sparkles of the moon,
The breaking waves played low upon the beach
Their constant music, bnt the air beside
Was stall as starlight, and the Saviour's voice,
In its rich cadences unearthly sweet,
Seem'd like some just-bom harmony in the air.
Waked by the power of wisdom."
But, after much tame and badly-conceived descrip
tion, we find m the closing paragraph a repetition of
the author's anatomical peculiarities, in a long and fiil
some jeremiad about " transparent hands " and " taper
ing nails;" "nostrils spirituaUytliin" and "breathing
curve ; " " tmted skin " ahd " assure vems ; " " jet lash "
and " penoUl'd brow ; " " hair unbound," " smaU, round
ears," "poUsh'd neck," and "snowy fingers." Each
noun is regularly mated with an adjective, two, three,
or more, as the length of the Hne may admit, or as the
author's invention may quicken. In the midst of this
poetasting dissection the first of the series closes, ab
ruptly, ,
The second is taken from the Scripture account of
a person whom Christ cured of the leprosy as he was
passing on to Capernaum, The incident is narrated by
St, Matthew m the eighth chapter, second, third, and
fourth verses of Ms Gospel, thus :
2, "And behold, there came a leper and worshipped him, saying.
Lord, if thou -wilt, thou canst make me clean.
3. "And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I
TV-ill : be thou clean. And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.
4. " And Jesus saith unto him, See thou tell no man ; but go thy
way, show thyself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses com
manded, for a testimony unto them."
The manner and style of this pithy narration are
exceedmgly chaste and unpressive; -with a melody and
sunpUcity of diction, at the same tune, that faU agreea-

WILLIS'S POEMS. 315
bly on the ear, and are e-rincive of much closer alHance
-with true metrical harmony, than is the pompous and
elaborated poem of wMch we are ispeakmg. But Mr,
Willis has chosen to misconceive the spirit, and to mis
interpret the facts of the incident — both, too, to the
disparagement ofthe gospel version. He sets out with
a wammg flourish of trumpets, and an array of notes
of exclamation truly appaUing, and which are wholly
at war with the mUd and unpretending features of the
real mcident. The Bible scene is eminently character
istic of aU that was lovely in the Saviour's eartMy min
istrations ahd associations. The portrayal made by
Mr, WUUs m his poem is unstriking, and very badly
concdved m every respect ; whUe its execution is so
flat and commonplace as to excite a feeUng of amaze
ment that the author should ever have been reckoned,
or should presume to reckon Mmself, a poet. There is,
besides, an ungraceful perversion of one ofthe not least
impressive facts, which robs the story of its principal
charm, Jesus, after healing the supphant leper, bids
him " teU no man," but to go and " show himself to
the priest," and offer the gift as commanded by Moses,
Mr, WilUs, on the other hand, and -with most unac
countable want of artistic taste, chooses to send Ms
leper to the priest in the fii-st mstance, and that not to
offer " the gift " as " testunony," but to solicit a cure,
or rather to hear an official affirmation ofthe " doom "
wMch he was already expiating. Now we can imagme
something pecuharly interesting, as weU as suggestive,
in connection with Matthew's story, — of how the poor
crushed rictim of a loathsome disease might faU at the
Saviour's feet, and implore that compassion which he
had heard was never sohcited Ln vam; and, being
healed, should fhen go to the soul-hardened priest, and
show himself, as directed, with the gift in hand. But

316 WTLUS'S POEMS,
we are unable to perceive the beauty or force of Mr.
WiUis's tortuous and unnatural version, or of the -wiz-
ard-hke malediction which he puts mto the priest's
mouth. We seriously object, also, to the application
and correctness of the foUowmg simile, when, speakmg
of Jesus, he says :  " Yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and if He smiled,
A hingly condescension graced bis lips.
The I'lon would have crouch'd to in his lair."
A look of command is always associated with pride,
or with haughtiness of demeanor, or -with some physi
ognomical development indicative of superiority. The
Saviour is not thus represented ; but is always humble,
meek, unpretending, and studiedly unostentatious ;
while command, m the sense intended above, is never
evidenced in look or word. As fpr " kingly condescen
sion," m connection with the character of this person
age, the idea is as absurd as it is misappHed ; and, at
the same time, we have always loved to imagme " the
lion " rather as foUowmg and fawning upon so benign
a being as Jesus — caressingly famiUarized as m the par-
adisal time — than " crouching in Ms lair " to an awe-
inspiring and commanding master. We never before
met -with so gross and reckless an onslaught on the
mUdness and meekness of the Saviour.
-The tMrd poem of the series opens thus :
" 'Twas daybreak, and thefirigers of the dawn
Drew the night's curtain, and touched silerOlg
The eyelids of the king."
We take this to be, on the whole, the worst con
ceived and most unstrUdng simUitude in the world.
We might very weU go further, and pronounce it to
be the least aUowable, and certainly the least apt. We

¦wniis's POEMS. 317
have often known primer publishers to represent the
sun vrith a great red rubicund fece ; but we have here
tofore faUed to find an instance where any writer,
whether of the primer or poetical order, has gone so
far as to picture the dawn ynth fingers. Mr. WiUis's
conceptions must be far ahead of any that Ms readers
can claim, to imagme the remotest reahty or plausible-
ness of tMs unique metaphor. How much of the hori
zon, we beg to ask, wUl Mr. WUlis mvest with Ms im-
agmarj fingers ? We must suppose that he had chalk
ed out somethmg defimte and shapeful m this respect,
for we can scarcely think that he refers to, or means to
finger the whole Hne of " the da-wn." Nor do we at
all sanction the idea of "the dawn^s fingers touching
silently the eyehds ofthe kmg." It is something outr6
and ummagmable, and evinces a woful lack of that for
tuity of thought which is the most essential element of
a genume poetical endo-wment.
But a few Unes further on, we meet -with another
figure of speech which, if less ' aUowable, is at least
equaUy novel and origmal. It occurs m the last of
the Unes employed to describe Darid's wont of a morn-
mg to " Play with bis lov'd son by the /ot«ntom's lip."
It would be, we incline to think, quite a difficult task
to go about trying to picture such a member to such a
thing. Mr. Willis is either very dull about finding
simUitudes, or very reckless, or else very deficient m
proper discrimination as concerns figurative acumen.
We know that the Mississippi river is said to possess a
mouth, m geograpMcal parlance ; but a poet, unless he
possessed Mr. WUUs's boldness, would scarcely venture
to clothe such mouth ¦vrith lips.
On the next page our author quite cooUy employs

318 WILLIS'S POEMS,
othev fingers than those of the dawn to perform their
mornmg service — ^when, describmg another dayUght
scene he says :  " and they who drew
The curtains to let in the welcome light."
This is genume flesh and blood — ^no undefinable and
unimagmable ethereaUty ; and looks more like the plain
common sense,of every-day hfe. The repetition, how
ever, mdicates a scrupulous moety and distinctness of
description, wMch is not usual to noveUsts or poets.
Mr. WUlis has a most mveterate penchant to designate
the very time of night his characters go to bed, the
precise hour at which they get up, how they washed,
how they prayed, and never faUs to tell his readers
that the bed curtains -were punctually drawn aside by
sometMng or somebody ; whUe the alternations of time
which mark each poem vi^vify the Ulustration of name
which attaches to Bulwer's novel of " Night and Mom
ing." Passmg over the " Sacrifice of Abraham," we come
next to an expression m the "Shunamite," wMch
strikes us with its absolute cMldishness :
" She drew refreshing water, and with thoughts
Of God's sweet goodness stirring at her heart," &o.
Nor have we the least patience with such ffippant taste
as we find eridenced m the closing lines of the poem,
where our poet does not aUow his readers even a
breathing speU — ^but favors them only ¦with a starry
interval — ^betwixt the period of the cMld'S lingering,
"long drawn out" death, and his hocus-pocus {& la
WUUs, we mean) restoration to Hfe by the prophet.
The poem of Jephthah's Daughter, we thmk, begins
with entirely too much abruptness :
" She stood before her father's gorgeous tent."

WILLIS% POEMS, 319
There is a sort of sneakmg resemblance to the opening
Une of Mrs. Heiqans's heroic poem, Casablanca :
" The boy stood on die burning deck."
Or if Mr. WiUis and his admirmg coterie wUl pardon
the aUusion, we may rather liken it to a smack of the
fine old nursery song :
" Lord Lovell he stood at his castle gate."
We should suppose from the foUo-wing, from the
same poem, that Mr. WUUs had no very keen relish
for a woman's Hps, or no very mce perceptions of their
daintiness, or else, haring been born and bred in north-
em regions, was unused to the tropical growths of the
sunny South :
" Her lip was slightly parted, like the clefl
Of a pomegranate blossom."
Now we are not at all of opmion that the term
cleji when thus appHed is an admissible expression, for
we read much oftener of clefts in rocks than in blos
soms. We have heard of Moses ¦ bemg ensconced in
the cleft of a rock wMle God's glory passed along : we
cannot imagme how Moses could seat Mmself m the
cleft of a blossom / and yet, the objects being totaUy
dissimUar, the phrase must be mcorrect m one or the
other case. But we take the hberty to submit that
" the cleft of a pomegranate blossom " is as unlike the
parting of a woman's lips as it is possible to conceive ;
and as the deft of this blossom is by no maimer of
means a very graceful or luscious severance, but on the
contrary rough and rugged for so gorgeous a flower,
we mcline to thmk that so exquisite a gentlenian as
Mr. WiUis would have hesitated about the comparison
if he had ever seen the petals of a pomegranate bloom,
WhUe describing with much enthusiasm the beauty

320 WILLIS'S POEMS,
of Jephthah's daughter, the poet -winds up with the
foUowing : ,
" Her countenance was radiant vrith love ;
She looked like one to die for it," &c.
After havmg exhausted description of the same ana
tomical tendencies as previously gone through ¦with m
the case of Jairus's daughter, and lavished on his young
heroine every beauty of thought of imagery, we are
quite too suddenly let do^wn with the expression above
itahcized. To "die for it" is a loose, vulgar arrange
ment of words, amounting almost to do^wnright inde
cency. We do not look for such -within the pages of
so neat a book, or from the pen of so courtly a Htterar
teur, especiaUy when that pen is engaged with such
lofty and sacred subjects. We recoUect to have come
across such an expression in the first pages of the Heart
of Mid Lothian, where, after the mob had broken do-wn
the door ofthe tolbooth, one ofthe number releases an
imprisoned feUow-bandit, -vrith the adrice, "Rm/or it,
RatcUffe !" Now, at such a time, m such a place, and
uttered by such a person, no expression could have
been more appropriate or in better taste. But as ap
pUed to so lovely and interestmg a creation as Jeph
thah's hapless daughter, no set of words can be more
harsh or unseasonable. " Onward came
The leaden tramp of thousands."
TMs, again, found a few lines afterward, is an incor
rect and unfortunate simUe. There is notMng martial
or stu-ring in connection with leaden materials. Lead
gives back a duU, dead sound. Nor is it possible to
understand or perceive the pith and pomt of an expres
sion wMch presupposes leaden shoes, as it is a metal
never used fbr that purpose, whether for men or horses.

-WILLIS'S POEMS. 32-1
The last being eridently alluded to, we rather think a
son of Vulcan would smUe at stumbUng on such an
idea. We are glad we can reconcUe it to the task we have
undertaken, to say that we consider the poem on Ab
salom quite a creditable and successful effort, — much
the best of the sacred series as so far noticed. The
prettiest lines and strongest description which occur
in the whole series may be found, we think, in the
poem of " Christ's Entrance into Jerusalem."
" As he reach'd
Tbe summit's breezy pitch, the Saviour raised
His calm blue eye — ^there stood Jerusalem !
* » * f How fair she look'd —
The silver sun on all her palaces.
And her fair daughters 'mid the golden spires
Tending their terrace flowers, and Kedron's stream
Lacing its meadows with its silver band.
And -wreathing its mist-mantle on the sky
With tbe morn's exhalations."
The imagery here shadowed forth is inconceivably
grand and magmficent, whoUy beyond the bounds of
the rather contracted and too tame description of Mr.
WUlis. Indeed, we have long thought that this most
mteresting Scriptural event is eminently prolific of -wide
and glorious themes of contemplation, and we wonder
that so spiritless a writer, poeticaUy speaking, as our
author, should so boldly have ventured to versificate
the simple and unadorned narrative of the sacred pen
men. We have loved, oftentunes, to imagine the incidents
of that eventful morning when, seated on the pictur
esque summit of the Mount of Ohves, the august son
of Mary gazed sadly, though with the eager admiration
of expanded tastes, on the glorious beauties and re-
14*

322 -WILLIS'S POEMS,
splendent panoramic scenery wMch aU around opened
to view. And what would not his adorers of the pres
ent day have bartered to have been numbered among
the Uttle group whose wondering eyes were fixed, en
tranced and bewUdered, on the benign and mysterious
yoimg Being whose Ups were giving utterance to that
gloomy prophecy which announced, m mournful strains,
the approaching calamities and woes of Zion !
" There stood Jerusalem 1 "
The early rays ofthe sun dispensed, perhaps, a cheerful
hue over the scene, and the soft breath of the moming
breeze swept gently through the groves of palm trees
wMch waved m the vaUey, Just beneath, at the moun
tain's base, was the smUmg little hamlet of Bethany,
the quiet abode of the lovely sisters and their brother,
¦with its groups of neat cottages, and modest pastoral
mansions, half obscured in the vast shadows which yet
enveloped them. Beyond, arose in. suUen majesty the
bleak and fro^wning mountains wMch overlooked the
ancient city of the Canaanites, and immediately be
tween was Jerusalem itself— with its hUls, and ¦winding
waUs, and wUd ravmes — looming in the meUow Ught,
¦with those stupendous architectural monuments wMch
had endured smee the age of Solomon, and wMch, long
centuries anterior, had faUen under the eye of the Mace
donian conqueror, Rismg proudly above the rest was
the femous mount of Zion, the ancient AcropoHs of
Kmg Darid, cro^wned ¦with the splendid palace wMch
had once sheltered the royal lover and Ms fraU Bath
sheba ; whose spacious harems swarmed afterwards
¦with the thousand voluptuous houris of their amorous
son, and wMch, even in ruin, seemed to assert its former
grandeur. Opposite was the crescent-shaped mount of
Acra; romantically studded with lesser eminences ; and

¦Willis's poems. 323
from whence towered the grand and gorgeous struc
ture first consecrated to the worship of Israel's. God,
the gigantic dimensions of wMch yet startle and be-
wUder mankind. We may easUy unagine that, as the
sun's briUiant rays irradiated the gUttering front, it
appeared to the group on Mount OUvet as a vast moun-
tam of dazzUngly white marble, presenting a magnifi
cent array of domes, and pUlars, and turrets, aU fretted
¦vrith golden pinnacles, which, touched ¦with the resplen
dence of the early mom, shone with surpassmg gran
deur, Inlrervening was the broad vafley ofthe Cheese
mongers, so famed m Bible story, and from the dark
bosom of wMch bubbled the sparkhng pool of SUoam ;
while on the north, from amidst- cHffs and crags cov
ered scantUy with dwarfed shrubbery, was Calvary —
destmed, a few months afterward, to tremble beneath
the wonders and the horrors of the crucifixion. Be
neath were seen the rock-clad streets wMch had been
so often, threaded by the hostUe bands of GentUe con
querors, and so often drenched -with the blood of pros
trate Israel, Before that temple had Alexander paused
to reverence the High Priest, There the Syrian chief
tain, surrounded by Ms fierce soldiery, had designed to
honor the Jehovah of his faUen foe ; and there, too,
had Pompey the Great, fresh from the gory field, bent
his haughty spirit before the haUowed associations be
longing to the spot.
Such are the imperfectly told and mere skeleton
outlines of a theme wMch might have challenged the
minstrelsy of a Homer, but wMch Mr, WUUs, with
singular apathy and negHgence, has been content to
cramp up within the space of some half dozen lines, m
despitfe of its crowds of suggestive associations so le
gitimately appropriate to his subject.
The Umits of a critique wUl.not allow .I* tlius to loi-

324 ¦WILLIS'S POEMS.
ter ; we must pass on, therefore, to the " Baptism of
Christ." Our attention is first arrested by these
hues: " Softly *»
Through a long aisle of willows, dim and cool.
Stole the clear waters with their muffledfeet."
We do not know, in the first place, what business the
preposition in has where we find it, unless Mr. WUlis
designed, at the risk of grammar, to lengthen Ms line
to the proper measure ; but we are utterly confoimded
when our author comes to speak of the " muffled feet "
of " clear waters." We are famihar ¦with the expres
sion, " foot of the mountam," or " foot of the MU," but
we have jumped up for the first time that of the feet
of waters — muffled at that. We are to suppose, how
ever, that as we become acquamted with 'Willisiana
perfumes, we are m hke manner to learn 'WiUisiana
figures of speech, having already shaken hands -with
the " fingers of the da-wn," and stumbled agamst the
" muffied feet " of water.
A few Hues after these we find that Mr. WUUs, -vrith
the unrestrained pri-vUeges of a poet, ventures unhesi
tatingly and quite complacently to settle a Scriptural
quarrel wMch has consumed hundreds of disputatious
folios, and has puzzled leamed theologians ever since
the apostohc era ; for, aUuding to John the Baptist, we
meet -with the Unes describing Mm as
" He stood breast-high amid ihe rumUng stream,
Baptizing as the Spirit gave him power."
It is by no means conceded by Christians that John
actuaUy went mto the " runnmg stream ; " and although
Mr. Willis's version may be sanctioned by the sectaries
of the old Baptist denomination and the neophytes of
the Campbelhan school of di-rimty, we yet think that

•WILLIS'S POEMS. 325
the same would be denounced as heretical and unortho
dox by the doctors of Geneva, of Oxford, and of the
Sorbonne ; whUe even Rome might fulminate her Pa
pal buUs against the rash assumption.
We take the foUowing from the poem of Hagar in
the WUderness :
" It was an hour of rest ; but Hagar found
No shelter in tbe wilderness, and on
She kept her weary way, until the boy
Hung down his head, and open'd his parch'd lips
For water ; but she could not give it him.
She laid Mm down beneath the sultry sky —
For it was better than the close, hot breath
Of the thick pines — and tried to comfort him ;
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know
Why God denied him water in tbe wild.
She sat a little longer, and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died.
It was too much for her. She lified him
And bore him further on, and laid his head
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub ;
And shrouding up her face, she went away,
And sat to watch, where he could see her not.
Till he should die."
Taken as a whole, we must pronounce this extract
to be very awkward, very inexpressive, unideal, and
commonplace. Besides the sluggish composition, there
is exMbited a most woful deficiency m creativeness of
imagmation and artistic ingenuity. If we analyze mi
nutely, it is to be feared that numerous minor blem
ishes may be sho-wn. In the short space of eighteen
lines the words Ae and she are made to occur eleven
times ; as if the author's ideas could not be cut loose
from his characters. Durmg the same time Hagar rose
up and sat do-wn again t-wice. She lifts Ishmael up
and lays him down twice. The last time she leaves

826 VIMLLIS'S -POEMS.
him to repose in a rather intangible and undefinable
place, for Mr. WUUs teUs us she " laid his head beneath
the shadow of a desert shrub." We should suppose
that a desert or leafiess shrub would afford but scanty
shade, where even " thiok pmes " had been found too
" close and hot."
" Fair were his locks. His sno-wy teeth divided
A bow of Love, dra-wn -vrith a scarlet thread."
These Unes are found while describmg one of the
sons of Rizpah ; but the reader is vriser than we claim
to be, if he can unravel the meaning. How " sno-wy
teeth " can divide a " how of Love," we are whoUy im
able to dirine ; nor can we teU what eartMy connection
a " scarlet thread " can have with the figure.
The same poem furnishes another specimen of laby-
rinthal composition :
" He who wept with Mary — angels keeping
Their unthank'd watch, are a foreshadowing
Of what love is in heaven."
It would require, we think, abaU of our author's " scar
let thread " to -wind through this foggy compUcity of
words at aU understandmgly.
We next get somethmg of an ethereal adventure :
" 0 conscious heart !
*******
Number thy lamps of love, and tell me, now,
How many canst thou rC'light at the stars,
And blush not at their burning ! "
TMs is decidedly ofthe Swedenborgian cast — so refined
and so spiritualized as to buUy conjecture and frighten
fancy. We would be pleased, moreover, if Mr, WiUis
wUl explain the aptness ofthe aUusion, when, speakmg
ofthe heart, he asks if it wUl blush?

WILLIS'S POEMS, 327
We dechne, for the present, to notice " Lazarus and
Mary," and must here close with our excerpts from the
" Sacred Poems." We trust that the admirers of Mr.
WiUis may pardon to candor muteh that has seemed
bitter and harsh m the foregoing review. We have
been led to undertake the task less from any exalted
opinion of our author's merits as a poet, than -with a
view to set before the reader, fairly and undisguisedly,
the nature and quahty of that poetry, which, in certain
circles, has Hfted Mr. WUlis to that pedestal of favor
wMch he so modestly acknowledges in Ms preface. It
has been perceived, doubtless, that we do not concede
that unhesitatmg and redoubtable supremacy to which
our author has so ffippantly laid claim. On the con
trary, we must frankly declare that we consider Mr.
WUlis a very ordinary and indifferent -writer of poetry,
and can only wonder how he became so grossly pos
sessed as to suppose that he could conjure -with a true
wizard's rod, or sweep the harp -with a minstrel's grace
and skill. But his poetry, such even as it is, has been
too much the theme of undisputed laudation heretofore
to make it altogether a condescension to scrutinize and
test its merits. The admirers of Mr. WiUis cannot ex
pect to so venalize others of less susceptible, and, per
haps, less mdulgent temperaments, as to extort umver
sal concessions m favor of their poet's claims to the
laurel -wreath. It has been, aU along, their good pleas
ure and his mterest to cry up and extol these feeble
offerings to the shrine of the Muses. Nobody has felt
any pleasure, or taken any interest, in crying them
down. But we think that this indifference has been
carried quite far enough ; whUe lemency may become
culpable in riew of Mr. WiUis's vaultmg ambition and
excessive vamty, as weU as of the extravagances of Ms
admirers; and especiaUy in riew of "the very serious

328 -WILLIS'S POEMS.
fact that American literature, and not its counterfeit
votaries, has to pay the penalty of aU this hapless amia
bUity and indifference. For notMng is more certain
than that by thus clogging the avenues to eminence
-with swarms of rampant, vain-glorious, elbowing pre
tenders, the doors are effectuaUy closed against such as
may really deserve to enter. Men of real talent disdain
to resort to unworthy devices, or to join in unbecoming
scuffies. Their mushroom competitors, on the contrary,
are none too proud to stoop to any or all species of
what may now be termed Parnumania, to attam a
sickly and an ephemeral notoriety, and to pick up those
scanty " present gains " to which Mr. Willis so candidly
alludes m the preface to his book.
But we would not be understood as meaning to
class Mr. WUUs -with that herd of despicable and dis
gusting scribblers who, despite their blathering and
nauseous excrescences, have so subsidized penny presses
as to crowd out, temporarily, all genuine Hterary vota
ries, and to infect the country with daUy emissions of
noisome nonsense, ahke baneful to the encouragement
of merit, and to the development of national Hterary
resources. On the contrary, we desire to say that
whatever contempt we may entertain for Mr. WiUis's
verses, we have yet seen much from his pen in a more
appropriate and digmfied department, that indicated,
to our humble and imperfect judgment, talent of a very
Mgh and enriable order. But while entertaining a very
high opimon of much of his prose -writings, we are yet
constrained to say, that our author would, to our judg
ment, have better consulted his self-respect by abstain
ing from aU adyenturings in the way of poetry.
We shaU now dismiss Mr. WUUs and his poems, for
the present; promising, by-the-by, that we design to
resume and complete, in some future number, our con-

WILLIS'S POEMS. 329
templated task of examining his entire book of " sacred,
passionate, and humorous " poems ; and that although
we have chosen to select him, first, as the expiatory
offering to the offended Uterary genius of America, he
shaU not be the last.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS,*
These poems, taken as a whole, form a book at
once tasteless, tedious, and uninteresting. We had
once some hopes bf Mr, LongfeUow. as a poet, but his
book has, unfortunately, spoUed aU — ^has even spirited
away the partiality we had entertamed for some of Ms
fugitive poems which chance threw m our way some
years smee, and wMch, now that they are thro-wn in
company with the pithless train before us, have some
how lost their former hold, FamiUarity, it is said,
breeds contempt ; and if the truth of the old proverb
is doubted, we need only refer, in proof, some lang
syne friend of this author, who, like ourself, may have
been momentarily won to an American poet by some
stray lines traveUing the newspaper rounds, — we need
only to refer such, we say, to the elaborated produc
tion now m our siew ; and if he can so tax his patience
and his taste as to read through both volumes, we are
quite sure that he wiU doubt no longer. We know
that this is a very harsh sentence, but thereis consola,-
tion m kno-wing also that malice is not the prompter.
There are, on the contrary, strong reasons why we
could have wished to admire and praise Mr, Longfel-
* Poems. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. In two volumes. A
new edition. Boston : Ticknor, Beed and Fields.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 331
low's poetry. He is, in the first place, an American ;
and this, of itself, is a sufficient cause to mduce regret
that his book of poems has faUen so very far short of
that standard wMch, in our judgment, must be fuUy
compassed, if one would attain to even passing excel
lence m this haUowed art. It is greatly to be lament
ed, mdeed, that our land should have been, thus far,
so barren m tMs respect ; and the mystery is, how to
account for it ? The harvest is plentiful — themes are
not wanting — minstrelsy is chaUenged on aU sides.
The Indian Mstory, wandermg through the checkered
fortunes of a thousand different tribes, abounds richly
in the lore of tradition. The charms of natm-e, whether
in the assodation of primeval forests, of scenery wild,
majestic, and beautiful, of lakes and rivers overflo-wmg
-with legendary mterest, are every where displayed
through a region extending from latitudes of unbroken
-winter to perennial spring and tropical suns. History
teems -with numberless events — thrilling, vivifymg, en
chanting — ^wMch are linked -with poetic mspirations,
and which belong more properly to verse than to prose.
Romance and reahty, both, daUyingly open their storied
arms, and inrite a foray on their luxuriant possessions.
The wondrous tales of the Mexican Conquest — the
lovely and touching story of Pocahontas — the landmg
of the PUgrhn Fathers — ^the -wUd legends of King
PhUip's heroism — ^the Salem witches — and many other
incidents wMch might be named, aU afford tangible
material with which to weave a poet's chaplet. The
poetry shmes in every page of the old chromclers'
quaint books, from Bernal Diaz -to Captain Smith and
Cotton Mather, No pedantry, no tasteless detaU can
distort or smother the enhvening features of song,
which gather shape and symmetry as we turn each
succeeding leaf.

332 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS,
Here, then, is ample ground — ample inducement ;
but gemus, so far, is the thing yet lacked. So far, m-
deed, as prose is concerned, master artists have been
engaged in the work. Prescott, Irvmg, and Cooper
have gone over the field, and Ulumined the path to
poetical eUcitation. Their works have clothed Mstory
-vrith a fascination that the sons of song, whose province
it more properly is to gather the romance of early time,
may weU envy, and has thrown all attempts at mm-
strelsy completely in the background. What Goethe
and SchUler have done for Gei-many — ^what Camoens
did for Portugal — what Moore has done for Ireland,
and Walter Scott for Caledonia, these iUustrious
-wi'iters, though no poets, have accomphshed for our
country. All human bemgs, of whatever clime or
tongue, long for some information about past times in
their history, and are dehghted with narratives wMch
present pictures to the eye of the mind. To tMs may
be traced the origin of baUad poetry and of metrical
romance ; and the man who possesses the genius to
embeUish the scanty but treasured memorials of early-
day scenes and events, wiU always be highly esteemed
in Ms own generation, and almost reverenced by a
grateful posterity. To this enriable fame, no one m
our country has yet preferred, a successfiil suit. The
materials languish in neglect, and have nearly gone to
decay. Our rhymers are fuU of every other kind of
poetry save that which alone is open to them. They
are eternaUy inditmg siUy verses about every-day sUly
thmgs — are. lavisMng pretty words in the sicMy at
tempt to retouch and embeUish Scriptural incidents —
making sonnets about flowers, and cigar-girls, and
pigeon-nests ; or else, like Mr. LongfeUow, are running
a wUd-goose chase to catch up insipid fragments of
German or Swedish verse, for wMch the reading por-

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 333
tion of their own countrymen care about as much as
they care for a translation of Merlin, or a reprint of
Henry the Eighth's Defence of the Roman Church.
And yet these venal pretenders are caUed poets, have
admirmg coteries, assume a puny arrogance of air and
manner, and, now and then, flaunt over to England,
that, after begging a reluctant moiety of praise from
one or two writers anxious to court American fevor,
they may prop their petty productions by exhibitmg a
transatlantic puff.
" These are the themes that claim our plaudits now.
These are the bards to whom the Muse must bow."
We may here quite aptly observe, m this connec
tion, that among the aphorisms admitted by general
consent, and mculcated by frequent repetition, there is
none more femous than that compendious momtion :
Gnothi seauton — be acquainted with thyself. In gen
eral, we are far more wUHng to study others thaii to
study ourselves ; and hence it so frequently occurs that
men, seduced by incautious self-admiration or by the
flattery of weak friends, so often mistake their calling
and their gifts, and bhndly run counter to their des
tmy. Men of good common sense, and of unquestiona
ble talent, are sometimes as apt as their inferiors to fall
into this common error. On no other^ ground can we
account for Mr. LongfeUow's poetical adventurings.
No one can doubt but that he is a man of practical
sense, of very considerable talent, and of high and en
viable attainments as a scholar ; yet we see the strong
eridences of nature's inconsistency in Ms condescension
to father poems wMch might have graced the Dunciad,
and which, for bad taste and tame composition, might
stand a comparison with the shaUowest specimens of
the American school. Indeed, this gentleman, higMy

334 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
accomphshed though he may be m other respects,
seems to be fatuitously possessed -with the idea that
whoever can make words rhyme, or arrange words in
strange and fantastic measures by square and rule, may
aspire to mmstrelsy ; that a man may become a poet
by a simple act of voUtion. This same haUucination
has, we suppose, given birth to the thousand and one
scrambUng and puny contestants who have ventured
to attune their crazed, discordant lyres, and to set Up
for being recognized as American poets. The observer
has only to witness, momentarUy, tMs seMsh, elbo-wing
strife of frantic aspirants — each, like the hackmen who
infest hotels and dep6ts, crying and huckstering for the
floatmg penny — to find out the secret of our defidency
as regards true poetical development. It thus stands
disgustingly revealed to his vision, and, of course, ex
cites most unmitigated contempt. No wonder that
the muse should shrink from competition with the
rampant and vulgar herd !
Now, we should have thought that Mr. Longfel
low's ripe scholarship would have effectuaUy unfolded
to him the dangers and the miseries of poetasting in
the absence of natural endo-wments, and have also con
vinced Mm that Horace uttered no untruth m declaring
that a poet is bom, not made. Indeed, we incline to
think that the Roman bard, when mditing the foUow
mg advice, was seeking oo forewarn just such unwary
aspirants as the author of whom we are speaking :
" Ludere qui noscit, campestribus abstinot armis,
Indootusque pilse discive troohive quiesoit,
Ne spissfe risum tollant impunfe coronse :
Qui nescit, versus tamen audit fingere 1 Quidni ?
Liber et ingenuus, prsesertim census equestrem
Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni.
Tu nihil invitd dices faciosve MinervS ;

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 335
Id tibi judicium est, ea mens : si quid tamen olim
Soripseris, in Metii descendat judicis aures,
Elt patris, et nostras ; nonumque prematur in annum.
Membranis intus positis, delere lioebit
Quod non edideris ; nescit vox missa reverti."
If Mr. LongfeUow had been less learned than he is ;
if he had been gifted, -vrith no talent more Hkely to lift
him to eminence ; Lf, longing for fame, he could have
addressed himself to notMng else as a mean of attain
ment than reckless poetical errantries ; Lf, in fine, he
had not opened a pathway to Uterary renown through
the surer medium of classic and dignified prose, there
would be more excuse for Ms presumption m tMowing
before a critical and discrimmative public the rickety
verses of the two volumes now under review, and we,
m common -with many others, might have been inclined
to exercise more amiabUity and charity. As it is, we
have before us the picture of an accomphshed and as
tute Professor tumed topsy-turvy by a poetic mama,
and evidently labormg under the inffictions of "a diseased,
and morbid ambition. The least censorious would be
hard put up to find a palUative for this rhymmg furor
in one from whom better thmgs might have been ex
pected ;, for it requires no ordinary effort to suppress a
feehng of contempt that tastes, otherwise so weU adapt
ed, should thus have been perverted to idolatrous ob
lations at the shrme of a mongrel deity, no more akin
to the true goddess of verse than was the spurious cre
ation of Prometheus to a real man. Mr. Longfellow
may, we tMnk, gratefiiUy thank Ms stars if, after these
feeble offerings to the muse, he shaU escape the just
vengeance wMch overtook this bold usurper of Jove's
fimctions. The first of these volumes opens -with a prelude, as
the author caUs it, to a. series of poems entitled "Voices

336 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
of the Night," and is not altogether unpleasant ; m-
deed, we are not quite certain but that it is the pret
tiest composition to be found in the whole book. It
certainly approximates much nearer than any other
piece to real poetry, of which the foUowmg stanza is a
partial evidence :
" The green trees whispered low and mUd,
It was a sound of joy !
They were my playmates when a child,
And rocked me in their arms so wild !
Still they looked at me and smiled '
As if I were a boy."
We desire not to be hypercritical with our author,
and we wUl say that the sentiment of the stanza is '
tinged with true poetry, though we must insist that
the stanza itself is not so harmoniously worded as the
idea might have warranted.
The author is represented as the hero ; who, after
giving us an introduction to himself^ teUs of how he
wandered into the heart of a venerable forest, com
muned with the trees and the air, received a caU to
write poetry, and then winds up by informing us that
he is restricted to -writing only solemn lines. We can
assure the reader that the restriction is not broken.
The whole work is sickHed over -vrith the snuffling cant
of the conventicle, sometimes bordering on a sort of
versified Htany or Te Deum.
The first Voice is a Hymn to the Night, consistmg
of six stanzas, set to some particular metre -with which
we happen not to be acquainted. As a specimen, we
quote the three last, itahciring what we consider es
peciaUy flat and puny :
"From the cool cisterns of the midnight air.
My spirit drank repose ;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there —
From those deep cisterns flows.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 337
" O holy Night ! from thee I leam to bear
What man has borne before !
Thou layest thyjinger on the lips of care,
And they complain no more.
" Peace ! peace ! Orestes-tike I breathe this prayer :
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night ! "
Next m succession comes a Psalm of Life — duU and
commonplace enough — wMch reminds us, as to meas
ure, of the mystic chant of Meg MerrUies, beginning —
" Twist ye, twine ye, even so," &c. &c.
But the half-demented old gipsy mdulges a strain at
once wUd, striking, and rhythmical ; whereas, the Psahn
is deficient in every respect, and we cite a stanza in
proof : " Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, -that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day."
The first Hne is as bad as it can be — not only bad
taste, but bad grammar ; for we have two nouns nomi
native most unmusicaUy and uicorrectly quaUfied with
a negative each, and then connected by a conjunction.
Poetry is not passable when, by disjointing the rhythm,
it wiU not make good prose; and this being so, we
cannot see how Mr. LongfeUow -wUl ever reconcUe Ms
two negatives.
We cannot pause to find fault -with each of this
series as they come ; but the fifth m the succession is
so strangely unique, so flimsy, and so peculiarly of the
heterocHtical species, that, in justice both to the author
and to our criticism, we feel boimd to trp,nscribe it en
tirely; only asking the reader to notice the noncha
lance -with wMch rhyme is taken up and then dropped,
15

338 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
tacked on or shaken off to suit the idea, evoked or dis
carded as caprice may suggest, or as invention may
hold out. It is entitled, " Footsteps of Angels : "
" ¦When the hours of Day are numbered.
And the Voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered.
To a boly, calm delight ;
" Ere the evening lamps are lighted.
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the S.t£vljirelight
Dance upon tbe parlor wall ;
"Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door ;
The beloved, the true-hearted.
Come to visit me once more.
" He the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By tlje roadside fell and perished.
Weary with the march of life !
" They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross and suffering bore.
Folded their pale hands so meekly.
Spake with us on earth no more I
"And with them the Being Beauteous
Who -onto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me.
And is now a saint in hea-oea.
" With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine, ¦
Takes the vacant chair beside me.
Lays her gentle hand in mine,
" And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-Uhe,
Looking downward from the skies.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 339
" Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessing ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
" Oh, though oft depressed and lonely.
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died I "
Surely nothing more insipid, lifeless, unoriginal, was
ever put off for poetry ! What though a moiety of
soft sentiment dweUs in the idea — and Mr. LongfeUow
does not lack for ideas — ^how tantaliring it is to shroud
and smother the same in a congealed mass of stale,
shiUy-shaUy rhymes !
The " Midnight Mass for the Dymg Tear," we must
candidly pronounce to be really pitiful and drivelling.
We give below the three first and the middle stanzas :
" Yes, the Year is grovring old.
And his eye is pale and bleared :
Death, with frosty hand and cold.
Plucks the old vian by the beard,
t!

" The leaves are falling, falling,
Soleilinly and slow :
Ca-w ! caw ! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of -woe,
A sowndsf-woe!
'* Through woods and mountain passes
The -winds, like anthems, roll ;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singmg, '^ Pray for this poor soul.
Pray — pray ! '
» » » *
" To the crimson woods he saith.
To the voice gentle and low
Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath,
' Pray do not mock me so !
Do not laugh at me ! ' "

340 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
With ihis poem ends the first series. We come
next to the " EarUer Poems ; " and we wiU here ven
ture to suggest that it is a pity the author's poetical
aspirations could not have been satisfied at tMs pomt,
and -vrith these juvenescent achievements. His fame as
a -writer would then have been without a shade, and
we should have been spared the present undertaking ;
for although there is, as might be naturaUy expected,
some sUly sentimentalizing among them, there is yet
much to admire m these youthful offerings to the Muse.
The foUowmg verses, taken from the poem of " Woods
m Winter," possess much harmony and sweetness :
" 'When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the ha-wthorn blows the gale.
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.
*****
" ¦Where, twisted round the barren oak.
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And snmmer winds the stillness broke,
The oiystal icicle is hung.
*****
" Alas ! how changed from the fair scene,
¦When birds sang out their mellow lay.
And winds were soft and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day."
These poems, as we are, indeed, frankly told in the
preface, were written in the halcyon period of Hfe — ^the
bright and balmy years of youth. It is the season
when the spirit of poetry stirs -within every bosom.
The humble ploughboy, even, feels the inspiration,
though he may never attune the sentiment and bring it
into being ; and as he roams the flowery fields, and La-
hales the freshemng breath of early spring, words of
song float dreammgly through Ms untutored senses, m-
fusing into his soul the healthful incense of bright hopes

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 341
to cheer the dull monotony of more real scenes. The
same feehng pervades, to a much greater extent, the
inmate of the academy or the coUege — who, imbibing
daUy the glo-vring imagery of the classic writers, and
feastmg the young mind on choice dainties culled from
the rich garner of ancient and treasured lore, gives
vent to mspiration by clothing opening life -with the
genial garb of poesy, mmghng -vrith its real scenes the
Hvely impressions of excited fancy, which are only
erased when remorseless time flrst lays its cold touch
on the heart to awaken it to a sense of the world's
drudgery. Hence, we suppose that there is scarcely
one graduate out of every hundred who has not, at
some golden moment of tMs shining period, blotted a
lady's album or Ms own scrap-book with some fugitive,
heartfelt offering to the Muse, which, even m long after
years, -wUl be found to own some sentiment aUied -with
purer days, and to be possessed of some merit interwo
ven with the dawn of thought, and fresh from recesses
ofthe heart which then knew not the world's corrosive
bUght, Most men, instinctively aware of these Ulusory
temptations, stop -with their early effusions, weU know
ing that, though almost every person may thus be im
pressed with poetic impulses, it is not decreed that
every man shall be a poet- born. Others, unwarUy se
duced by these guUeful phantasmata, and foolisMy per-
suadmg themselves that " the Land of Song " Hes before
them, swim along heedlessly with the current, untU, all
at once, the limpid waters ofthe fountain are swallowed
up in that muddy abyss where so many fraU barques,
-with their fraUer pUots, have gone to wreck and ruin.
TMs, we gather from his " Prelude," has been the
case with Mr. LongfeUow, who, if not already stranded
on these friendless shores, -wiU, unless he shaU take
timely warning, idtimately perish among the wUd and

342 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
desert wastes of this unfathomed ocean. And if, in the
course of these further remarks, we shaU draw from his
after productions such specimens as may serve to bring
him to Ms proper senses, or that shaU wean him from
these -will-o'-the-wisp pursuits, and set him again on the
open plain of his true element, we think his readers, yet
remembering -with pleasure the interesting pages of
Hyperion, wiU thank us for the deed, no matter how
rougMy it may have been achieved.
¦ro effect tMs, we must now pass on from these
early-day offerings, and pause for a whUe amid the soul
less pages of Ms "Translations." We are not sufficient
scholars to undertake to scan the merits of his German,
French, or Spanish renderings ; and, as concerns these,
therefore, must content ourselves -with the single ob
servation, that we never before met with a more bar
ren and bleak foundation on which to begm the labor
of translation, than we behold in the poems selected on
this occasion. But there is one, purportmg to have
been rendered from the Anglo-Saxon, wMch evinces
such genuine devotion to crazed drivelling, that we can
scarcely credit the fact that the work is from a source
of imquestioned erudition. The piece is entitled " The
Grave," and to satisfy the reader that we have not
been unjustly harsh, we shaU quote, as amply sufficient
to answer the purpose, the two first stanzas, premising
that we are wholly unacquainted with the measure :
*' For thee was a house bmlt.
Ere thou wast bom ; '
For thee was a mould meant,
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready.
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shaU be.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, 343
Now I bring thee
¦Where thou shalt be ;
Now I shall measure thee.
And the mould afterwaisds.
"Thy house is not
Highly timbered.
It is unhigh and low ;
¦When thou art therein.
The heel-ways are low.
The side-ways unhigh.
Tbe roof is built
Thy breast full nigb.
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark."
We think the reader wiU agree with us that this
can be caUed nothmg else than gibberish — a sort of
jabberLag incantation, that makes one involuntarily
couple ¦with the most solemn of subjects a feeling of
ridicule. But tuming over some few pages, we flnd
that such is not alone confined to the Anglo-Saxon min
strelsy ; for Mr. LongfeUow has e^viscerated its mate
from a reUot of German poetry, attributed in the orig
mal to Klopstock. It is to be hoped, for the memory
of Goethe and SchiUer, that the American version is
not hteral ; for, although the Italy of Horace and Vir
gil produced also a Barius and Maevius, we yet hope
that, in this enhghtened age, the same soU has not pro
duced the author of sttch strams along -with the venera
ted fathers of German 'song. The title of the poem is
"The Dead," and we quote it entire, as foUows :
" How they go softly rest.
All, all the holy dead.
Unto whose dwelling-place
Now doth my soul draw near !

344 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
How they so softly rest
" AU in their silent graves.
Deep to corruption
Slowly down — sinking !
" And they no longer weep,
Here, where complaint is still !
And they no longer feel.
Here, where aU gladness flies !
And, by the cypresses
Softly o'ershadowed,
Uutil the Angel
Calls them, they slumber."
We are really no Httle astonished that this learned
gentleman should thus audaciously venture to trifle and
daUy ¦with the patience of partial readers. American
hterature ¦wUl never be reared on a dignified and soUd
basis, if its votaries be too amiably indulged with such
idle ffippancies, and allowed thus, ¦with impumty, to m-
corporate as poetry the merest balderdash, havmg not
the faintest approach to either sense or harmony. And
whUe we are wiUing to recogmze Mr. LongfeUow as, in
many respects, a worthy representative of our dawning
national hterature, we, at the same time, must seriously
protest against that increasing lemency wMch suffers
him quietly to excavate or invent nonsense only to
sweU out a volume intended to be shelved as a specimen
of American poetry.
The Translations are succeeded by the BaUads.
That of the " Skeleton in Armor " is well conceived,
and is not altogether ¦without either merit or extrinsic
interest. It is founded on the fact that, some years
ago, a skeleton was disinterred near Newport, clad m
broken and corroded armor. The author has connected
tMs with an antiquated Damsh structure near by, and
framed quite a legend out of the materials thus afford
ed; which, however, we regret he did not choose

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 345
to teU Otherwise than Ln verse. But the " Wreck of
the Hesperus," although very tame and commonplace
now and then, is yet, we thmk, mi|ch the best of the
series, and partakes strongly of the genuine ballad tone
throughout. To justify ourselves -with both the author
and the reader, we shaU venture on quoting the entire
poem, leaving clear thus every chance to confirm or to
refute the correctness and justice of the judgment we
have meted out to it :
" It was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the -wintry sea ;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter
To hear him company.
" Blue were her eyes as tbe fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds
That ope in the month of May.
" The skipper be stood beside the hehn,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now west, now south.
" Theu up and spake an old Sailor,
Had sailed the Spanish main :
' I pray thee, put into yonder port.
For I fear a hurricane.
" ' Last night the moon had a golden ring.
And to-night no moon we see ! '
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe.
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
" Colder and louder blew the wmd,
A gale from the north-east ;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.
" Down came tbe storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength ;
She shuddered aud paused, like a frighted steed.
Then leaped her cable's length.
15*

346 Longfellow's poems.
" ' Come hither I come hither I my little daughtfer,
And do not tremble so ;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever trind did blow.'
" He vraapped her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast ;
He cut a rope from a broken spar.
And bound her to the mast.
" ' 0 father ! I hear tbe church-bells ring;
O say, what may it he ? '
' 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast I '
And he steered for the open sea.
" ' 0 father I I hear the sound of guns ;
O say, what may it be ? '
' Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea I '
" ' 0 father ! I see a gleaming light ;
0 say, what may it ho ? '
But the father answered never a Word,
A frozen corpse was he.
" Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face tumed to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.
" Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That savJd she might be ;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled tbe waves
On tbe lake of Galilee.
' And fast through the midnight dark and drear
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.
" And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land ;
It was tbe sound of the trampling surf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, 347
" The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck.
And a whooping billow swept the crew,
Like icicles, from her deck.
" She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side.
Like the boms of an angry bull.
" Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice.
With tbe masts went by the boaid ;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank :
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared !
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair.
Lashed close to a drifting mast.
" The salt sea was frozen on her breast.
The salt tears in her eyes ;
And he saw her hair, Uke the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise,
" Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and tbe snow !
Christ save us all from a wreck like this,
On tbe reef of Norman's Woe ! "
A few pages fiirther on, Mr. LongfeUow favors us
with another and more distmctly marked specimen of
that outlandish metre -vrith which his book abounds.
What eartMy motive can prompt him to turn off as
poetry such miserable, prolix, drawhng stuff, we cannot
unagme ; nor are we, or, we suppose, any other mortal
man, able to imderstand the bent of a taste which,
although MgMy cultivated in some respects, can cooUy
go to work and disentomb from a Swedish Hterary
chamel-ground so despicable a production as "The
CMldren of the Lord's Supper." We ventm^e the as
sertion that .no ordinary reader can extract from- it the

348 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
first novel or mterestmg thought, the first pretty ex
pression, the first engaging sentiment, the first approach
to any thmg like poetry. It is tasteless, tedious, and
trifling, from begummg to end — Clearing the mmd un
impressed but with disgust, or with wonder that such
ffippant jargon should ever have been rerivified.
The piece purports to be translated from the Swed
ish of some prelatical diatribist, whose mind, we should
imagme, was about as barren of poetical impulse as the
bleak MUs and ungemal soU of Ms native land are of
aught that contributes to the sustenance of Hfe. We
shall subjom a few Unes by way of example :
" Lo ! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher.
Father he bight and he was in the parish ; a Christianly plainness
Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters.
Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel
Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur
Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered grave-stone a saribeam.
As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly
Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation)
Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in
Patmos,
Gray, -with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man ;
Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver.
All the congregation arose in the pews that were mm^oered.
But trith a cordial look, to the right and the left hand, the old man,
Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel."
Such is the stale, puling verbaUty which Mr. Long
feUow adopts, and attempts to put upon his readers as
poetry. We protest. It is by no means our disposi
tion or intention to abet that siUy furor wMch seems to
possess many who, ascribing to tMs author aU the quali
ties of a poet, witlessly. admit as poetry that wMch is
not even receivable as good prose. Without pausmg,
however, to dweU on the general imperfections of the
lines we have quoted from this effusion, we shaU only

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 349
notice those wMch the reader wiU have remarked are
speciaUy itaUcised. We should think Mr. Longfellow
might be puzzled to reconcUe a simiUtude of the Mnd
above marked. If "contemplative grandeur" lay on
the old preacher's head no clearer than a " sunbeam "
on a " moss-covered gravestone," we are of the opimon
that the sign was not very distinctly impressed ; for, of
aU sheltermg m the world, a thick cover of moss is the
most impenetrable, TMs, however, is about on a par
-with the very tame description of the old man's en
trance into the church, where the author is so hard run
for the where-with to fiU out Ms Une, that he obhgmgly
acquaints us -with the fact that the pews were " num
bered," leaving it somewhat doubtful, by the way,
whether we shaU infer this mere fact from the expres
sion, or whether he mtends to convey that it was only
that part of the " congregation " wMch sat in " num
bered pews," that had the good manners to rise when
the pastor entered.
If Mr. LongfeUow does sincerely and reaUy set any
store by tMs flat portraiture of a vUlage pastor, it is to
be lamented that Ms taste is so low as not to have been
frightened by the contrast -vrith that most lovely and
inimitable picture of the same personage found in Gold
smith's "Deserted ViUage." To enable the reader
readUy to mark the difference betwixt poetry and its
counterfeit, we take the Hberty, to save reference, of
copying a few lines from that beautiful and admired
poem: " Near yonder copse, where once the garden smU'd,
And still where many a garden flower grows -vrild ;
There, where a few tom shrubs the place disclose.
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man be was to all the country dear, -
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ;

350 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
Remote from totms he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wished to change his place ;
Unskilful he to fa-wn, or seek for po-yver.
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ;
Far other aims his heart had leamed to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
Thus to relieve the wretched -was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ;
. But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched, and wept, he pray'd and felt for all ;
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each duU delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
*******
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adom'd the venerable place ;
Truth from his lips prevail'd -with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service pass'd, arotmd the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ;
E'en children foUow'd vrith endearing wUe,
And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd.
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;
To them his heart, his love, bis griefs were given.
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its a-wful form.
Swells from tbe vale, and midway leaves the storm.
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
We deUght, as doubtless does the reader, to ghde
Imgeringly along with soft, melodious cadences Hke
the above, and wMle nestUng in the music of smooth-
flo-wing words, to float placidly down the limpid current
of these gemal and inspiring sentiments. We wiU not
be cruel and unamiable enough to inrite a too strict

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 351
comparison with Mr. LongfeUow's unhappy attempt to
draw a hke picture.
What shaU we say of Mr. LongfeUow's poems on
slavery ? Here, too, he is treadmg' m the footsteps of
a most illustrious predecessor — ^puttuig forth a feeble
effort to share the laurels of Montgomery, Perhaps, if
we were mischievously inclmed, we might here cite,
alongside the modest name of our author, that of quite
a noted competitor m the same race. It must not be
forgotten, especiaUy in sunny cUmes, that a lately
Americanized -wnter, not content to rest on the achieve
ments of Ms " RicheUeu " and Ms " Gipsey," would fain
essay a rhymmg tUt m the very sentimental tournament
where Montgomery had flashed his maiden sword. Mr,
LongfeUow may, we tMnk, weU afford to congratulate
himself that he is thus sMelded by so redoubtable an
exemplar m the Usts of ffimsy imitation.
The slavery poems are prefaced -with a somewhat
pompous, serene-tempered note, teUing us that they
weye -written whUe at sea ; and that the first verses, ad
dressed to Dr. Chanmng, who had just written Ms book
about slavery, were no longer appropriate, smee the
death of that emment gentleman. Being thus spe
ciously charged, we were, quite naturaUy, as one may
imagine, very considerably impressed as to the charac
ter of the production about to be read. The opening
stanza, however, brought us, very unwelcomely, do-wn
several steps : " The pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,
' Servant of God, well done ! ' "
To say the least, tMs was coming at Ms subject in
quite a point-blank, somewhat too unpoetical mariner ;

352 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS,
though we doubt not that its benediction would have
been very encouragmg to Dr. Charming, had he been
ahve to see and read it. There is besides in its tone a
positiveness, an abruptness, which is always inelegant
and ungracefiU in metrical composition.
We have next quite a spiteful ebuUition of rhyth
mical invective :
" Go on, untfll this land revokes
The old and chartered Lie,
The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes
Insult humanity."
There is, if we do not greatly misjudge, something
else than mere poetical sentiment involved m this fierce
denunciation, to which some, who Hve in parts of " tMs
land," might quite reasonably object. Indeed, we are
not so sure but that these Hues to Dr. Channing might
come within the meaning of certain laws enacted by
States of tMs Union to prevent the circulation of cer
tain mischievous documents. There is, at least, more
of feeling in its tone and expression than prudence
might warrant ; and because Mr. LongfeUow chooses
to come among us as a votary of ApoUo, we are not
therefore estopped from guarding against the bad ten
dencies of his poetry. But we are loath to beUeve that
any mischievous effect was intended ; and though we
might have been better pleased to have found his book
prudently retrenched of this one poem, we desire not
to be understood as endeavoring to affix any improper
motive on so amiable a -writer,
"The Slave's Dream" is prettUy conceived, but m
view of so prolific and suggestive a subject, very mdif-
ferently and tamely executed. There is, however,
much of genume spirit in some of the stanzas, as, for
mstance, the foUo-wing :

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 353
" Wide through the landscape of his dreams,
The lordly Niger flowed ;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain,
Once more a kisag he strode,
And heard the tinkling caravans
Descend the mountain road."
We cannot dweU on each poem of the series; but
passmg over much fanciful and sUly jeremiading, we
pause a moment or two to notice the one caUed " The
Witnesses." Montgomery, in Ms celebrated poem of
the "West Indies," has the following eloquent and
stirrmg Hues, in speaking of sunken slave-ships :
" -When the loud trumpet of eternal doom
Shall break the mortal bondage of the tomb ;
When -with a mother's pangs the expiring earth
ShaU bring her children forth to second birth ;
Then shall the sea's mysterious caverns, spread
With human relics, render up their dead :
Though warm -with life the heaving surges glow,
Where'er the -?rinds of heaven were wont to blow,
In sevenfold phalanx shall the rallying hosts
Of ocean slumberers join their wandering ghosts,
Along the melancholy gulf that roars
From Guinea to the Caribbean shores.
Myriads of slaves, that perished on the way,
From age to age, the shark's appointed prey
By lirid plagues, by lingering tortures slain.
Or headlong plunged alive into the main,
ShaU rise in judgment from their gloomy beds.
To call down vengeance on the murderers' heads.''
Now for Mr. LongfeUow, as he essays to attune his
lyre to simUar lofty strains :
" In ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands.
Lie skeletons iu chains.
With shackled feet and hands.

354 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
" Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews.
No more to ank nor rise.
" There the. black slave-ship sw,m».
Freighted with human forms,
Whose fettered, flesbless limbs,
Are not the sport of storms.
"These are the bones of slaves;
They gleam from the abyss ;
They cry from yawnmg waves,
' We are the witnesses ! ' "
We shall not sport with Mr. LongfeUow or his ad-'
mirers by mvokmg a comparison at this point ; but we
will say that he must possess a goodly share of courage
or of self-esteem, to put forth such lines m the very face
of those we have quoted from Montgomery, and from
wMch, doubtless, the idea of "The Witnesses" was un
guardedly borrowed. But, apart from comparison, we
are seriously bothered to make sense of Mr. Longfel
low's expressions and references ; for who on earth can
possibly understand how sMps can " fioat " in an ethe
real element, "beyond the faU of dews," — "deeper
than plummet hes," and where they can " no more sink
nor rise." TMs, we think, aU -wiU conceive, is truly in
comprehensible. It brings to mind an anecdote quite
apropos, wMch may, perhaps, afford Mr, LongfeUow
some defence for Ms senseless paragraphs, on the score
of precedent. The great Edinburgh publisher. Constable, whUe
reading over a manuscript poem by the " Ettrick Shep
herd," wMch had been submitted to him, tartly ob
served, on reaching some obscure sentence, " DeU's m
it; but I canna teU what you mean by this!" To
which Hogg artlessly rephed, " Hout, tout, man, that

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 365
is na strange, for I dinna ken, sometimes, what I mean
mysel' ! "
The poem of " Evangeline," in the second volume,
is most excessively duU, stiff, and tiresome. We can
not say one word in its favor, and only wonder how a
reader can beat Ms way through its long succession of
prosing hues — ^Hnes much more apt to induce a com
fortable siesta than to excite admiration. It is the
lengthiest production of the two volumes, except per
haps the Spanish Student, and is composed to the same
mumblmg, unmeanmg measure as " the ChUdren of the
Lord's Supper," whUe it is, if possible, even more bar
ren of ideaUty. We cannot get our consent to tran
scribe any portion ofit, lest we might by such repeated
mtrusions effectuaUy worry out the reader's patience.
Nor can we so reconcUe it with our present undertak
ing as to dweU any longer on the second volume. It
is of Hke sort -with the first ; perhaps, if there be any
difference at aU, even less creditable to the author.
We shaU cloge our notice of Mr. LongfeUow by re
marking very briefiy on the " Spanish Student." This,
in our opimon, is a work of much mtrinsic worth, and
erinces talent of a Mgh order. It is piquant, racy, fuU
of spirit and rivacity, and contams much pretty com
position — ^never rising, perhaps, into the powerfiil, yet
never faihng into the commonplace. The plot is quite
artistically conceived, and the dramatic features are
fuUy developed and weU deUneated. The character of
Preciosa is most gracefiiUy and handsomely drawn;
and Crispa is not, m her department, less happUy por
trayed; wMle Victorian and Ms rival brmg out the
fuU contrast of right and wrong. It is to be regretted
that our author was not content to rest his ambition
-with tMs acMevement, and that he could not have
reconcUed it to himself to leave out of Ms book aU

356 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.
else but this single production — ^lookmg for a permar
nent fame more to those works by wMoh he doubt
less sets far less store. In fine, it is quite grateful and
refreshmg, after having found so much fault with Mr.
LongfeUow, though justly so, as we think, that we are
enabled thus to bid him so kmdly a farewell.

SLAVEKT AND THE SLAVE TEADE IN
TKE DISTEIOT OF COLUMBIA,
DiGEESSiON and irrelevancy in the discussion of po
litical issues are characteristic of American -writers and
speakers. In Congress, especially, debate is rarely con
fined to the question under consideration. CoUateral
pomts even, wMch, m an assembly coUected of wisdom,
true taste would warn us to leave to inference mainly,
faU to afford scope sufficiently ample. Matters totally
disconnected with those at issue, are tortuously mtro-
duced to make up the speech. Hence, on a memorable
occasion m the Senate, Mr, Webster found it necessary,
in order to be properly understood, to commence his
celebrated speech on Foot's Resolution, in reply to Mr.
Haynes, by requesting the Secretary tq read the reso
lution under discussion. Every body recoUects the
beautiftU and appropriate figure of the marmer tossed
about for days m the open seas without chart or com
pass, by wMch he iUustrated the digression. TMs hap
pened more than twenty years ago, when, it may be
supposed, demagoguic mfiuences were less common
than at this day. And, mdeed, if a speaker were to
rise m his seat, now-a-days, and deUver a speech of
twenty or thirty mmutes length, confined solely to the
topic of debate, without once calling to his aid irrele-

358 SLA.-VEBY AND THE SLA-VB TEADE.
vant party issues, he would be stigmatized by reporters
and lobby members as empty-headed and stupid. Dis
cursive and inappropriate discussion has grown so com
mon, that it may now be regarded as a settled prece
dent m Congressional economy.
No more cogent Ulustration ofthe truth and justice
of the above general remarks may be cited, than the
history of the debates in Congress on the WUmot Pro
viso. A discussion of the power of Congress to pro
hibit or regulate slavery in the Territories of the Umt
ed States has opened, in the course of the debate, the
entire question of slavery, m all its pomts, and placed
it in every conceivable attitude. Prominent among
these irrelevant issues is one of very startUng moment,
not because of its complexity or obscurity, but because
of the petty and contemptible jealousy wMch pervades
both sections of the Union cohcermng its permanent
adjustment. It wUl, of course, be inferred that we al
lude to that of the powers of Congress over slaves and
the subject of slavery -within the District of Columbia.
On tMs point, aU candid and discrimmatmg minds must
admit that, in discussing the question, the South has
claimed more than is just and constitutional, and that
the North has chosen an UI time and showed an im
proper and intolerant spirit in asSertmg and claiming
what is doubtless just and constitutional. We cannot
thmk that true patriotism or devotion to right and
justice, have had any influence with the majority m the
introduction or discussion of this subject. The govem-
mg influences, in both cases, we fear, have been of a
different and far less meritorious character. On the
side of the Ndrth it seems to be an iU-timed and un
worthy attempt to wreak its prejudices upon an institu
tion wMch, to say the least, is recognized, if not by
name, at least de facto, and protected from invasion by

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 359
the federal, constitution. On the part of the South it
has been an unwary and hazardous attempt to make
poHtioal capital at home of a question that embodies
elements of the most dangerous nature, as regards the
welfare ofthe Union, and to feed a flame, of wMch the
calmest and most moderate pohtician may stand in
dread. But it has been our pride and. pleasure to ob
serve that, in both sections ofthe Union, the conserva
tive national whig party, as a body, has asserted and
maintained a course of conduct unquestionably con
servative and national. By moderation and dignity,
by ¦vrisdom and true patriotism, the party has weU sus
tained its ancient and honorable character.
In a hke spirit, it is trusted, and ¦with a mind beset
on ehciting and expressmg. the truth, we now proceed
to present, m a condensed and summary shape, our
riews and opimons. The true opinion, as we conceive,
may be best arrived at, by first propounding, and then
endeavoring to answer two leadmg questions ; which,
it is beheved, embrace the entire matter of debate :
1st. JIas Congress the right, under the Constitu
tion of the United States and deeds of cession from
the States of Maryland and Virginia, to abolish
slavery in the District of Colwrnbia f
2d. Has Congress - the right or power, under the
same instruments, to pass laws of a Municipal or Po
lice character concerning slaves, and to regulate or pro
hibit the slave traffic in said District ?
The first of these questions we do not at aU hesitate
to answer in the negative, and shaU state briefly the
reason and grounds on which that answer may be
founded. The aboUtion of slavery m any State, District, or
•Territory, ¦witMn the limits of the Umted States, can
not be a matter of legislation, because it involves rights

360 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE.
of persons and of property wMch existed preriously to
the establishment of the government, and which not
only constitute a prmcipal element in the government
of aU, but are beyond the reach of legislative majori
ties. The legislature of a State ought not to decree
the abohtion of slavery. It is a body of Hmited pow
ers, Hmited and defined, too, by an instrument wMch
is formed by the Sovereign power in convention. This
Sovereign power is the people. The legislature would
have no more right or authority, unwarranted or un-
empowered by any previous form of assent from the
people, to pass a law modifying the entire social sys
tem, than it would have to pass a law estaibhsMng or
abolishing the Christian or Je^wish form of worsMp, or
the tenures of land, or the right of self-defence, or the
right to bequeath or to inherit. These are aU inherent
properties and elements of government, and belong,
under our system, to that class of powers and natural
rights wMch are of none the less force and effect be
cause partly unwritten and undefined in the original
compact, and which are removed beyond the reach of
AssembUes whose powers are Hmited and difierently
intended. Slavery, as it exists in the separate States,
is equaUy entitled to be thus classed. The power,
therefore, abruptly to aboUsh such an institution, can
not belong to a state or national legislature. It is es
sentially a prerogative ofthe sovereignty ofthe people
themselves. It is in the provmce of a convention of
that power from which emanates the constitutions both
of federal and state governments. A contrary action
or decision, vesting such power either in Congress as
regards the District of Columbia, or in any of our State
legislatures, would be to create a ruinous mstabUity in
property in both instances. It would be committing
the most cherished and sacred of all rights, namely.

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 361
tjiat of modifying the fundamental relationship of man
to man, to a bare majority m Assembhes notoriously
impulsive, and fluctuatmg in opmion, and always af
fected by local prejudices, and educational predUee
tions, It would be placing individuals and entire com
munities at the mercy of partisans and fanatics, of op
posite opinions, lookmg neither to justice nor reason nor
to any thing beyond theu- o^wn ambitious aims and vio
lent purposes.
The second question must be regarded by aU candid
and dispassionate persons in a ¦widely-different sense,
inasmuch that it involves matters and issues of a very
different character, and which are totaUy irrelevant to
the first.
We hold that the powers of Congress, as concerns
the subject of regulating slavery m the District of Co
lumbia, are not at all analogous to the powers of the
same body as appHed to the Territories of the Umted
States, Conceding the power m the one case does not
and cannot necessarily embrace the other. In the first,
the power is expHcitly given, and is clearly derivable
from aU the sources where it ever belonged in law. In
the last it is not to be found in any bond, compact, or
conveyance of any description, and must be left to
vague inference, and ever remain an obscure and vexed
question. The power to regulate the slave traffic m any or m
all its branches, (save one, perhaps,) is a matter en
tirely of poHce, and belongs properly to legislative
bodies in their capacity of poHce conservators. Even
m our State legislatures a ¦wide discretion is claimed
and often exercised on this subject. But no one who
takes the trouble to examine the Constitution of the
Umted States, defimng the special powers of Congress,
or the deeds of cession from the States of Maryland
16

362 SLA^VEEY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.
and VLrgLoia, can justly or successfully question the
unlimited discretion of Congress concerning all poHce
regulations of slavery ¦within the District of Columbia.
The ten mUes square is ceded not to the United States,
as are the territories, but to the " Congress and Gov
emment of the United States." Where territories
have been reUnquished by any of the States, or ac
quired by purchase, the conveyance has ever been to
the Umted States and for their ^' benefit," and, in the
first instance, a parenthesis has always been made " in-
cludmg " the State which thus cedes. Territories ac
quired by conquest are conveyed by treaty to the Gov
emment of the Umted States, and thus become the
property alike of aU the communities which form that
government. In none of these cessions is Congress a
specified party. But, on the other hand, "the Con
gress " is a joint and specified party ¦with the " Govern
ment of the Umted States " in the ownership of the
District of Columbia. Now, as aU must very weU
understand, the Government of the Umted States is
made up of three co-ordmate branches or departments,
each separately defined, and charged with separate and
distinct functions. Of these. Congress is only the leg
islative power — subject in its action, withm certam
limits, to the check of both the Executive and Judicial
departments. Yet " the Congress " is placed independ
ent of, and as a jomt and equal partner with the
" Govemment of the United States " in the o-wnersMp
of the District, and its majority is thus the "fiJl and
absolute" arbiter and conservator in aU legislative
functions, excepting only m so far as restrained by the
prorisos and stipulations of the origmal cession,
TMs proposition may impress some persons as being
rather outi-6 and metaphysical, Lf not erroneous. But
we venture to conceive, that when measured by the

SLA-VEEY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 363
sense and words of the deed of cession from Maryland
and by" the same in ^the Constitution of the United
States, the fair and legitimate mference -wUl be in favor
of its entire correctness. To this end we deem it ad-
¦risable to transcribe the said deed of cession in fuU, as
well as the language of the Constitution, conceming
the powers of Congress in the District of Columbia :
"Be it enacted by the General Assembly of the State of Mary
land-* That all that part of the said territory called Columbia, (as
described in tbe previous section,) which lies within the limits of this
State, shall be, and the same is hereby acknowledged to be forever
ceded and relinquished to the Congress and Govemment ofthe United
States in full and exclusive right and exclusive jurisdiction, as well of
soil as of persons residing or to reside thereon, pursuant to the tenor
and effect of the eighth section of the first article of the Constitution
of the United States : Provided that nothing herein contained shall be
so construed as to vest in the United States any right of property in
the soil, as to effect tbe rights of individuals therein, otherwise than
the same shall be transferred by such individuals to the United
States." The itahcs in the above are our own ; and now, we
say, let that grant be considered as it may, the close
and candid reasoner -wUl be forced to infer that Con
gress is a separate and distinct party in the transac
tion, independent of its co-ordinate connection with the
Govemrnent of the United States. The laws of Con
gressional majorities, as has been already mtimated,
are subject both to be vetoed and over-ruled by the
other two departments, but these last are motionless
untU Congress shaU first have acted. Being, therefore,
an mdependent partner, as weU as a partner by virtue
of its co-ordinate connection with the Govemment of
the United States, and being also the active and mo
tive branch of the Govemment, we safely conclude
that Congress, thus doubly mterested, is on rather
more than an equahty with the Govemment of the

364 SLAVERY AND THE SLA-VE TEADE.
Umted States in the ownership of and jurisdiction over
the District of Columbia, and is, m fact, the main arbi
ter and conservator of its destiny, civil and political.
The difference between the two propositions thus sub
mitted, is simply tMs, viz. : that slavery being in ex
istence as a domestic mstitution -within the ten mUes
square when Congress accepted the deed of cession, the
relation between master and slave was distinctly recog
nized; Congress is, therefore, fairly estopped from
abolishing the mstitution without preriously expressed
assent from the people, or from passing any law to de
stroy the right of the owner in the property of his
slave, as acknowledged by the acceptance. But, in
the second place, the power so to regulate those rela
tions as to abridge or prohibit the general and mdis-
criminate trafiic m slaves, -witMn the Hmits of the Dis
trict, being essentiaUy a matter of police and legisla^
tion, and being clothed with " fuU and absolute " power
in legislating for said District, Congress has the un
doubted right to interfere so as to modify or aboHsh
such traffic, and that too without any appeal to the
•wiU or wishes of the State Governments,
But, continumg our argument on the second propo
sition, the powers of Congress ¦vrithin the limits of the
federal district are yet more expHcitly defined than in
the deed of cession above recited. The eighth section
of the first article of the Constitution of the Umted
States declares : " That Congress shaU have power to
exercise ea;c?MS«t!e jurisdiction, in aS cases whatsoever,
over such district (not exceeding ten mUes square) as
may, by cession of particular States, and by the accept
ance of Congress, become the seat of Govemment of
the Umted States."
It must be admitted, we thmk, that this, literally,
is a sweeping clause. It could not weU have been

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 365
framed so as to convey larger powers. It is not even
qualified. It can be Hmited only by bringing the pow
ers thus sweepingly conferred to the test of established
precedent, and natural or pre-existing rights. In the
first instance, the deed is " full and absolute ;" in the
second, the acceptance carries along with it, under the
supreme law of the land, " exclusive jurisdiction m all
cases whatsoever." It is, indeed, a clause m which the
most biased and fastidious stickler ¦wiU find little to
restrict the discretion of Congress in any matter of
legislation ; and that the slave traffic is a matter of
legislation no inteUigent reader wiU venture to deny.
It has been claimed as such, certainly, by every gov
ernment m which slavery has existed, ancient and
modem. That of Rome, wMch gave to the master the
power even of life and limb over his slave, always
claimed and exercised exclusive control over the slave
traffic. But it could not destroy, by simple legislative
majority, the relation between master and slave, nor
deprive -the first of the labor and value of the last.
Greece, as a Government, was anxious to rid the coun
try of the slavery of the Helots, long before the body
of the people were either prepared for, or wiUing to
favor such riddance. The Government, therefore,
claimed and exercised the undeniable right of aU gov-
ei-nments to abridge and prohibit the indiscriminate
and unnatiiral traffic in the unfortunate beings whom
she had enslaved, but it dared not, even in that early
age, to infidrige the right of property by destroying the
relation itself Russia, although a sombre and quiet
despotism, where aU legislative power is lodged -with
the Czar, would not venture, perhaps, by a peremptory
ukase, to aboUsh serfdom withm its Hmits ; yet the
slave traffic is entirely and most effectuaUy prohibited,
and the serfs go along with the land on which they

366 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.
were born, and all their local and family attachments
are sacredly preserved. The rash and unjust exercise
of the first power, even by the Autocrat of Russia,
would Mndle a flame of resentment that would spread
quicMyfrom the Don to the Vistula, and an insulted
people would bring down vengeance on even that,
august head, which, they believe, wears its crown by
di-rine right and will. In the exercise of the last pow
er, however, which is conformable both to justice and
custom, no opposition was encountered, and a general •
acquiescence evidenced its popularity.
Under our Government of sovereign States and de
fined powers, Congress is entirely restricted from the
exercise of this power, as concerns the States, but its
power over the subject is " fuU and absolute,'-' when
appUed to its " exclusive jurisdiction " over the District
of Columbia. Neither Congress, nor State Legisla
tures, have the power to aboUsh slavery ¦withm their
respective jurisdictions ; but neither would be tran-
scendmg their legitimate powers, as we humbly con
ceive, to pass such laws as could tend to prohibit indis-
crimmate traffic in slaves, ¦without regard to number or
social relations.
It must be borne in mmd that slaves, both under
the Federal and State Constitutions, as weU as by the
laws of each, are considered as bemg sometMng more
than mere property* That they are {de facto) prop
erty, no one wiU venture to gamsay ; but they are a
pecuhar species of property. They are not at all. re
garded as irrational animals, or perishable Hve stock,
as horses, or s-wine, or cattle. Some have been weak
enough to urge and advocate this faUacious pomt, as
suming, with smgular hardihood and pertinacity, that
wMch no person of ordinary information wUl sanction.
Slaves are regarded, both under the Constitution

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 367
and the laws, as persons also, and, in some sense, as
members of organized society, though certamly and
properly excluded from the digmty of citizenship, and
from dvU privUeges. They are regularly apportioned,
in accordance ¦with the Federal Constitution, (in the
true spirit of that great American system of protection
and encouragement, wMch reaches and covers every
species of labor, a system long upheld, and ardently
cherished by the conservative Whig party ofthe Union,)
for fuU representation in the Congress of the United
States. They are entitled to protection, under the
law, m life and limb, and are, individually, amenable
for any infractions of the crimmal code. They are
shielded, by the law, from all cruel and unusual pun
ishments at the hands of bad masters. In aU these is
exhibited very clearly the ¦wide distinctions between
negroes transferable, by sale, from one master to an- ,
other, and aU other kinds of property. TMs view of
the subject is very ably and elaborately expounded by
Mr. Madison in No. 54 of the " FederaUst." He there
expresses Mmself thus : " But we must deny the fact
that slaves are considered merely as property, and in
no respect whatever as persons! The true state of the
case is, that they partake of both of these characters.
. , , It is the character bestowed on them by the laws
under wMch they Hve ; and it wUl not be denied that
these are the proper criterion. The slave is regarded
by the law as a member of society, not as a part of the
irrational creation ; as a moral person, not as a mere
article of property. The Federal Constitution, there
fore, decides ¦with great propriety on the case, when it
views them m the mixed character of persons and of
property." TMs leaves a clear inference that an indiscriminate
traffic in slaves is not to be regarded as beyond the

368 SLA-VBRY AND THE SLA^VB TRADE,
reach of legal interference and restriction, or as the
same with that of horses and cattle. Congress may
not possess the power to abolish slave deahng in aU its
branches, but it does not follow from this that the
right to regulate and restrict the trade is prohibited.
On the other hand, it is clearly withm the legitimate
province of Congress to do so, provided no legislative
steps are taken to infringe the rights of resident o^wn-
ers in the property of their slaves. Congress, however,
under the deeds of cession, is restricted, on this sub
ject, onlyas regards resident owners. In the case of
transient persons and traders, an arbitrary and perverse
stretch of power might easUy give a different aspect to
these relations.
We feel assured that no one wUl deny the power
of Congress to proMbit a banking company from New
York or Delaware from estabUshmg a bank withm the
hmits of the District, either by poritive enactment to
that effect, or by refusmg them a corporate existence.
How, then, can it be denied that the same body has
the same sort of power to mterdict a slave dealer from
Maryland or Virginia from carrymg on his odious traf
fic ¦witMn the same Hmit's ? Or how, under the Consti
tution and law, can Congress be denied the authority
and right to interfere even .go far as to regulate or re
strict the trade as between resident o-wners themselves ?
It must be remembered that, unHke any other legisla/-
tive assembly in the Union, Congress possesses here
"full and absolute" power, and that its "jurisdiction"
¦within the District limits is not only independent and
unquaUfied, but " exclu.sive in all cases whatsoever,"
There is nothing in the Federal Constitution to pro
Mbit the abolition of the institution by Congress, be
yond the right of aU citizens to claim protection for his
property, StiU less is there to be found any clause or

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 369
enactment denying the right to abridge and restrict
the traffic. Neither are such prohibitory or restrictive
clauses to be found m the deeds of cession, for m these,
except only as relates to o^wners of " soU," the power
of Congress is totaUy unlimited. It is even a question,
in fiew of the broad and unqualified powers thus con
ferred on the Congress withm the District limits both
by the Constitution and the deeds, whether the right
to proMbit the trade m all its features can be success
fully confuted or domed ? But thus fer we do not pre
tend to go in tMs article.
But there are other riews in which tMs subject may
be argued. The ten mUes square must be considered
as belonging exclusively to the " Congress and Gov
ernment ofthe United States," and not, as do the Ter
ritories, to the United States, over which Congress
can only exercise trust powers. Agamst any improper
or unequal, or discriminating, legislation by Congress
as concerns the last, the States would have a right to
protest. But as concerns legislation by Congress within
the District, they are estopped. Resolutions, intro
duced before Congress, and intended to do away -with
the slave trade in the said District, are nothing to us
of the South, m the capacity of States. We are un-
wUling to admit that our right of self-regulation can be
thus endangered. We should as soon think of fearing
the effects of the recent emancipation m the French
West Indies : and we have about as much right to pro
test in the last case as m the first. On the contrary,
we incline to believe that the interference by' Congress
with the slave trade in the District would result bene-
ficiaUy to the negro slave in the States. If the traffic
was proMbited there, and those loathsome and disgust-
ing depots of degraded and distressed humanity were
effectually brokenup ¦within the District Hmits, it would
16*

370 SLA-VERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.
force the Southern slaveholding States to protect them
selves by adopting simUar laws, or else their soU would
be flooded with an inundation of traders ¦with their
long, thick gangs of wretched creatures, hurried to
market to avoid total losses. There is no telUng what
would be the consequences, if, in the event of such law
passed by Congress, the slaveholding States should fail
to adopt simUar laws. The wanton cruelties and re-
voltmg barbarities of the British West Indies would
speedUy be re-enacted in a region where quiet, and
content, and joUy cheerfulness prevaU among white
and black. The land would swarm ¦with hordes of
suUen and desperate creatures, tom suddenly from
home and from famUy, and ready for any act of mas
sacre, or for any kind of death. The whites, driven to
fury by the fall of property, and by this repulsive in
novation of their domestic arrangements, would soon
grow discontented ; the better and more polished por
tion would endeavor to leave the State ; and anarchy
more appaMng than ever before exampled,. would then
become the order ofthe day. But would the Southem
States faU, in such event, to pass such la^ws ? We haz
ard Httle m saying that they would not. They value
their homes, their property, and their domestic associ
ation far too highly, thus unwarily to jeopardize the
peace and security of aU, In Mississippi, especiaUy,
opinion is even now rLfe for the passage of such laws ;
and had the emancipation question, lately submitted to
the people of Kentucky, prevailed, a foreign negro (by
wMch we mean those of other States and portions of
the confederacy) had never set foot on our soU. It is
a settled and cherished hope and desire with many in
this State, that the slave traffic shall speedUy tei-mmate
¦vrithin its limits. Already has it been declared, by
resolution of the Legislature, a pubhc nuisance for

SLAVERY AJSTD THE SLAVE TRADE. 371
traders to expose thefr gangs of chained human crea
tures ¦within view of the capitol of a sovereign State.
The negroes now o-wned in Mississippi are, m general,
thoroughly domesticated andhappy as a race, attached
to home and their masters, and they are the most cheer
ful and Hght-hearted of human beings. There is no
State of the South where they are so comfortably pro
vided for, so well treated, and so amply protected by
law. It is thought, moreover, that the natural increase
of those now here, -wUl be more than suffident to culti
vate aU our soU in a few years. Thus situated, we have
Uttle cause to mvite or aUure an mflux of strangers and
traders -with their Hving herds. We have every thmg
to lose, and nothing to gain, by such a course of con
duct. If, then, such action by Congress, ¦vrithm a juris
diction exclusively its o^wn, should mduce a Hke action
on our part ; should mfluence a movement wMoh would
lead to consequences thus beneflcial to our interests
and prepossessions, and wMch would have the effect of
strengthenmg slavery as a strictly domestic mstitution
in the States, and relieve it, at the same , time, of its
most repulsive and unwelcome feature, we would have
Httle cause for complamt. On the contrary, we might
very consistently contribute toward bringing about so
agreeable a state of things.
To recur now to our original propositions, we must
reiterate the opimon, that wMle the right to emanci
pate Hes ¦with the people m their collective body in
convention, — a right they inherit from sources of power
older than the Constitution or the laws, and conse
quently of unassaUable and impregnable integrity as
weU as of superior magmtude,-^slaVes, Hke aU other
kinds of property, are subject, nevertheless, to legisla
tion for regulation. It woiUd be surely and strangely
anomalous if they were not, especiaUy in that feature

372 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE,
wMch we have been more particularly employed Ln
treatmg of.
Indeed, it may be further contended, that Congress
has far more power, under the Constitution and deeds
of cession, over the subject of slavery in the District
of Columbia, than the Legislatures have in the various
States. The States are sovereign, independent powers.
The District of Columbia, on the other hand, is not
sovereign or independent. Its mhabitants are isolated
as regards their relations with the different States or
sovereign commumties wMch form the United States,
They have no voice either in the election of the Presi
dent, or of the Congress which govern them. They
are passive subjects.
The, people of a sovereign State possess privUeges,
and claim immunities wMch the people of the District
do not enjoy. The State Legislatures are not arbitrary,
irresponsible bodies. As regards the ten nules square.
Congress is entirely an arbitrary, irresponsible body.
Here, then, is a wide and vital difference, the grounds
of which can neither be controverted nor demed.
But, more than all, the District of Columbia is the
neutral ground betwixt the jarring and confficting sec
tions of the confederacy. As appHed ¦within its limits,
the nature of the government undergoes a change, and
presents a new face. Sovereign power, unchecked and
undefined, is lodged elsewhere than m the people. An
assembly composed of representatives from aU other
portions of the country, is its sole o^wner and supreme
arbiter. Taxation and representation are here em
phatically disaUied, One can be imposed without the
recognition or voice ofthe other; and the great princi
ple which gave birth to American independence, and
wMch has built up one of the most powerful empfres
under the sun, is thus signaUy repudiated and disre-

« SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 373
garded in a neutral territory, set apart for the resi
dence of the supreme powers.
But, independently of this paradoxical fact, and
being the neutral ground between North and South,
every reason is afforded why aU grounds of exception
or offence to the opimons and prejudices of both sec
tions should be peacefuUy removed. Congress can
never aboUsh slavery in the District ¦vrithout abruptly
transcending its legitimate powers. This, should be
satisfaction enough to us of the South.
The mdiscriminate traffic in slaves, exposing them
for sale m droves, withont regard to family or attach
ments, and under the very eye of men unaccustomed i
to such sights, is odious m the extreme. It is a cus
tom not only foreign to the tastes and prejudices ofthe
Northern men, but is revoltmg as the most disgusting
nuisance. It is a repulsive and unwelcome sight to all.
It is generaUy regarded as an unseemly and objection
able spectacle on the neutral ground of a free repubUc,
one-half of wMch, in the capacity of sovereign States,
has aboHshed and repudiated aU connection ¦with the
institution, exceptmg only m so fer as they are consti
tutionaUy bound to protect the rights, m this respect,
of the slaveholdmg States, It.is a custom barely toler
ated even in the States where slavery exists as a do
mestic mstitution. In many of these — Mississippi
promment among them — ^the mtroduction of slaves to
vend Ln large droves is prohibited by statute, and made
a penal offence. Why then should we claim and con
tend for more in the District, which belongs to Con
gress, than is generaUy practiced in our State Govern
ments ? Or why perversely deny a right to Congress
so to regulate a traffic carried on within its " exclusive
jurisdiction," as to make the same less objectionable
and odious to one-half of its body ? It is a right be-

374 SLAVERY AND THE SLA^VE TRADE. t
longing unquestionably to the " Congress and Govem
ment ofthe United States," and when they shall decide
to act under that right, where -wiU we find authority to
prevent or successfiiUy oppose them ? We cannot caU
on the States, for they would be stopped at the outset,
for want of formal and proper authority to interfere m
a matter wMch both the Constitution and the law have
removed beyond the reach of their control. No right
of any sovereign State, no clause or portion of the ,
great federal compact, would be infrmged by such ac
tion on the part of Congress, -vrithin a territory o-wing
aUegiance to it alone. The States, then, would be left
-vrithout the shadow.of complamt or aggrievance. We
could not appeal to the General Govemment, for, be
sides bemg the offendmg partyitself— if it be offence —
it can only move in such case by the terms of the law,
and that law wiU afford us no pretext for the caU. The
army and navy wUl not be at our disposal, for we could
not make out a constitutional case of aggrievance, or
frame a proper exMbit to claim them at the hands of
the Executive, If we shoMd attempt to btdly or to
threaten, Congress might sUence us at once by pro
ducing the Constitution and deeds of cession, and by
chaUengmg us to show any cause for questioning the
supremacy of the General Government -vrithm its proper
sphere and withm its " exclusive jurisdiction," They
might also plead our favorite doctrine of ." hands off,"
or the rapidly-obtaining principle of" non-mtervehtion,"
They would teU us to let them alone in their " absolute
and exclusive jurisdiction," and then they in turn -wiU
forbear to interfere with ours. It ¦vdU be time enough,
we think, to resort to aU these extreme remedies, and
to others more extreme stiU, when Congress shaU seek
to disturb the institution jn the States, Even then we
are inchned to believe that remedies less harsh, less ex-

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 375
treme, and less repulsive than force of arms, may be
found to aUay the tumult, and afford redress. But in
a case where we can estabhsh no right, found no pro
test, and exMbit no authority to interfere ; where, at
the best, we would be so entirely excuseless and help
less, reason and mature reflection will teU us to pause
and inquire before we take the flnal, fatal step. Other-
¦wise we might chance to be placed m the perplexing
situation ofthe American army before the broken gates
of fallen Mexico, or in the more ridiculous attitude of
the French army before those of Rome. We might be
found eager to inquire into the cause of the tumult
after aU the miscMef had been done ; or, what is worse
still, we might be unable, when questioned by the op
posmg party, to state the grounds or the nature of our
offence.

THE TEUE ISSUE BETWEEN PAETIES m
THE SOUTH : UNION OE DISUNION,*
A CRISIS has been reached in our national affairs
when it becomes us aU, fellow-citizens, to reflect. The
crisis is not, as heretofore, Ulusory and unreal, or con
fined merely ¦withm the narrow limits of party contriv
ances. The least sagacious may see that danger is
imminent, and that the impulsiveness of some, the bad
influence of others, and the selfish ambition of many,
have wrought the pubHc mind to a degree of excite
ment that bodes dire and permanent mischief to the in
tegrity of the Government. It is not to be concealed
that the issue so long and so earnestly deprecated by
Washington and other fathers of the RepubUc, is about
fo be jomed. That issue is, Umon or Disunion. No
subtlety of argument or speech, no specious array of
words, no mgemous or metaphysical terms, can longer
cover the designs of those who are promulging the
pernicious doctrine of resistance to the constitutional
acts of Congress, or, what is worse, abettmg schemes
* Union or Disunion ; being a Eeview of the alleged causes of ag
gression at the recent action of Congress, together with some views
conceming tbe proposed Southern Convention ; and an examination of
His Excellency's late Proclamation, as also ofthe doctrine of Secession.
Addressed to the People of Mississippi. By a Southron. Columbus,
Mississippi. 1850.

UNION OR DISUNION. 377
and movements which look, m their consequences, to
notMng less than actual secession and dissolution of the
Union. Mark the word, fellow-citizens. I do not men
tion secession without premeditation ; nor do I charge
it, as yet, on any class of persons hereabouts. I affix
the odium to their schemes, and shaU endeavor to ex
plain the grounds of the charge more fully as we pro
gress ¦with the subject.
It is the purpose of these papers to review calmly
and succmctly the doctrines set up by those who advo
cate resistance to the laws of Congress, recently passed,
which admit Califorma as a State of the Union, and
wMch embrace the whole series oftbUls reported bythe
Senate Committee of Thirteen, of which Henry. Clay
was chairman ; better kno-wn as the Compromise or
Adjustment BUls. I purpose to reriew the whole
grounds of what is termed the list of Southern griev
ances. I shaU examine the various constitutional ques
tions that have been raised, and the exposition of wMch
has been depended on as the reason for extreme resorts.
I shaU inquire into the necessity for the proposed con
vocation of the Legislature by Governor Quitman, and
also of the reassemblage of the Nash^viUe Convention ;
and, lastly, I shaU mvite your attention to the remedies
proposed bythe advocates of resistance, riz. : secession
or dissolution of the United States, and the formation
of a Southern Confederacy.
To accomphsh fully this design, it is necessary to
enter into some preliminary detaUs of Mstory, mti-
mately connected ¦vrith the subject, and wMch may not,
therefore, prove unprofitable. It may serve, and is de
signed to show, the ricious tendency of party, and the
countless e-rils which have flowed from the policy ofthe
last admmistration.
The dangers wMch now threaten the peace of the

378 UNION OR DISUNION,
Union date thefr origin from the dark period of the
Texan annexation. No matter what may be our obU
gations and relations with Texas now, it is undeniable
that her introduction as a member ofthe Umted States
has brought about the present dissatisfactions and dis
tractions. Preriously to 1845, parties had been divided
mainly on internal questions, wMch the lapse of a few
years would have settled peaceably and -with satisfac
tion. The United States Bank had faUen beneath the
ponderous arm of Andrew Jackson, and its advocates,
after a manful struggle, had submitted quietly to its
overthrow. Internal improvements had ceased to be
a ground of difference, because the States had taken
them m hand separately. The manifold and exagger
ated evUs which had been charged on the Protective
System had been averted (if,- indeed, they had ever
existed) by the pacificatory influences of the Compro
mise BUl of 1833 ; and their partial revival in 1842 had
been effectuaUy checked bythe law of 1846, Mean
while, however, a new cause of difference had been sur
reptitiously mtroduced bythe expiring administration
of John Tyler. The recent developments made by this
last-named personage and the Hon, Samuel Houston,
leave no question as to the fraudulence wMch marked
the mcipieney ofthe annexation project ; the depth and
consummate artifice of which, m connection with the
fabled alHance between England and Texas, seem to
have mveigled the strong perceptive ¦ powers of Mr,
Calhoun hunself At least, he was caUed in to consum
mate the plan, and, although it was, on the part of Ty
ler, a last effort at popularity, and on the part of Hous
ton a last chance of escape from Mexican reconquest, it
is certain that his object was to guard, by its speedy
annexation to the Umon, an interest to wMch he was
¦devoted, and which he beheved was assaUable by Eng-

UNION OR DISUNION. 379
land from that exposed quarter. The name and influ
ence of Calhoun gave, thus, very high respectabUity to
a project which might otherwise, under the auspices of
Houston or Tyler, have faUen mto speedy and meritori
ous disrepute. But the respectabUity thro-wn around it
by Mr. Calhoun, though probably well intended byhim,
resulted most disastrously. No sooner was it made
known that the distinguished Carolinian had asserted
the claims of Texas, than the Democratic party, char
grined by thefr defeat m 1840, seized adroitly on the
question, ,-wrested it from the feeble grasp of John Ty
ler, and, under the pale and sicklied Hght of the " Lone
Star," succeeded in their efforts for the Presidency.
Mr. Polk was elected, Texas hastily and inconsiderately
annexed, and it is a remarkable and not uninstructive
fact, that just as the ancient party warfare had expfred,
the Democratic party simultaneously introduced a fire
brand of contention, which, it is feared, wUl yet prove
the entering wedge to a dissolution of the Umon.
Scarcely had Texas been annexed, before, in conse
quence, the war with Merico ensued. It was persisted
in untU Califorma, New Mexico, and Texas were aU
brought mto the Union, and in despite of the warning
voice of many who had at first advocated the annexa
tion of the latter ; hot believmg that it would result
in "war and extensive conquest. Cahfornia and New
Mexico thus becoming the property of the United
States, there was rerived, as a natural consequence, the
exciting issue wMch had preriously gro-wn out of the
purchase of Louisiana, and wMch, in 1819, had weU
nigh caused'a disruption bf the Govemment. This is
sue, of course, was the extension or restriction of the
slavery mterest. For weal or for woe, therefore, the
last administration is justly chargable ¦withthe dangers
and the erils which now, if not checked, so imminently

380 UNION OR DISUNION,
portend a bloody and devastating ciril war. Its advo
cates should not shrink from the responsibiUty ; else,
haring now seen and felt the disasters of their hasty
policy, let them come forward, and aid to rescue the
Union. It wUl not be denied that the circumstances of the
admission of California into the Union, -with her present
Constitution, were such as to engender much and seri
ous jealousy on the part ofthe South. Her boundaries
were too large and extended by more than half ; and
the Convention which framed her Constitution was got
ten np -with a haste and informahty that argued a pre
determined hostiUty to the pecuHar Southem institu
tion. But it is equally undeniable that the people of
California possess the right, in a conventional capacity,
to exclude slavery from their midst ; and the exclusion
haring been made, it was a very serious question
whether more mischief would not have ensued from
the attempt to undo the act, in the face of our settled
prmciples of popular right, than any which is likely to
foUow from a recognition of her claims. It is also a
very delicate point to assume that Congress has the
right to impose, under such cfrcumstances, any other
than its sole constitutional restriction on the terms of
admission, which is a republican form of government.
Such power has ever beefl strenuously denied by South
ern statesmen, and the contrary assertion by the North
in the case of Missouri in 1819, was then the great
cause of contention and aggravation. The irregulari
ties which marked the formation of the California Con
stitution were no legitimate bar to her admission,
¦although certainly an objection. Precedent has settled
that point against the advocates of resistance. Not to
mention the recent cases of Michigan and of Texas, Ms-

UNION OR DISUNION. 381
tory has preserved the action of Congress on two mem
orable occasions, directly analogous. At the session of
1802 the territory comprising the present State of OMo
made apphcation for admission into the Union. The
apphcation was referred to a Committee of the Senate,
of which the celebrated Mr. GUes was chairman ; and
on the fourth day of March succeeding, it was reported,
that although the requisitions of the law had not been
strictly comphed with in the formation of the Constitu
tion, and the prescribed number of mhabitants nearly
twenty thousand short, yet that it comported " ¦with
the general interest of the confederacy " to admit said
State of OMo into the Union, " on the same footing
with the origmal States, m aU respects whatsoever."
(Amer. State Papers. Mis. vol. 1st, page 326.) It is
worthy of remark that the tei-m, " general interest of
the confederacy," covers the whole ground of admis
sion, and e^vinces, in a strikmg manner, the procHvity
of the past generation of statesmen to submerge aU fac
tional issues in the common weal of the Union.
The principle of non-mtervention was more clearly
settled stUl at the session of 1808, on a,n apphcation of
the people mhabitmg the Indiana Territory to estabhsh
a separate government west ofthe river Wabash, The
Committee, m tMs mstance, reported that, " bemg con
vinced it was the -wish of a large majority of said Ter
ritory that such separation should take place, deem it
always -wise and just pohcy to grant to every portion
of the people of the Union that form of govemment
which is the object of their wishes, when not incom
patible with the Constitution of the United States,"
(Amer. State Papers. Mis. vol. 1st, page 946.)
So much as concerns the admission of Califorma at
the recent session of Congress, and which some few
discontented spirits. North and South, but mainly at

382 UNION OR DISUNION.
the South, propose to resist at every extremity. The
facts of the case only have been intended to be given.
With the Congi-essional speeches, and other evidences
touching its merits, so extensively distributed among
the people, it is not deemed necessary to burthen this
treatise ¦with lengthy detail.
With regard to the biU proposmg an adjustment of
pendmg difficulties ¦with the State of Texas, it is only
necessary to say, that the whole subject is now before
those most deeply interested, and who alone are to be
the judges of their right to accept or reject the propo
sition of Congress. If the people of Texas shall prove
to be incapable of ascertaining their interests and im
munities as citizens of the repubhc, it wUl then be full
time, but not until such is fairly proven, for then- wise
neighbors to assume their administration and dfrection.
It may be as well to add, that this is the riew taken of
this bUl by both the Texan Senators, concurred with
by the Hon. John M, Berrien, of Georgia, and the
Hon, Jere Clemens, of Alabama. Thefr opinions are
herewith subjoined :
" Kothing more has been done than to submit a proposition to
Texas to settle a question of boundary, admitted on all bands to be
full of difficulty. It is at her option to accept or reject the offer.
It mil not do to argve that the amawnt of -money wiU bias unfairly the
action of her Legislature. Put the question to any Alabamian — ask
him if he thinks our State woijjd sell ber poorest county for all the
treasures of the Union, and he would treat it as an insidt. Are we to
assume that we are better than others, or that Texas will accept what
we would spurn ? I was wiUing to trust Texas with the care of her
own honor. I was wiUing also to trust to her own knowledge qf her
rights."— Clemen's letter qf Angust 20th.
" My reasons for voting for the bUl to adjust the Texas boundary
are as foUows ;
1st. As evincing a disposition to reconciliation which strengthens
our cause.
2d. Because Texas, as a sovereign State, was the party entitled

UNION OR DISUNION. 383
to decide the question of disposing of her own territory. If any State
had interfered iu our (the Georgia) cession of 1802, I should have
considered it an intrusion.
3d. Because tbe territory to be ceded would become part of Xew
Mexico, and free from the Proviso.
4th. PrincipaUy because relieving Texas from her debtj it would
develop her energies ; and I consider a strong slaveholding State in
that qua.rter as of incalculable importance, in itself, and necessarily
leadi-ng to theforma^on of others." — Berrieiis Macon letter.
The tMrd m the series of what is caUed the aggres
sive or anti-Southern measures of Congress, is the bUl
erecting Territorial Governments for the Territories of
New Merico and Utah. These bills, respectively, con
tain the foUo^wing section :
"£e it further enacted. That when admitted as a
State, the said territory, or any portion of the same,
shall be received into the Umon with or without slave
ry, as their Constitution may prescribe at the time of
their admission."
This clause, were there no ulterior objects in the
view of those who now so busy themselves in promulg
ing the doctrme of secession, or its equivalent, the prin
ciple of sedition, would, it might reasonably be mferred,
have proven perfectly satisfactory to the entire South.
There is, at least, no restriction as concerns slavery,
and it is assuming what might not be safe for the South,
to contend for its direct estabhshment by Congress in
those Territories. If the' influence of Texas shall be
what Judge Berrien, m the latter clause above quoted,
predicts it may be, there is almost a certainty that new
slaveholdmg States may yet be formed out of tMs iden
tical Territory. It is the mere cant of disumon to
stickle on the pomt of non-protection by Congress to
slave property in those Territories, The Constitution
of the United States is now extended over those Terri
tories. The Constitution expressly recognizes the in-

384 UNION OE DISUNION.
stitution of slavery ; but it has been left for the local
authorities always to regulate the municipal and poUce
features. The doctrine of non-interference ¦with slavery
by Congress has been too long and too sedulously
claimed by the South to stickle now on this point. It
is taught in the celebrated Southern Address penned
by Mr. Calhoun ; and it is remarkable that this great
statesman and friend of slavery never, in any speech or
address, contends for what many now deem so very
essential to Southern interests — ^viz. : protection by Con
gress for slave property in the Territories.
The bUl most objected to by factious sectionahsts
in connection with the late Congressional measures of
harmony and pacification, is that wMch abolishes the
indiscrimmate slave trade in the District of Columbia,
It is pretended that this is not only aggressive on the
rights of the South, but is palpably contrary to the
Federal Constitution — so much so as to warrant hos
tilities to the Government on the part of the Southern
States. Now if it can be sho^wn that this bill is con
formable to the terms of the Maryland deed of cession
and to the Constitution of the Umted States, the last
objection of course falls to the ground, and, as a neces
sary consequence, the first is removed ; for it cannot be
rationaUy contended that the South could be aggrieved
by any course of action on the part of Congress which
is proven to be in accordance with these two instru
ments. The poHtical situation ofthe District, in view ofthe
strong popular features of our government, is certainly
anomalous. As appHed withm its limits, the nature of
the government undergoes an entfre change, and pre
sents a new face. Sovereign power, unchecked and
undefined m the original compacts, is lodged elsewhere
than in thepeople. An assembly, composed of persons

UNION OR DISUNION, 385
from aU other portions of the Confederacy, is its sole
o^wner and supreme arbiter. Taxation and representa
tion are here emphaticaUy disaUied. One can be im
posed without the recogmtion or voice of the other ;
and the great principle wMch gave birth to American
Independence, and which has buUt up one of the most
powerful empfres under the sun, is thus signaUy repu
diated and disregarded m a neutral territory set apart,
m the very heart ofthe nation, for the residence ofthe
supreme powers. Before progressing with this branch
of the subject, however, I have thought it would be
better, my feUow-citizens, to place before you the
Maryland deed of cession, conveying this District to
Congress, and wMch, now that the portion of its origi
nal limits belongmg to Virgima has been retroceded to
that State, is the only deed to wMch it becomes neces
sary to refer. Side by side with tMs deed, I shaU place
that clause of the Federal Constitution wMch accepts
the same, and prescribes the powers of Congress over
the District limits :
"Be it enacted bythe Oeneral Assembly qf the State qf Maryland,
That aU that part of.the said territory baUed Columbia, which lies
within the limits of this State, shaU be, and the same is hereby ac
knowledged to he, for ever ceded and relinquished to -the Congress and
Government of the United States, in full and concl-usive right and ex
clusive jurisdiction, as weU of soil as of persons residing, or to reside
thereon." — Deed from Maryland.
" Congress'shaU liave power to exercise exclusive jurisdiction in all
cases whatsoever, over such district (not exceeding ten mUes square) as
may, by cession of particular States, and by the acceptance of Con
gress, become the seat of govemment of the United States." — Const.,
art. 1st, section 8«A.
The only proriso affixed to tMs deed is, " that no
right shaU be vested in the Umted States as to soil
o^wned by indiriduals otherwise than the same might
be transferred by such mdiriduals," The deed, any
17

386 UNION OR DISUNION.
candid reasoner must admit, is full and absolute, wMle'
the language of the Constitution is so exphcit as to
amount, HteraUy, to an unqualified, sweeping clause.
They both are so framed as to convey as large powers
as it is possible to conceive that language can possibly
convey. The deed parts with Maryland's right to the
District "for ever / " the " acceptance " ih the Consti
tution carries along ¦vrith it, as the most biased and fas
tidious stickler ¦wiU concede, " exclusive jurisdiction in
all cases whatsoever."
It ¦wUl be seen, moreover, that the Congress is a
party to tMs deed m more ways than one. It is a party
independently, because the cession is made to the Con
gress and Govemment ofthe Umted States, It is also
a party by ¦rirtue of its co-ordinate connection with the
government of the United States.
' Congress is thus armed with double powers, and as
to the ceded District may be said to be sovereign, ex
cept as concerns pre-existing rights, wMch no cession
could transfer, and no Constitution, or acceptance of
such cession, ¦wrest from the people. I pause to say
that among the pre-'eristing rights is that to hold slaves,*
and that Congress can have no power, consequently, to
abolish slavery m the District, without the previously
expressed assent of the people thereof The power to
abolish is not the function of a legislative body, deriv-
mg its power from instruments less ancient than the
mstitution proposed to be aboUshed, It is a power
which can belong only to those who o-wn slaves,
wherever found Hving under our present Federal Con
stitution, But Congress being clothed with absolute power,
and vrith exclusive jurisdiction over the District, must
needs possess supreme legislative powers, from wMch
there can be no appeal to the States, and -with which

UNION OE DISUNION. 387
the last have no right to interfere. It cannot be demed
that the slave traffic is legitimately the subject of legis
lation. The traffic is carried on under the law. The
right of the master to the slave as property is older
than the law, and can no more be assaUed by the law
than could the right to bequeath or inherit, or the right
of self-defence, or the freedom of conscience; aU of
which are of none the less effect because partly unwrit^
ten and undefined. The traffic has always and every
where been reckoned as among the municipal or 'poHoe
features of slavery. It has been so considered by every
govemment, ancient and modem, under which slavery
has existed. That of Rome, which gave to the master
even the power of life and Hmb over his slave, always
claimed to regulate the slave traffic ; but it never
claimed to destroy, by simple legislative majority, the
relation between master and slave. Greece, as a gov
ernment, was anxious to rid the country of the Helot
slavery long before the body of the people were either
prepared for, or ¦wilUng to, such riddance. The gov
ernment, therefore, claimed only the right of all gov
ernments, to abridge, and finaUy to prohibit the indis
criminate traffic in the bemgs who were enslaved ; but
it dared not, even in that early age, to infringe the
right of property by abruptly destroymg the relation
between master and slave. Russia, although a simple
despotism, where all legislative power even is lodged
with the Czar, would not venture, by a peremptory
ukase, to abolish serfdom ¦witMn its imperial limits ; yet
the slave traffic is not only effectuaUy regulated, but is
so far prohibited as that serfs go along with the land
on which they were born, and thus they are termed
slaves of soU, The rash and unwarranted abolition of
serfdom, even by the sceptred Autocrat of aU the Rus-
sias, would kindle a flame of resentment that would

388 UNION OR DISUNION,
quickly spread from the Don to the Vistula, In abol-
ishmg the traffic, which was an- exercise of power con
formable both to justice and to custom, not the slight
est opposition was encountered.
Under our govemment .of sovereign States and
limited powers, this power is not dormant, AU power,
of whatever description, must reside somewhere. There
are powers which belong to the body of the people, to
the States m thefr separate capacity and in constitu
tional convention, and to Congress, We have assumed
that the wiU ofthe people is alone the arbiter of slavery
as an mstitution, and they alone may abohsh slavery,
whether in the States or in the District. The regular
tion ofthe slave trade is a matter of legislation, both in
the States and m the District, As to the States, their
own Legislatures may and do exercise tMs power,
WitMn the District, the Congress is absolute, and un
questionably possesses a simUar power. Nor have the
States any right to object, or any ground of aggriev
ance, unless they are aggrieved by the terms of the
Constitution. Congress has exercised tMs power re
cently by breakmg up slave depots and markets -within '
the District, by prohibitmg the introduction of slaves
¦withm the District for purposes of traffic or sale, and
by declaring such slaves to be free in all such cases.
How shaU we go about resistmg, m a constitutional
and peaceful way I mean, the exercise of an imquestion-
ably existmg power by a body " absolute " by the deed
of cession withm the ceded Hmits, and declared to pos
sess " exclusive jurisdiction in all cases whatsoever,"
by the very Constitution under which our Government
exists, " over such District as may, by cession of par
ticular States, and the acceptance of Congress, become
the seat of govemment of the Umted States ? " The
evU, if evU there be, must be traced to the terms of

UNION OH DISUNION. 889
the original cession, and not charged against the body
acting under that cession ; must be imputed to the
Constitution, and not to the body which exercises a
power conferred by that Constitution, But more of
this anon.
I have thus, feUow-citizens of the State of Missis
sippi, gone through with a brief but concise summary
of aU those measures of Congress wMch have been de
nounced as intending miscMef on the Soujhern institu
tion, and against wMch it is proposed, in some quarters,
to direct the artUlery of pubUc indignation, if not of
Southern chivah-y. I have said notMng about the fu
gitive slave bUl, because it seems to be generaUy satis
factory. But I purpose, in tMs number, to caU your
attention to the remedies mtended, or by some agitated,
to cure these alleged erils, and the modes of resistance
so boldly promulged by the disaffected. This was
the more immediate object of tMs essay, than discussion
of the merits of the bUls, at wMch I have but glanced.
These remedies are, I regret to say, aU of a violent
character ; the resistance proposed looks alone to dis
organization and dismemberment of the Union. The
ultra doctrmes of the South CaroHna Ordinance, so sig
naUy buried in 1833 bythe Proclamation of General
Jackson, have been disentombed, and are held forth as
the nucleus around wMch discontent and sedition may
raUy, There is, I fear, tMs great difference between
the period of thefr mglorious sepulture, and their resur
rection in this day. Then, thefr permcious influences
were mainly confined to South Carolina; now, their
baneful exhalations are fer more ¦widely dissemmated.
The day may be near at hand when an Andrew Jack
son might prove a blessing to the integrity of the Re
pubUc,

390 UNION OE DISUNION.
It is proposed to caU a Convention of the Southem
States ; and to aid this project, doubtless, our belUger-
ent Governor has convoked the Legislature for the
eighteenth day of next month. The objects which such
Convention is intended to subserve cannot be of a very
peaceful tendency, if we are to judge by the proclama
tions of His ExceUency and the Govemor of Georgia,
the only authentic evidences of a design to resist the
Government, so far given to the world. K the objects
of the ConvQption be peaceful, I, for one, see no use in
its assemblage. It is, under any cfrcumstances, a ques
tionable resort, and certainly a dangerous mode of col
lecting pubHo sentiment. It is not only a dangerous,
but very unreUable mode, where such wide and fun
damental differences of opinion exist, as surely do erist
among the Southern people at tMs time. A conven
tion can only answer a good purpose when there is a
great coincidence of opimon and unity of sentiment as
to the aggressions ofthe General Government. When
I go into the advocacy of a convention which is to de-
Hberate concerning aUeged grievances from Congress,
I must be prepared for revolution, I must be con
vinced that there has been not only deep and serious
innovation on Southem rights, but a palpable and dan
gerous riolation of the Constitution. If I feel that
there has been nothing of either of these, I prefer to
seek a remedy through the baUot-box, or by remon
strance, or in some way authorized bythe Constitution.
If the advocates of a Southern Convention design to
direct its action against the laws of the land, or the
Government of the United States, I oppose such Con
vention entirely. If it is hinted, as some wish us to
beUeve, to deUberate conceming prospective or antici
pated grievances, concerning the mere " shadow of
commg events," or for adopting an ultimatum against

UNION OE DISUNION. 391
merely fancied wrongs, supposed to be intended by the
North, I must still say I cannot concur in the poHcy.
" Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," especiaUy
when that evil is only suspected ; when it exists only
m the imaginations of those who seem to dehght in dis
cord, and who hold pertmaciously to the dogma, that
" no good can come out of Nazareth." I am of those
who see no adequate cause for assembling a Convention
to resist what has been done ; and I assuredly am not
so enlightened as to the future, that I shall advocate
preparation against mere phantom encroachments. I
am not haunted by .any distempered visions, I see no
" grmning horrors " in the unrobed future of the Re
pubhc, as it stands. If my fancy ever wanders into the
dreamy future, I am always greeted by smUmg visions
ofthe brightness, and glory, and greatness ofthe Union
— beaming with the mUd radiance of its origmal purity,
and gathermg increased lustre as it sweeps onward to
its high and holy destiny. Sometimes, I confess, the
gorgeous hues of the picture are momentarily darkened
by the ghastly intrusions of spectred fanatics, or of
Gorgon-Hke agitators, such as emanate from Tammany
HaU or Nash^riUe Conventions ; but ere long the bright
ness reappears — ^famihar faces, Uke those of WasMngton
and Franklin, peer forth from the transient obscurity,
and the " black spirits," fro^wned into nothingness, van
ish as mists from before the rising sun. .
A convention, feUow-citizens, whose members are
composed of citizens of particular States only, elected
¦without the " consent of Congress," and which looks to
the forrhation of any agreement or compact among
themselves, is an unconstitutional and a seditious assem
blage. The late NashvUle Convention assembled with
out the consent of Congress, expressly to form some
agreement among the Southern States, Its address

392 UNION OE DISUNION.
was directed alone to the people ofthe Southern States,
and its action was submitted alone to Southei-n States,
It is now proposed to sanction a re-assemblage of tMs
Convention, or to call into being another looMng to the
same objects. It is useless for the ad^v^ocates of a Con
vention to attempt a disguise of their objects. If thefr
object was peacefiil deliberation merely, they would re
sort to a peaceful, constitutional method of deliberation.
Thefr design is to attempt to unite the South in some
scheme of resistance against the recent laws of Con
gress. The pretext to dehberate -with a riew to future
aggressions, is too senseless and too shaUow to dupe
even the least sagacious.
Now, feUow-citizens, if we are a law-abidmg people,
let us look weU to our sworn duty, which is to support
the Constitution. Let us see what that Constitution
says, and act accordingly. If, on the contrary, we are
ripe for anarchy and revolution, let us face the matter,
and so declare. The Constitution declares, in the tenth
section of its first article, that "no'/S«a«eshaU enter mto
any treaty,, alliance, or confederation." TMs language
is clearly unmistakable, and asserts a prohibition on the
separate States against uniting m any confederation.
But there is stiU a more dfrect inMbition agamst assem
blages convened for the purposes above stated. The
foUo-wing clause declares expHcitly, that "no State
shall, without the consent of Congress, enter into any
agreement or compact ¦with another State, or ¦with a
foreign power."
If words have any meanmg, feUow-citizens, that
meaning is apparent m the above clauses of the Federal
Constitution. I construe them to assert that any body
convened on the basis and in the manner of the late
Nash^riUe Convention, or which may be convened, at
any time, without the consent of Congress, for any pur-

UNION OR DISUNION. 393
pose of resistance or dehberation hostUe to the action
of Congress, is an unconstitutional assemblage. If the
objects of the Convention were those of remonstrance,
then the people, or their delegates, might peacefully
and legally assemble. But a Convention, formed of
citizens of different States, and wMch advises a course
of action on the part of those States immical to the
Government, or hostUe to the laws of the land, comes
withm the proMbition of the Constitution, For these
reasons I have said that when I shaU advocate a Con
vention to be thus formed, and that shall be intended
to band the South agamst the action of Congress, I
shall be prepared for revolution. Of course, the people
have a right, when the majority so decide, to revolu
tionize and form a new Government; and when the
present Government feUs of its intents and purposes,
and when all constitutional remedies shall have been
exhausted in attemptmg to obtain proper redress against
palpable aggressions, no one wUl deny that then ¦wUl be
the time to choose between erik, and to count the
value of the Union, But when the sMp springs a leak,
it is femt-hearted and treacherous to desert untU aU
the pumps haVe been thorougMy tried and exhausted.
Let me say, by way of iUustration, that if, in defiance
of all that has occurred, and of law and justice. Con
gress should assume to aboHsh the mstitution of slavery
m the District, and shaU pass a law to aboHsh the slave
trade within, or as between the slaveholding States,
the infraction wiU then be sufficiently palpable and rio
lent, m my judgment, to warrant riolent remedies and
harsh resorts. But disunion, even then, would be a
useless remedy ; for thereby we lose not only the power
to enforce proper redress, but we lose every thing.
Secession and dissolution are the very worst of all e^rils,
as I shall presentiy demonstrate. We let sUp the ad-
17*

394 UNION OE DISUNION.
vantages we now hold over our enemies, by resorting
to a disruption of the Government. It is just what
they wish, and are attempting to drive us into. So
long as the Constitution lasts, our rights as regards
slavery, bemg recogmzed therein, are safe, and our op
ponents are obliged to abide and submit. If they
violate the Constitution by palpable aggression, why
should we be made the sufferers ? If we break up the
Union, the Constitution faUs, the Govemment is de
stroyed, our enemies are released from aU obUgations,
wMle we are thus cast loose from the only bond that
links us with the civilized and enUghtened world. We
thus lose every advantage and gain no compensation.
We weaken our cause by shearing it of its great arm
of strength. If the Constitution is violated by them,
they are the disunionists, and they should' be stigma
tized as such. If there is to be a coUision, let us of the
South at least be in the right. If the majority of Con
gress should violate the Constitution as I have suggest
ed, let us wait to see LF the body of the North upholds
and endorses the ¦riolation and aggression. Let us see
if their constituents sanction thefr treachery. TMs, in
my opinion, is by no means probable. The great States
of New York and Pennsylvania are bound to us by the
golden cords of self-mterest. Their prmcipal wealth,
and the greatness of their two mammoth emporiums,
are derived fi-om traffic with the South. The New
England States are worth notMng to them in compari
son with the Southem States. Cut them off from the
Southem trade, and they are well aware that they
must diminish minously. The severance of the Union,
and the consequent anarchy and disruption of trade,
would bankrupt the cities of New York and PhUadel
phia, and every cotton merchant would become msol-
vent. Three months of hostUities between the States

UNION OE DISUNION. 395
would shock their business in a manner that ten years
of peace could not repafr. The body of the people,
therefore, kno^vring these things — and they are too sa
gacious not to know them — would be fer from counte-
nancmg a course of action by Congress that would lead
to disumon. They would make common cause ¦with
the South ; the offending Congress would be displaced
at the term's end, these two States wUl have been
gained on the side of the Union, and the Constitution
and Govemment have been saved.
But suppose that, immediately on the heels of the
aggression, we appeal only to a Convention of Southern
States. Do we not rasMy and unnecessarUy jeopard
the dearest of causes by closmg the doors to aU other
States ? We lose every thing without even attempting
to gain any thmg. We lose the protectmg mfluence
of the great bond of Union, without even opening a
door for its salvation.
Such, feUow-citizens, is the course of conduct, and
its consequences, adrised by the advocates of the Con
vention, and by the disciples of Mr. Rhett, and their
seditious coadjutors in Mississippi. I, for one, repudi
ate any such doctrme, and abjure aU such tutelage. I
desfre to matriculate at some other than the fountain
of South Carolma Phett-oric.
But can a Convention of Southem States be gotten
up wMch wiU fairly and truly reflect and represent
pubUc sentiment at the South ? I thmk not. In the
first place, the party distinctions of Whig and Demo
crat are by no means obhterated. It is true that a
sUght coalescence has been formed among a few. Some
of the Whigs, tempted by ambition, perhaps, or be
trayed by ardent temperaments into an over-wrought
zeal, or misled by erroneous calculations, have been in
cautious enough to join the seditious "wing pf ^^ great

396 UNION OE DISUNION,
Democratic party. But the body of the Whig party
remain firm to their integrity, and have openly repudi
ated all such leaders; Some Democrats have united
¦with them m the vain attempt to form a par excellence
Southem party; but the body ofthe Democrats are by
no means committed to an ultra platform. They ad
here to party and to party men, and refuse any direct
coalition on what is termed the Southem question.
They are, it is true, more equally dirided on the Union
ahd Disumon question, than are the WMgs ; and, per
haps, as some of their leaders claim, the majority is for
resistance. But the issue has not been fafrly joined
and put; and, as yet,- they manifest every desfre to co
here as a party, on the ancient and popular prmciple,
that " a bird m the hand is worth two in the bush."
When their hot-headed leaders approach them on the
subject of coahtion, the answer, if we may judge by
actions, has always been in the language of Scripture :
" Go thy way ; at a more convenient season " we ¦wUl
jom you. At the same time, the body of the WMgs,
in every instance where a coahtion has been attempted,
have protested against thefr absorption, and consequent
extinction as a conservative, national party. With a
conservative and genuine Whig administration, which,
so far, has stood true to Southern rights, because true
to the Constitution, and wMch, relymg on the cheerful
support of its friends m both sections, is endeavoring to
inipress conservative and national Whig principles on
the Government, and to iUustrate their beautiful Lnflu-
ence — ^the Whigs seem unwiUing to surrender thefr
tried friends, ere yet they have offended. Nor do they
seem at aU mcHned to the behef that they -wiU offend,
MiUard FUlmore and Daniel Webster were never so
popular at the South as now, and thefr friraads evmce
every reUance in their administration.

UNION OR DISUNION. 397
Parties, then, are stUl jealous, stiU disunited, and
there is Httle prospect of a coalition. An effort, there
fore, to elect delegates to a Southern Convention, would
most likely take a party turn, and "become a party mat
ter. This would beget bad blood at the South, let suc
cess perch on wMchever side it might ; the moral, or,
to speak more properly, the sectional influence of the
Convention would be completely baffled, and the result
would be lamentable divisions and enmities among
Southem fi-iends. TMs, my fellow-citizens, is of itself a
sufficient argument with me to oppose aU attempts at
the Southem Convention.
But tMs is not aU. I fear that, after assembUng,
such Convention would rather be found lendmg itself
to the manufa,cture of pubhc sentiment, than conform
ing to the wiU of those they would be said tb represent.
That wUl could not now be ascertamed. The advocates
of the Convention are either unwilling or afi-aid to avow
their objects, or to meet the issue of Umon or Disunion
— of resistance or obedience to the laws of the country.
They could not sustam, before the people, an effort to
caU a Convention merely to deUberate, or to adopt an
ultimatum against aggressions not yet committed. The
people wiU claim the privUege of deUberating, and then
send delegates from their midst to act. You cannot
get the Conventionists to jom the issue of war or peace,
resistance or non-resistance, by their proposed Conven
tion, Thefr addresses, their resolutions, even their
speeches m primary assembhes, aU point to resistance,
and cover a settled purpose of dissolution! But t&ey
disclaim violence and repudiate disunion, where the
naked issue is made, A Convention, therefijre, is im
practicable, and would not reflect truly and entirely
piibHc sentiment. The question of a Convention may
then be thus resolved : K mtended only to deliberate.

398 UNION OE DISUNION.
it is not thefr province; if to adopt an ultimatum
against afry aggressions, it is unnecessary ; if to decide
the issue of resistance or obedience, or of Union or
Disumon, no such issue wUl have been made, and the
South is not united.
In the preceding sections, fellow-citizens, I have
forborne to amplify. I have left much to your own
reflection, and preferred to do so. I haVe mainly en
deavored to mark out the true issues, beUe^ring you to
be fiiUy capable nf filling up the detail of argument, and
of foUowing the same to its just and legitimate conclu
sion. My only remaining task now is to examine,
briefly but ihinutely, the other proposed remedy of se
cession — a remedy wMch I; shaU endeavor to dissect
of its countless enormities and mischiefs, and to demon
strate to be worse than the alleged disease, I am happy
to find, however, that tMs course is suggested by very
few — is disavowed by many even of the most disaffect
ed, and is dreaded by nearly aU.
Has a State of this Union the constitutional right to
secede "without the consent of Congress;" or the other
States? This question unfolds and opens the whole
issue, I shaU argue it in a somewhat novel point of
view, and invoke your unbiased attention. It wiU be
for you to say, after gomg candidly through with the
argument, whether I sustain my •premises.
Let me ask first, however, what is the nature of our
bond of union ? Is it the creature ofthe State Govern
ments, or the people of the States umted? Is it an
agreement merely, a league between the different
States, a copartnership of separate and distinct Gov
ernments, or a regularly "ordained and estabUshed
Constitution," the declared supreme law of the entire
confederacy ? If I understand history, feUow-citizens,

UNION OR DISUNION. 399
it surely is none of the three first ; and if the instru
ment, or the bond, does not utter a lie on its very face,
and in its every feature and provision, it is unquestiona^
bly and undeniably the last. Its very birth and origin
show that I am correct in pomt of fact. The old con
federation was, mdeed, a league — a mere compact be
tween the different States. Under* that the General
Government was, in very truth, a mere creature of the
State Governments. It could not move nor act with
out their consent. It could not lay or coUect taxes and
duties, nor form treaties, nor declare war, nor make
peace, ¦without the consent of the State Governments.
It was imbecUe and ineffident, a mockery and a nuUity,
and was soon found to be so. A Convention was
called to revise and re-adapt its deficiencies. That
Convention met m 1787, in PhUadelphia, and their first
resolution declared that a " national government ought
to be established, consisting of a supreme Legislature,
Judiciary, and Executive." Afterwards, this resolution
was so altered that, instead of " national," it was termed
the " government of the United States," which was the
name and style of the confederacy. The present Gov
emment was framed and sent out for ratification, not
by the States or the State Legislatures, but by the
people of the States m convention assembled. It de
pended for adoption on consent and agreement / but
the moment that it was adopted, its declarations were
fafrly confirmed. These declarations are not of a league
or compact between the States, but of a " Constitution
of the people ofthe United States." The language of
the preamble is not to agree or stipulate, but to " or
dain and estabUsh." It declares itself to be, together
¦with the " laws and treaties made in pursuance thereof,
the supreme law of the land." And, as if to give un
mistakable emphasis to this declaration, it adds, " any

400 UNION OR DISUNION.
thing in the Constitution or laws of any State to the
contrary not-withstanding." (Art. 6th.) This Consti
tution can lay and coUect taxes, impose duties, make
treaties, declare war, and conclude peace, independently
of the consent of the States. It even lays injunctions
on the State Governments, does not receive such from
them. It teUs them they " shall not " make treaties,
form aUiances or confederations, coin money, pass any
biU impairing the obligation of contracts, engage in any
war, enter into compact with another State or with a for
eign power, keep any regular troops, maintam any navies,
(Art, 1st, section 10th.) TMs surely is not the lan
guage of a creature, a mere agent of the various State
Governments ! Washmgton tells us " that it is utterly
impracticable, in the Federal. Government of these
States, to secure aU the rights of independent sover
eignty to each, and yet provide for the safety and in
terest of all." (Letter to Congress on the Constitution.)
In his Farewell Address he speaks of the " unity of
government which constitutes us one people," and of
our indissoluble community of interest as one nation.
Mr, Madison, the highest authority, in his letter to
the editor of the North American Review, speaks of
the Constitution of the United States " as constitutmg
the people thereof one people for certam purposes," and
as an mstrument wMch cannot be altered or annuUed
at the will of the States individually. The fifteenth
number, of the FederaUst, the acknowledged authoritar
tive commentary on and exposition ofthe Constitution,
penned by Mr, Madison, speaks of " sovereignty m the
Union, and complete mdependence in the States, as ut
terly repugnant and irreconcUable," But I have a
more pertinent, if not a Mgher authority stiU, Mr.
Calhoun, in his celebrated letter to Governor HamUton,
uses this significant language : " In the execution ofthe

UNION OR DISUNION. 401
delegated powers, the Union is no longer regarded in
reference to its parts, but as forming one great commu
nity, to be governed by a common will."
I cannot pause, feUow-citizens, to multiply authori
ties. I have adduced sufficient, both from the Consti
tution itself, and from the legacies of its expounders
and fathers, to show to you the grounds of my opinion
that it is not a mere league or compact between the
States, but the supreme law of the land ; and that,
too, independently of State constitutions or State laws.
These are facts of history, I tell them to you honestly
and truthfuUy, If they' are unwelcome, they are none
the less true ; and I cannot be held responsible for tak
ing the Constitution for that wMch I know it to be.
And I may here add, en passant, such bemg the Mstory
and interpretation of the Constitution, the doctrine of
secession finds but little constitutional sustenance.
But I may be pomted to the Virginia Resolutions
of 1798, passed to denounce the odious AUen and Sedi
tion laws of the Adams admimstration. Being penned
by Mr. Madison, I cheerfuUy defer to thefr authority
as he mterprets them — not as NuUifiers and Secession
ists interpret them. They are held by these last to
assert the complete independence of the States of the
General Govermnent, and as covering the right of se
cession by the States at thefr own option. If this be
thefr meaning, I reject them as dangerous and Jacobin
ical. But do they reaUy look to the right of secession,
or to the resistance of the laws of Congress by hostUe
States ? I confess that they wear such appearance, and
would seem to contemplate such end. But the drawer
of them protests against such interpretation, and the
endorsers of them, at the period of their promulgation,
deny and disclaim any such mferences. Mr. Madison,
in the letter above referred to, speakmg ofthe interpre-

402 UNION OR DISUNION.
tation thus put on Ms resolution, says : " It may often
happen that e'rroneous constructions, not anticipated,
may not be sufficiently guarded agamst in the language
used." And again he says: "That the Legislature
could not have intended to sanction such doctrine (riz.,
nullification and secession), is to be mferred from the
debate in the House of Delegates, and from the address
of the two Houses to their constituents." Mr. Monroe,
then Governor of Virgima, m Ms message relatmg to
these resolutions, and referrmg to the action of the
Legislature on passing them, says, " they looked to a
change in pubhc opinion, wMcli ought to be free ; not
to measures of riolence, discord, and disunion, which
they (the people and Legislature) abhor." The mover
of the resQlutions himself declares, " The appeal is to
pubhc opinion ; if that is against us, we must yield."
And in later years, a distmguished disciple of the Vir
gima school of poHtics declared in the United States
Senate, when alluding to these resolutions, " The whole
object ofthe proceedings was, by the peaceful force of
pubhc opinion, to obtain a speedy repeal of the acts in
question, not to oppose or arrest their execution whUe
they remamed unrepealed." (Speech of Hon. Wm. C.
Rives, m 1833.) And as evidence in support of tMs
mterpretation, I may here add, that even wMle the
resolutions were yet before the people of Virgmia, de
nouncing the laws of Congress as "unconstitutional
and dangerous," the Sedition Act was crueUy enforced
against a popular favorite and proteg6 of Mr. Jefferson,
in their very capital, and by one ofthe most brutal and
despotic judges that has ever disgraced the ermine
since the days of Jeffreys. (State Trials, case of Cal-
lendar, page 688.) So much, then, for these resolu
tions ; and being thus interpreted, I willingly receive
them as Mgh authority.

UNION OR DISUNION. 403
But I propose to cxamme this principle of secession
stiU more minutely, and to measure it by the terms of
the Constitution. I must say, in aU sincerity, that it
seems to me to be an absurd proposition to contend
that a solemn bond of government and of union, dehb-
erately formed, should contain, as one of its essential
features, an element of its own destruction and dissolu
tion. A Constitution designed and framed, among
other purposes, to destroy itself, and dissolve the Union
which was the prime object of its ordination and estab
Ushment, could have been formed by none but madmen
or Utopians, and could never have received the solenm
adoption of an intelligent and sagacious people. Sup
pose a State could secede from the Union at its own
time, and by its o-wn option ! To what would it subject
the rest of the States, but to the despotism of a frac
tion, more mtolerable and arrogant than any oligarchy
that ever existed. Well may Mr. Madison exclaim, as
in the letter above referred to, " that nothing can bet
ter demonstrate the madmissibUity of such a doctrine,
than that it puts it m the power of the smallest fraction
to give the law and even the Constitution to the re
maining States ; " each claiming, as he says, " an equal
right to expound it, and to insist on the exposition."
Such a bedlam of discord would never before have
eristed to curse a nation, if such had been the end of
the present Constitution, and the design of those who
framed it. Greatly would I have preferred a re-estab
lishment of the old Articles of Confederation, to such
a Constitution as these secessionists would have ours
to be. I know it is contended that certain States, as Vir
gima, New York, and Rhode Island, claimed and re
served the right of seceding, at their own pleasure, in
thefr several ratifications. I do not so read or under-

404 UNION OE DISUNION,
stand the record. They would not have been admitted
with any such baneful and disorganizmg reservation,
but would have been kept out, and treated as aliens, as
they deserved. A pretty government would it be,
where a meagre minority of the people could claim the
supremacy of dictators to the majority, I would pre
fer, vastly, the sway of a Czar or a Sultan ; because,
under either of the last, we might, at least, have peace
and permanence — ^not an Italy of the middle ages, cut
up by parties of Guelphs and GMbeUines, Such a gov
ernment, feUow-citizens, as secessionists would force on
you, was never designed by a Convention over wMch
Washington presided, and in which Madison, and Jay,
and HamUton were principal actors.
But did these States make any such resei-vation ?
Let us go to the record, and take it by its plam, com
mon-sense, usuaUy received meanmg. I find in the
Virginia form of ratification, that the delegates decided
that they " do, in the name, and on behalf of the ^eqpfo
of Virginia, declare and make kno-wn that the powers
granted under the Constitution, being derived from the
people of the United States, may be resumed by them
whensoever the same shaU be perverted to their in
jury or oj)pression." There is no sophisticating this
declaration. The " people of Virgmia " ¦ declare that
" the powers granted under the Constitution are de
rived fioxa the people of the United States." That is
clear, Vfrginia, then, does not claim supremacy, .or
even mdividuaUty, except in so far as her people assent
to the Constitution, These powers, " when perverted,"
may be " resumed," not by the people of Virgima alone,
but by the " people of the United States," That is
clear also. But further on they declare that they (the
delegates) "do ratify the Constitution," not on the
condition, but "with a Aqpe of amendments," This

UNION OR DISUNION, 405
language needs no explanation. It is the language of
unqualified assent. It is language which looks to any
thing else than the right of States to secede when they
please from the Union, (ElUott's Deb., vol. 2, p. 476.)
But New York presents a more dfrect refutation of
this doctrine, I find thefr form of ratification to read
thus: "That the Constitution under consideration
ought to be ratified by this Convention, upon condition
nevertheless," &c, ; among which conditions, I may
say, there is not one which mcludes secession. Indeed,
on the day foUo-wmg, a delegate moved to strike out
the words " upon condition," andmsert, "in fun confi
dence/" and the motion prevaUed, But, as if to clinch
the whole, a Mr, Lansmg did move, when the final
question was put, to adopt a resolution, " that there
should be reserved to the State of New York a right
to withdraw from the Umon, stfter a certam number of,
years, unless the amendments proposed should be pre
viously submitted to a general Convention," The mo
tion was promptly and largely defeated, TMs, feUow-
citizens, would not seem to contemplate secession. (El
Uott's Debates, vol, 1, p, 357,)
Can a State then secede ? I can think of but one
way, by which, under the Constitution, this can be
done, and that is by "consent of Congress," Even
this is not very clear, but it is, I thmk, fafrly debatable.
In reflecting on the subject, and mvestigatmg its mer
its, I was arrested by the foUowmg language, found in
the latter clause of the tenth section of the first article
of the Constitution : " No State shaU, without the con
sent of Congress, lay any duty of tonnage, keep troops
or sMps of war m time of peace, enter mto any agree
ment or compact with another State, or with a foreign
power," &c, I have been unable to find any contempo
raneous explanation or elucidation of this latter member

406 UNION OE DISUNION.
of the clause. Indeed, Mr. Justice Story, in his admi
rable Commentaries on the Constitntion, remarks, as
concerns this, expression : " What precise distinction is
here intended to be taken between treaties, agreements,
and compacts, is nowhere explained, and has never, as
yet, been the subject of any exact judicial or other ex
amination." (Com., p. 512.)
If, however, a State, by consent of Congress, may
lay a " duty of tonnage," the same power, by the same
construction, and under Hke consent, may form a " com
pact -with a foreign power." This certainly implies a
separation of that State from the United States Gov
ernment, in some shape ; for by the Constitution, the
President and two-thirds of the Senate alone can form
a compact or treaty -with foreign powers. TMs, fellow-
citizens, is the only cloak which I can find in the Con
stitution to cover the doctrine of secessioni It is very
remote, and implied at the best. It is a bone, however,
at which its advocates may gnaw, with entire safety to
the country and the Umon. If it covers their doctrine,
it at least carries along a previous condition which
would be fatal -to their theory. It demands a subser
viency to the wiU of the great aggriering power, wMch
is " Congress." They may make the most of it.
I have other questions to submit, and I have done.
What would be the situation of a seceded State, in the
presence of a powerful and overshado-wing empire Hke
that of the United States — admittmg, that is, that a
State may peaceably secede ? Why, in the first place,
such State would be an ahen, a foreign power, havmg
no sympathy or interest with the other. States, and no
claims upon them. Would such State be freer or more
independent, thus dissevered ? Would she be aUowed
to exercise a single attribute or privUege of sovereignty,
-when we chose to interfere ? And would we not inter-

UNION OR DISUNION. 407
fere Lf she formed any alHance with a foreign power,
prejudicial to our interests, or that might be dangerous
to our Uberties ? She would, in fact, be a mere miser
able dependency, constantly watched and suspected by
an aU-powerfnl neighbor, Uable, at any time, to be over
run and subdued, or blockaded and invested on aU
sides, so that she could not move. An interior State,
like Arkansas, for instance, wMch has not even an out
let or seaport of her o-wn, would be especiaUy rumed m
case of secession, K the seceding State, as is more
likely, was South CaroHna, a squadron of Umted States
cruisers would never be out of sight of Charleston har
bor. It most likely would be so ordered that no vessel
could enter that port without first bemg searched by a
man-of-war boat. The very thought of such disruption
is repulsive — the picture absolutely humUiatmg. But
a State being once severed from the protection of the
Constitutibn must look out against impleasmg conse
quences. She is then imder that law only which makes
the weaker power the very creature of the greater.
May such spectacle never disgrace our shores !
This brmgs me to the close of my task. I have
thought that I see enough of danger in the dissemina
tion of certain doctrmes from Mgh and influential
sources, to authorize this mtrusion. This, at least, is
my apology, if I shall encounter uncharitable criticism
or rebuke. The good and wholesome doctrme of true
State rights has, in my opimon, been perverted to sub
serve unla-wfbd ends, I have been raised to venerate
the true State rights doctrme, but not those wMch lead
to disruption, and unconstitutional resistance of the
laws of the General Government. It is stUl my pride
to claim affimty with that enhghtened school of politi
cians ; but when they so torture the teachings of the
early fathers as to aUy -with disuniomsts and secession-

408 UNION OE DISUNION,
ists, under a counterfeit of their ancient sacred banner,
I part company -with them, I beUeve that it is right to
inculcate the doctrine of State sovereignty as assumed
by Madison, and to guard against the tendencies to
consoHdation, I confess, however, that I see but little
danger of the last, I never felt such danger, except
during the iron dominion of Gen, Jackson, Such dan
ger is more to be feared in connection with resolute
and over-popular men, the pampered pets of a powerful
party, than in any undue tendencies ofthe Government.
In conclusion, feUow-citizens, I am unable to see
any thing so ominous in the present aspect of our na^
tional affairs as wUl authorize us to go about banding
and marshalHng the States for a crusade against the
action of the General Govemment— especiaUy under
the lead of sUeh Hotspurs as I perceive to be at the
head of the resistance forces. I am a Southerner by
birth and education — a Southerner in pride of land and
in feeling^— a Southerner in interest, and by every tie
wMch can bind mortal. man to his native clime; and I
shaU abide the destimes of the South, But I venerate
the Federal Constitution, I love the UnioH. I love
the first for its beneficent protecting influence and
power ; I love the last for its proud and glorious asso
ciation -with aU that is dear to an American heart.

IHII1IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIII|II!II!III1III!I

HUll|lwillul^UUUUItUIUUIIUM^¦ll

riiii '.Lii' ,. m

fnH

•1

r
1