Leisure labors; or, Miscellanies historical, literary, and political

LEISURE LABORS;

OR,

MISCELLANIES

HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND POLITICAL.

BY

JOSEPH B. GOBB.

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

846 & 348 BROADWAY.
1858.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by

D. APPLETON «fc COMPANY,

In the Clerk'* Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of New York.

TO THE

HON. WILLIAM L. SHARKEY.

OP 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
upon 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.
LONGWOOD, Aiigust, 1857.

CONTENTS.

PAGB

THOMAS JEFFEESON 5

A. REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF WILLIAM H.

CEAWFOED 131

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND 248

WILLIS'S POEMS 301

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS 330

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE IN THE DISTEICT OF

COLUMBIA 357

THE TEUE ISSUE BETWEEN PARTIES IN THE SOUTH : UNION

OR DISUNION.. 376

THOMAS JEFFEKSON.*

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 distin-
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 view of all 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 which prompted
the editor to compile and publish such a series: — A
series of private papers, containing indeed many things
extremely interesting and valuable as political history,
but suggesting much that is painful 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 opinion,
that sons or immediate relatives 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 giving to the world
the life, character, and correspondence of their fathers.

* Memoir, Correspondence, and Miscellanies, from tlie papers of
Thomas Jefferson. Edited by THOMAS JEFFERSON RANDOLPH. Boston
and New York. 1849.

6 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 nicest 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 disarm
criticism of its legitimate province, nor be suffered to
detract from the truth of history. When the angler
casts his 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, all the indulgences which the " Ars
Poefica " claims for them on the score of craft^ 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 from 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 sfiall not deviate from the immediate objects of

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 selection
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
Jefferson 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 intellect which afterwards im-
pressed itself on every department of the government,
and diffused its influences so widely through every
class of our people, were called into life in the dawn
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
fullest and most luxurious maturity. The events amidst
which he had been forced into 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 full strength and majesty the
richest treasures of one of the master minds of the
period, and develope in the inception those peculiar and
vast powers, which, but for their occurrence, might
have lurked under ground for long years subsequently,
and in all probability, 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 JEFFERSON.

body of the melee. 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, Jeffersgn, as he tells
us himself, was yet a student of law at Williamsburgh.
Among the members who participated was Patrick
Henry. His genius had then just burst from obscurity,
and an eloquence scarcely akin to earth had dazzled all
Virginia — an eloquence which lives, as it must ever
live, in tradition alone. The circumstances were most
thrilling — the occasion pne of intense anxiety.. The
annunciation of the Stamp Act had thrown a feeling of
despondency and gloom over the entire republic.
Hearts which had never faltered, spirits which had
never quailed, 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 rebellion, 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 appeared, that Patrick Henry
stood forth to rouse the drooping spirit of the people,
and to unite ail hearts and hands hi the cause of his
country." He projected and moved the celebrated
resolutions in opposition to the Stamp Act, and resolved
to support their adoption with the full and concen-
trated force of that supreme oratory, which swept,
tempest-like, from one quarter of the confederacy to
the other, — thrilling, trumpet-toned, and resistless —

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 unnaturally original, and so overpowering in its
effects and influences, took his imagination captive, and
enchained his senses with dream-like delight. The
elements of sympathy were too strong to resist the
effort, and his judgment followed 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 full embodiment and bewildering
reality. America oppressed — struggling — imploring —
was a theme more alluring than " the weightier matter
of the law ; " and fancy, returned from the flaming
walls and crimsoned rivers of Troy, found in the suf-
ferings of Boston the living 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 ho
loss to account for that restless ardor and untiring
energy which characterized Jefferson through every
and all phases of the great strife that followed.

Four years subsequent to this period, Jefferson had
become a member of the General Assembly. The in-
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 counter resolutions, and an
address to the King from the House of Burgesses. A
1*

10 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

dissolution by the Governor followed,. but the patriots
met by concert in a hall 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 "among
the people, and the people sanctioned the proceedings,
foiling to re-elect those only 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. Dunmore, already
incensed, was still more impracticable and unapproach-
able, and vastly more obstinate and imperious than
even Botecourt. As it happened, an interregnum of
comparative quiet followed. The Governor, flippant
and vain-glorious, grew inordinately sanguine. But,
in the meanwhile, 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
:ubly. 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
ihc most conservative and moderate to despair of re-
conciliation with the mother country. Voices which
hitherto had been silent, now raised the cry of resist-
ance— resistance to the extremity. Fuel was added to
tin- flame of revolution. Rebellion seemed inevitable.
Men were convinced that it was the only remedy.
Then, for the first time, the star of Independence, like

THOMAS JEFFE&SON. 11

the first light 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 thrust 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 Apollo,
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, his brother-in-law. Of this committee, Peyton
Randolph was appointed chairman. Measures were
forthwith taken to communicate their action to the
different colonies. Messengers were despatched, and
it is said that those from Massachusetts and Virginia,
each bearing similar propositions and tidings, crossed
on their way. This presents a fair question for his-
torical research. We shall pause long enough only to
give one or two facts, and our own inference from
those facts.

There cannot, we think, be any fair or rational doubt
as to the real source from which such proposition
originally emanated. Universal suffrage will assign its
proper authorship to the distinguished subject of the
volumes now before ns. But that a plan similar to it
in purpose, had been previously proposed by Samuel
Adams in 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 JEFFEKgOff.

this is found in the simple fact that no such plan as
that suggested by Jefferson was ever submitted to the
Virginia Assembly as coming from Massachusetts. On
the contrary, such plan did reach, and was laid before
the Legislature of the latter colony as a suggestion
from 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 early 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 Bill, passed the British Parliament
early in the year succeeding. The news reached the
colonies in the spring, and thrilled with electric violence
from Cape Cod to the Savannah. So far from increas-
ing the confusion and dismay which had followed on
the passage of the Stamp Act, or allaying 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, and
passed a resolution setting apart and 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 JEFFERSON. 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 work 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 allowed 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 allurements of a home made cheerful and
happy by a lovely young wife, were all 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 daily
transpiring, especially when we consider that, even at
his then early age, the evidences of that strong and
towering intellect, which afterwards lifted its possessor
to the side of the greatest in the world, were already
stamped on many an enduring monument, should have
been entrusted with the work of a body whose 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 announced, before
measures were taken to hold a private meeting at the
Apollo. 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 all that followed was -traced, the beginning
which led to the glorious end. This was the proposi-
tion to the various colonial committees, that delegates

14 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

should assemble in a Congress, 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 Hall. Its important and splendid
proceedings are known to every reader of American
history. Jefferson was not then a member; but in
March of 1^75 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 successfully. 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 Olive branch,
were submitted by Gov. Dunmore to a special session
of the Virginia Assembly. It was found, on close
examination, to contain nothing which entitled it to so
honorable a designation ; — artful, indefinite, ambiguous,
and full of that ministerial trickery for which the old
Premier was so famous. Jefferson, at the solicitation
of many who dreaded its being replied to from a less
resolute source, framed the answer of the delegates,
and, after sonte discussion and " a dash of cold water
here and 'there,'* the Assembly decided almost unani-
mously to reject the proposition. They were, of course,
immediately dissolved, and Jefferson took his departure
for Philadelphia. He was in his seat on the 21st of
June. As an evidence of the high esteem in which his
talents were already held by the members of that

THOMAS JEFFERSON. lo

august and venerable Congress, he was appointed two
days afterward on one of the most important commit-
tees of the 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 of the greatest delicacy, and,
as the premonitory step to an open and general rebellion,
loaded with many difficulties, especially considering the
complexion of a portion of the 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. Livingston 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. Livingston haughtily 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 previously been prepared by his pen in Vir-
ginia. 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 dissatisfaction and

16 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

disgust. This was an address to King George. Its
humility was inexpressibly contemptible ; but the con-
script fathers of America were men of compromise and
moderation, — an example which might be patterned
with some profit by their descendants and successors.
But the author was delighted with its passage, and
" although," says the Memoir, " out of order, he could
not refrain from rising and expressing his satisfaction,
and concluded by saying, ' There is but one word, Mr.
President, in the paper which I disapprove, and that
is the word Congress ; ' on which Ben Harrison arose
and said, 4 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, 1V76, the delegates from
Virginia, in accordance with instructions, moved " that
the Congress should declare that these United Colonies
are, and of right ought to be, free and independent
States ; that they are absolved from all allegiance to
the British crown, and that all political 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 formed to bind the col-
onies more 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 called for action. Nor did any
ly doubt for a moment the source from which the
>lution sprang. All 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 JEFFERSON. 17

anxiety, and the moment of its reception was to him a
moment of relief 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 fate 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 falling from the parent
stem." The consideration of the resolution was, there-
fore, wisely postponed until 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 drawing up the form of a Declaration of Inde-
pendence. This committee consisted of John Adams,
Benjamin Franklin, 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 public career with sincere and unalloyed
pleasure. Envy does not interpose, malice itself has
invented naught to discourage that heartfelt admiration
which fills all America when contemplating this grand
achievement. We feel the more gratification from the
tact that in the course of these pages, we shall be com-

18 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

pelled 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 delegation stood
off, approving the measure, but pleading the want of
necessary instructions. Delaware was divided. When,
however, the committee rose and reported to the
House, Mr. Rutledge requested that final action might
be suspended until 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, while New York had no authority to
vote at all. The result of this vote closed all avenues
to a reconciliation with the mother country, and men's
minds were, from that auspicious day, turned wholly; to
contemplating the means and the method of vigorous
resistance. But another, and the most important, step
remained yet to be taken. That was to publish to the
world the Declaration of Independence. The vote on
the resolution had scarcely been announced, before a
report was called 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 JEFFEKSON. 19

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 Hall were filled to
overflowing, and trembled beneath the weight of anxious
and curious spectators. All who were privileged, and
many who were not, had crowded within the bar, and
occupied the floor of the House. While this excitement
was at its height, Jefferson rose, holding in his hand
the consecrated scroll which spoke the voice of freedom
for a New World. All was calmed and hushed in a
moment. We may easily imagine the varied feelings
of that august body, and of the immense audience, as
the clear, full-toned 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
followed, and the grave countenances of the delegates
assumed an aspect of less severe meditation, and opened
with the inspiration of kindling hope. The enumera-
tion of wrongs done, and of insults perpetrated, falls in
succinct cadences from the reader's lips, and the effect
is told on frowning 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 filled 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 JEFFERSON.

had been registered long ere it was reached in due
course, and the form of 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, divines and philosophers, old and young,
high and humble, were all alike filled with sensations
of delight, of fervor, and of buoyant hope. Nor was
night suffered to put 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 lighted in the principal streets, and illu-
minated windows sent forth their merry light ; spark-
ling libations were quaffed, and the." voluptuous swell"
of music mingled with the cry of " Freedom and the
American colonies ! "

With all its faults, with all its susceptibility to criti-
cism, we have ever regarded the Declaration of Independ-
ence as one 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 belief, 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 in the epitaph prescribed to be
engraven on his tombstone. Throwing aside the al-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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
supplied anew, particularly by the latter. It was
changed both as to phraseology and sentiment, and
materially improved in point of taste. These facts will
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
high-sounding Johnsonian verbosity without the pallia-
tion of its elegance. It abounded with repetition and
unmeaning sententiousness in some parts, while para-
graphs and sentences were prolonged to an extent
which might have startled Lord Bolingbroke himself,
who, however, would have missed the grace and polish
of his own 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 parallel of its kind
in the history of any other nation. Some parts of it
were really objectionable, and would most certainly
have created bad blood both in the North and in the
South. We allude to the long denunciation in the
original draught, of commerce in slaves, and charging
that commerce as one of the grievances on the part of
the British monarch. Two of the Southern colonies,
Georgia and South Carolina, were clamorous for the
continuance 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 JEFFERSON.

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 hi such a document, written, as averred, mainly
with a view to "a decent respect for the opinions of
mankind." In IT 7 6 it would have been a difficult mat-
ter, if history is to be believed, to have laid a finger on
any portion of enlightened Christianized mankind who
were not equally 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 call 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 political history in connection
with the subject most conclusively establishes. He was
so, conscientiously and uncompromisingly. He never
degenerated into rabid or radical abolitionism, but his
moderation and tolerance evidently cost him many
struggles. He made known this opposition to slavery
on every proper occasion, and before every legislative
body of which he became a member. We find him
meeting it at every assailable point, heartily endeav-
oring to promote speedy emancipation, and to impede
its extension. In the first of these objects he failed en-
tirely. In the last, he met with gratifying success,

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 23

through means of the celebrated* Ordinance of 1787.
Among the latest records of his pen, after he had lived
nearly fourscore years, is the emphatic prophecy, " that
emancipation must be adopted, or worse would follow.
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
philosopher than of an enthusiast. Whenever he speaks
of slavery at all, he speaks of it in terms never less
moderate than* those quoted ; and its opponents can
fortify themselves, as we think, with no more reliable
authority than the name of him who forms the subject
of these volumes.

On the fifth of September following the declaration
of Independence, Jefferson resigned his seat in the co-
lonial Congress, and became once again a delegate to
the House of Burgesses of the Virginia Assembly. He
entered at once upon a difficult line of duties. He in-
troduced bills 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 religion ; 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 ability 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

I

24 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

with foreign nations. We design not to dwell on this
portion of his public services, as it does not come prop-
erly within the range of the object we have in view.
He remained abroad until September of 1789. Return-
ing home, he was appointed during the following 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 public career. The
fourth and last may, indeed, have been philosophically
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 political 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 ^Egis of his popularity. But the gigantic financial
policy of Alexander Hamilton began now to beget se-
rious uneasiness in the minds of all 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 turned their at-
tention to the Union, and not to the separate indepen-
dencies. Duties were laid on imported goods, and the

TIIOMAS JEFFERSON. 25

merchant transacted his business under the authority
and patronage of the 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-owners and seamen looked also to the same
quarter for the same favor. A fierce opposition sprang
up. It found an adroit and a willing leader in Thomas
Jefferson. lie felt his way cautiously, secretly, and by
slow degrees. But there was one material obstruction
in the way of an active and effective opposition. All
the respectable presses in the country 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 all America
admirably adapted to the purposes of the opposition.
A restless, narrow-minded, distempered little French-
man, named Philip Freneau, was then conducting a low
and scurrilous print in the city of New York. His
boldness and carelessness of character, together with
some fluency in the language of the 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 own Department, to remove
to Philadelphia. The starving Frenchman, whose most
s-umptuous diet had been only stale crackers and cheese,
of course jumped at the offer, and pledged himself to
pursue with indiscriminate rancor, the wisest as well as
the worst of Washington's measures. The National
2

26 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 short-lived existence,"
says a modern author, " it was notorious for its scan-
dalous falsehoods and misrepresentations, its fulsome
adulation of Mr. Jefferson, and its gross abuse of lead-
ing federal men." The example thus conspicuously set,
has been ever since assiduously followed by the party
which dates its origin at this period, and which claims
the powerful paternity of Jefferson's name and princi-
ples. We shall not contravene this claim, nor question
the authenticity of such origin. We believe that the
claim is well founded, and the origin fairly attested.
But their efforts against Washington and his adminis-
tration signally and ingloriously failed. They did not
venture even to name the real object of assault. The
demonstration was made against Adams, the Vice
President, and Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the
Treasury. Against the administration of the first they
subsequently succeeded ; while, 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 still
existed against that country. Even so late as 1848, a
distinguished statesman and Presidential nominee of
this same radical party, has condescended to avail him-
self of this odium, supposed to be attached to Hamil-
ton's name, and, in the same letter (unwittingly, but,
doubtless) tacitly admits his lineal party descent from
the Jacobinical faction of 1793, by claiming this period
as " the starting point of difference " betwixt the two
great " parties " of the present day.

In the summer of 1794 occurred the famous, or
rather infamous, Whiskey Rebellion in the State of

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 27

Pennsylvania. The law of '91 had imposed a duty on
spirits distilled 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 quelled. 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 published cor-
respondence, and opens a dark and unpleasing chapter
of his public history. Just previously to this nefarious
outbreak, he had given utterance to opinions in this
connection 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 even be twenty years without such a rebellion.
What country can preserve its liberties if its rulers are
not warned 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 facts, 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 Machiavelli's
" Prince " to Dorr's Manifesto. They are precisely the
sentiments which animated such men as Jack Cade
and Watt Tyler, and Philip Freneau, and Callender,

28 THOMAS JEFFEESON.

and Citizen Genet. The Russian Strelitzes 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 palli-
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
thrilled under the reeking eloquence of Danton and his
tiger-tempered colleague. Ah1 the murders committed
by the Revolutionary Tribunal — all the blood which
flowed from the scaffold of the death-dealing guillotine
— the horrors of the Reign of Terror — the sighs and
tears which had made Paris the terrestrial counterpart
of a hell, 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 daily
path, and surveyed, unmoved, the mournful 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 of the family circle, were made the

THOMAS JEPFEKSON. 29

plea for butchering the speakers on the following day.
It is not unlikely to suppose that Jefferson here learned
his art of noting down what occurred at dining tables,
and private parties, and social gatherings, that the
compiler of the volumes before us might afterwards
give to the world, in the shape of the " Ana," a method
of espionage which would have shamed even Lavalette
or Savary, and challenged attention from Bourienne
himself. We would willingly have drawn a veil over
this portion of the published political 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 publication of
a private journal. Our duty and intention are, as the
undisputed right of a reviewer, to express our opinions
of the production. But we must not digress further.

Thus imbued with the effects, if not with the spirit,
of Jacobinism, Jefferson had returned to America ; and
we may thus account for his opinions on Shay's Rebel-
lion, his supposed sympathy with the Whiskey insur-
rectionists, his intimacy with suck men as Callender,
and Freneau, and Tom Paine, and his- early and insidi-
ous opposition to the administration of George Wash-
ington. The first object of attack had been the finan-
cial policy of Hamilton, and thus far we sanction, in
part, at least, this course of policy. The views and the
amis of that eminent minister have never had entirely
our political sympathies. There was, in all his meas-
ures, a too consolidating tendency, which might have
resulted alarmingly in after days. But the thunders of
the opposition were soon turned more directly against
Washington himself by a merciless assault on the treaty
of John Jay, which, it was known, had received the
President's cordial approval. It was fought in every

30 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

way known to Parliamentary warfare, and "Washington
was goaded by every means to which an adroit and in-
ventive opposition could resort. It was wranglingly
and factiously debated in the Senate, and it was threat-
ened with the vengeance of the House. To crown all,
a resolution was brought forward by Livingston, re-
questing the President " to lay before the House a copy
of the instructions to the Minister of the United States,
who negotiated a treaty with the King of Great Brit-
ain, communicated by his message, together with the
correspondence and other documents relative to the
said treaty." This was subsequently qualified by a
clause to the effect, "excepting such papers as any
existing negotiation may render improper to be dis-
closed." To this resolution the President first re-
sponded, "that he would take the subject into consid-
eration." He finally refused to lay any such papers
before the House. This refusal stimulated the opposi-
tion to increased bitterness, and " appeared," in the
language of Marshall, " to break the last chord of that
attachment which had heretofore bound some of the
active leaders of the opposition to the person of the
President." Long anterior to this, however, Jefferson,
although still recognized as the head of the opposition,
had resigned his post of State Secretary, and from his
retirement at Monticello fulminated the signs, tokens,
and passwords of determined and ceaseless hostility to
the policy of the administration. He had openly ridi-
culed the course of Washington in the Whiskey Rebel-
lion, and had encouraged, while 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 his pen against the Jay treaty. But all would not
do. The magic of Washington's popularity continued

THOMAS JEFFEBSON. 31

to prevail, and it became evident that the nation fa-
vored 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 United States, and, at the
same time, Thomas Jefferson was sworn in as Vice
President. The character of Adams, according to the
testimony of his 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 conceiving or of acting upon a settled
system of policy, 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 which,
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 this article
either to endorse or to combat this opinion. We will
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 his character, so proved the
administration of such a man ; flickering, unstable, with-
out fixed rule or definite object." The hitherto 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 his policy and plan of operations were

32 THOMAS JEFFEKSON.

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 usually cordial and confidential. Soon
after Jefferson's return from France they fell out, and
became partially estranged. But the difference did not
quite amount to a personal quarrel, and they still re-
mained on civil terms of intercourse. No one knew
better than Jefferson the weak points in the character
and constitution of John Adams. He believed firmly
in the honesty of his heart, but he was well acquainted
with the instability of his political opinions ; with his
leaning, one day, to rank federalism, and the next, to
downright radicalism. " 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
knowledge and past associations to legitimate political
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 easily on the score of ambition and
selfishness, neither of which can be denied to him in
their fullest latitude. But the object was now to
estrange Adams from the party which had elected him,
by this move, to weaken the federalists, to destroy the
influence of Hamilton, and clear the way for the acces-
sion of Jefferson and the Democrats. The accomplish-
ment of such a plan required the most consummate ad-
dress. It was not hard to perceive that such requisition
was more than fulfilled in the person of the acknow-
ledged leader of the opposition. Jefferson was just
the man to play the game which was now in hand. His
affectation was in being plain, and his plainness of ap-
pearance and intercourse did amount almost to unvar-

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 33

nished demagoguism. He desired to be known in
America by the same popular cognomen by which Wil-
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 was led. This, however, was the choice rather
of policy 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 this time,
a less enviable surname than the one which distinguished
Pitt. He was called " The Trimmer." But all this, as
Terry O'Rourke would say, was " a part of his system."
He was engaged in running a mine which, when com-
pleted, was to demolish the federal party, and he did
not pause in his work or stop to defend himself from
mere personal attacks. He, therefore, set assiduously
about renewing his former intimacy with Adams. It
was very well known that a portion of the Federalists,
with Alexander Hamilton at their head, had manoeuvred
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 this was made known to him, and he set the
brand of his never-ending hatred on the brow of Ham-
ilton. To foment this difference became the chief end
of the opposition. Adams was adroitly cajoled, while
Hamilton was still 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 JEFFERSON.

thousand tempting morsels, all artfully directed against
the known vulnerable 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 councils and his presence. This was pre-
cisely what had been played for by the opposition.
Their point was gained, the fatal breach irrevocably
effected. In the meanwhile the difficulties with France
assumed an alarming aspect. The conduct of the 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
called by the President. The Federalists 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
policy. Denunciations the most ireful and menacing
were hurled against the recommendations of the Execu-
tive, and against a war with republican France. The
President was roused to desperation by these sudden
and withering assaults, and followed up his recommen-
dations with all the influence of his name and his office.
Measures were taken to prepare for hostilities ; Wash-
ington was drawn from his coveted retirement to be
invested once more with the chief generalship of his
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 of the President was despotic, and the
least draught of popular favor intoxicated him with
vanity. At the next session of Congress, at the espe-

THOMAS JEFFERSON* 35

cial instance of the Executive, were passed the celebrat-
ed Alien and Sedition Laws, and from that day the ad-
ministration and political prospects of John Adams were
doomed. They were the worst laws that ever ema-
nated from 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 turned to the work
of their demolition. The Legislatures of the different
States entered energetically into the strife. The Vir-
ginia and Kentucky resolutions of '98 followed, destined
to a notoriety co -existent with the most treasured
archives of the Republic. 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 well-known documents.
We shall content ourselves with a single remark. They
contain, in 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 wildly revolutionary in tendency. The remedies
they inculcate for constitutional infractions are extreme,
repugnant to genuine patriotism, and wholly unneces-
vsary in a government where the people hold the power
of the ballot box. This 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 warrants extreme
measures in any case. If we correctly understand its
language and spirit, we should say that all chances of
aggression, from any quarter, are amply provided for and
guarded against. Balances and checks, and legitimate
remedial processes pervade its every feature. We regard
it as the mere silly cant of suspicious, over-zealous enthu-
siasts and designing demagogues, to advocate nullifica-

36 „ THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 until the pumps have
been thoroughly tried and exhausted. It will then be
soon enough to take refuge in extreme measures, when
the safeguards of the constitution are found unavailing.
But the Virginia and Kentucky resolutions answered
and fully attained the objects for which they were de-
signed. They served to beat down the Alien 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 this good could have been effected without
the entailment of an evil scarcely less deplorable than
that which had been crushed ! But from that day to
this, the objectionable doctrines taught in these* papers
(especially those of Jefferson) have been made the
theme and the authority of coagitators, 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
established governments as a primary, extra-constitu-
tional remedy against supposed infractions. Their ab-
stractions, and, indeed, their proposed remedies, would
have applied to the old colonial government under
Great Britain. But the mischief was complete, when
they were offered as suggesting a method of resistance
to the authority and laws of the Government of the
United States. Their teachings were hailed by all the
discontented and revolutionary classes of that day.
The Shay rebellionists, the Whiskey insurrectionists,
the Jacobin clubs of Philadelphia and other cities, the
followers of the Genet faction, and the satellites of Fre-

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 37

neau and Callender, received them as text-books, and
became associated in one solid Democratic phalanx.
The Federalists shrank into disrepute, and gradually
dwindled until 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 political chaos. It was composed of
the moderate Democrats and the more liberal portion
of the defeated Federalists. It numbered in its ranks
such men as Monroe, and Crawford, 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 alike by rank Federalism
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 will be further
elucidated. We have now brought Jefferson to the
end of the third era of his political life, and leave him
on the eve of success and of elevation to the highest
and proudest honors of his country. We shall soon re-
sume the narrative, 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
his greatest political elevation, we now proceed to de-
picture and carefully analyze so much of the policy of
his administration as may serve to develope the object

38 THOMAS JEFFERSON,

of this essay, and to illustrate the representative fea-
tures in the public character of the first Democratic
President. We enter upon this important and delicate
task after a most agreeable interval of mutual relaxa-
tion, and with a greatly enlarged stock of material.
We have long since done, however, with all that can
be justly called 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 influence were
directed solely to the demolition of a hated sect, and
the aggrandizement of one of which he was the idol
and the head.

From the very moment that he detected the supe-
rior and predominating influence of Alexander Hamilton
in the councils and policy of Washington, his besetting
sin of jealousy prompted in him a spirit of opposition,
whose rancor has been equalled only by the " bitter-
endism " of our day. To the sedulous transmission
of this spirit from the parent fountain, is to be attrib-
uted, we incline to think, that radical partyzsra which
has since disfigured and marred the administration of
government, and entailed upon the country a series of
principles (so called), which, if such be our fate, will
one day result in the disaster of secession or despotism.

Jefferson did not enter the White House in a way
very complimentary to his public character, or that in-
dicated much personal popularity. The Electoral Col-
leges gave him a meagre majority of eight votes only
over his federal competitors ; whilst his republican col-
league obtained the same number with himself. This
last was Aaron Burr, who, at a subsequent period, was
made bitterly to expiate this equalization with the de-
spotic tempered sage of Monticello, whose pride was

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 39

sorely touched at being thus unexpectedly levelled with
one who had hitherto attracted but little notice beyond
the limits of his own State. From the hour when the
vote was announced in the Senate Chamber, to the
gloomy day when Burr returned from Europe, long
years afterward, friendless, poverty-stricken, and broken-
hearted, the envious eye of Jefferson was fixed upon him,
and misfortune and persecution, thus powerfully 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 his only offence, in this
instance ; though, as regarded others, he had an awful
crime to answer for. His murderous hand had laid
low the most intimate friend and counsellor 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 successful practice
the project of our government. Of this, more anon.

Through this equah'ty of votes betwixt the two
democratic candidates the choice of a President de-
volved upon the House of Representatives. The bal-
loting began on the morning of the 17th of February,
1801, and continued, with few intervals, through a
period of seven days, without* a clear result. All
Washington was in a ferment. The galleries and lob-
bies of the House were daily crdwded 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 ballot to its nervous occupant — Jefferson was
on the ground, presiding daily in the Senate Chamber,
and watched the progress of the struggle with all the
inquietude incident to a dubious state of mind, and
with all the eager solicitude of an aspiring and ambi-

40 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

tious spirit. Burr designedly absented himself, having
first placed his political fortunes in the hands and at
the discretion of a judicious personal friend. It had
been resolved at the outset that the House should
discard all other business during the pendency of
the election, and that it should not adjourn until an
election was effected. This body was composed of sin-
gular materials, in a political sense, for the business
which had now devolved upon it. The vote of the
colleges 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 Federalists. The position
in which they were thus placed was one of peculiar and
painful delicacy. Both the candidates for Presidential
honors were Democrats, and one of them the founder
and leader of that opposition party which, beginning
stealthily during Washington's administration, had pur-
sued federal men and federal principles with a rancor
scarcely paralleled in the history of faction. For these
reasons both were objectionable ; but, as may be very
well imagined, Jefferson was viewed, particularly, with
strong feelings both of personal and political hostility
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 Federalists,
and his 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 which plainly indicated the anarchical
and revolutionary tendency of their political principles.
They insisted that the people intended Jefferson should
be President, they even attempted to bully the refrac-
tory members, by declaring that, if the* House did not
choose him, an armed democratic force from the neigh-

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 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 irreconcilable with
the previous political manifestos of our distinguished
subject, notwithstanding 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.

His known sympathy with the Shayites, the Whis-
key Insurrectionists, and the Jacobin clubs of Phila-
delphia, and his connection with the Nullification Pro-
nunciamientos of the Virginia Legislature, as well as
this threat of armed resistance, show clearly enough
his contempt for the Constitution, and the disorganiz-
ing elements which lay at the root of his political
opinions.

But this was only one among the exciting rumors
which 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 whispered 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 until 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 JEFFERSON.

his 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 hi the office of President, means were
spoken of to prevent such a national disaster. Doubt-
less the Federalists would have done any thing which
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-
litical opponents, forced thus to sign, as it were, the
warrant for their own political 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 responsibility, and it
is clear, on a review of the proceedings, that an election
was determined on from the beginning.

The seventh day dawned on the contest, and thirty-
five ballotings 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
United States to interfere in a contest betwixt Aaron
Burr and Thomas Jefferson. This was Alexander
Hamilton. Hamilton regarded Burr with a species of
horror that seems to have proceeded less from malign
feeling, than from an innate consciousness of his utter
want of principle, or the least moral susceptibility.
Jefferson, too, had long been his political adversary
and strong personal enemy, but when consulted by his
friends as to the choice of evils, we are told that
Hamilton 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 JEFFEKSON. 43

fatal chain of personal animosities which ended with
the tragedy of Hoboken.

It soon transpired that the majority had been, by
some means, sufficiently united to bring the election to
a close, and on the seventh day, every member was in
his seat. The House presented a remarkable spectacle,
strongly illustrative 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 va-
rious offices attached, were deserted, that their incum-
bents might be present at the expected finale of the
great political drama which had created, during its
enactment of nigh seven days, an interest 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 filled the body of the House ; while the
gallery teemed with countless faces, and groaned under
the weight of a crowd, the like of which had never be-
fore pressed on the stately pillars which supported it.
At length the tellers took their seats. The ballots were
deposited slowly, one by one, and then amidst a breath-
less silence that seemed ominous in view of the vast
numbers assembled, the counting began. The repre-
sentatives for sixteen States had voted. The result

44 THOMAS JEFFEESON.

showed that out of these sixteen ballots, 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 himself
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 prevailed ; 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 similar contest occurred in the case of John
Quincy Adams, who having been thrown before the
House of Representatives with a far inferior electoral
vote to Andrew Jackson, was, nevertheless, chosen
President by that body on the first ballot ; and the
people, unseduced by the dangerous theories which
Jefferson had inculcated previously in his own case,
did not " march an armed force from the neighboring
States to compel" a different choice. This quiet sub-
mission to the constituted authority would have been
the same in 1801 as in 1825, the malevolent efforts of
the Jeffersonians to the contrary notwithstanding.

The acme of political elevation did not, in one sense,
operate to destroy in Jefferson that inclination to dem-
agoguism which had hitherto characterized him. The
hard struggle it had cost his 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
White House showed that he was casting his net for
easy re-election at the end of four years. He began by

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 45

an emphatic repudiation of all the conventional customs
and etiquette established by Washington and followed
up 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 humility that inspired a feeling 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, which, it is said, was hardly fitted to drag a tum-
bril. His whole address and manner indicated his sub-
serviency to the same species of affectation that prompts
a backwoods Methodist exhorter to elongate his face,
to solemnize his 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 his example since, though it is not
hard to perceive that the levees at the White House
smack yet of the levelling policy introduced by Jeffer-
son. N~or did he stop here with what he doubtless
deemed a system of democratic reform. It had been
the habit of Washington and his successor to meet per-
sonally the two Houses of Congress on the day of their
assemblage, and address them a speech explanatory of
affairs, and recommending what course of policy might

46 THOMAS JEFFEESOX.

have suggested itself in the interval of their session.
This 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 chose to annul the an-
cient custom, and introduced the system of messages,
since practised, and which, of late years, has been
adopted by Presidents as a vehicle to set forth their
own policy, to decry and calumniate their adversaries,
and to bore the Congress with tedious disquisitions,
better suited to penny lecturers or hired journalists
than to the Chief Magistrate of a powerful nation.
We are inclined to think, therefore, that Jefferson
placed the seal of his displeasure on these customs more
with a view to annihilate all traces of 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 culotte
species of democracy, and, although he had labored to
explain and palliate the offensive passages of that extra-
ordinary document, he may yet have thought that con-
sistency required that he should renounce those " Brit-
ish forms," which he had so bitterly condemned in
George Washington's official etiquette.

The Inaugural Address of Jefferson breathed senti-
ments of political tolerance, and abounded with expres-
sions of political harmony, totally unexpected, and
which 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 politically with the administration,
and the last few months, especially when it was found

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 fill them with his party and personal favorites, in
time to exclude such as might otherwise be appointed
by the incoming administration.

To have continued or acquiesced in this course of
conduct would have been the worst form of proscrip-
tion. Jefferson, therefore, very properly began his ad-
ministrative career by displacing numbers of office-
holders who had been appointed mainly because of
their federal principles, and filled the vacancies created
with Democrats. This course was called for by com-
mon fairness; and, although we must regard Jefferson
as the author of the fierce party issue that yet darkens
our political system, and has converted our Presidential
elections into campaigns, and made the preparations for
them a deceitful and despicable game, we cannot judge
him hastily for conforming his conduct to that equality
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
shielded him from the annoyances and the influences of
federal " bitter-endism." The wailings of the opposi-
tion prints were not over mere smoke or imaginary
cases, as at the beginning of the present Whig adminis-
tration. The heads of the highest in office fell first and
fastest, and the axe of 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 light-house that lifted its beacon on

48 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

our coasts. There was no soft hesitation, no mistimed
caution, no misjudged forbearance. This is a policy,
under such circumstances, as weak as it is ruinous to
those who practise it. It contributes to strengthen and
to quicken opposition, while it discourages friends. So
far from conciliating political opponents, it is more apt
to induce contempt, and serves eminently to fan the
flame of a malignant " bitter-endism." The bold pro-
ceedings of Jefferson hushed while they defied rabid
partisan clamor, and those who had been ostracised for
opinion's sake were placed on a footing of full equality
with the pampered favorites of the late administration.
To this conduct may be traced the primary sources of
that wonderful popularity to which the democratic ad-
ministration soon attained, and which it preserved
through a series of eight eventful years, marked by
acts and measures that blighted 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 his accession, Jefferson waged
against the Judiciary and Judicial authority and dig-
nity, was a step very full of hazard as to the probable
deleterious effects it may have produced on the public
mind, and must ^e heartily condqnined by all unbiassed
historiographers. It was a branch of the Government
which he had, from the first, unscrupulously denounced
and opposed, and notwithstanding his professed horror
at the appointment of the "midnight judges" by Ad-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 49

ams' expiring administration, we are inclined to think
that his hostility against the law establishing federal
courts throughout the various States was superinduced
mainly by his ancient prejudices and unconquerable
jealousy. He evidently had little or no respect for the
proceedings of courts of law, and never hesitated to op-
pose the power of the Executive as of higher moment
than the Judiciary arm of the Government. The best
evidence of this is furnished by several letters contained
in the fourth volume of the work before us, as well as
by one among his first official acts. George Thompson
Callender, the Scotch libeller and defamer of Washing-
ton, had published, during the administration of John
Adams, a scurrilous book, entitled, " The Prospect be-
fore us," filled with the most inflammatory appeals, and
calculated, from its most atrocious inculcations, to pro-
duce widespread and dangerous discontent among the
lower floating classes of people. He was arrested un-
der the Sedition Act, speedily 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 facts, the law, or
the Court. He pardoned and released Callender, and
ordered the U. S. Marshal for Virginia to refund the
amount of the fine to which he had been subjected. A
letter to Mr. George Hay, the Government attorney,
who subsequently prosecuted Burr with such distin-
guished ability, unfolds Jefferson's opinion of the dig-
nity of courts of law, and evinces in the most emphatic
manner the native despotic tendency of his temper and
disposition. He therein says, "In the case of Callen-
der, the judges determined the Sedition Act was valid,
under the Constitution, and exercised their regular
3

50 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

powers of sentencing to fine and imprisonment. But
his Executive (Thomas Jefferson) determined that the
Sedition Act was a nullity, under the Constitution, and
exercised his regular power of prohibiting the execution
of the sentence, or rather of executing the real law."
We know of nothing in the civil administrations of
Charles the First, of Cromwell, of Napoleon, or of An-
drew Jackson, the dictators of modern times, more
high-handed, in tone and sentiment, or more pernicious
in principle, than such declaration and such conduct
from this great model Democratic President. The act
of pardon was allowable, and belonged to his office.
But a pardon under the circumstances, and with this
declaration, was an insult to the Court and an outrage
on the supreme law of the land ; while the order to re-
fund the amount of fine was a flagrant usurpation of
undelegated power. By the same rule of construction
he might just as well have directed that Callender
should receive every dollar in the Treasury. It so hap-
pened, too, that, in the end, Jefferson was caught in his
own trap. This low-minded Scotchman, like ah1 other
minions and parasites, had his price, and repaid all this
official liberality by the basest ingratitude. He had
scarcely been released, or purged of the dungeon's
stench, before he applied to be made postmaster at
Richmond. This Jefferson flatly refused to do, but, at
the same time, tendered the hardy and beggarly appli-
cant with a loan from his private purse. Callender ac-
cepted the loan, but, dead to all the decencies of life,
and fretting with disappointment (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 his
adviser and patron in ah1 his scurrilous attacks on the
two preceding administrations, had furnished him the

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 51

means of printing " The Prospect," and had encouraged
him to all he had undertaken in his career of political
piracies. This act of treachery, coming from a genuine
nursling of unadulterated Democracy, startled even the
" great Apostle " himself, and seemed to rouse and
ruffle his boasted serenity of temper under personal at-
tacks and vituperation. Jefferson was forced into the
defensive, and wrote several letters in explanation of
these charges, and in extenuation of his friendly con-
duct towards Callender.

" If there be any thing," says a distinguished writer,
" which 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 all questions on the 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 this was the opinion of Thomas Jefferson.
His doctrines and his example as respects judicial tri-
bunals are highly exceptionable, obnoxious to good
government, and dangerous in the extreme. We have
seen, in the case of Callender, that he assumed to de-
clare null and void a law constitutionally enacted and
approved, constitutionally adjudged, and constitution-
ally executed. Other acts strictly in unison with this
may be easily cited. The case of Duane, another
Democratic libeller, affords an exact parallel. During
the trial of Aaron Burr, in which he was the real,
though not ostensible prosecutor, we find him proposing
to violate personal liberty, by suggesting to his attor-
ney that Luther Martin, who defended the prisoner
with quite too much ability and boldness to suit the
purposes of Jefferson, should be arrested as particeps
criminis, and thus, as he says, "put down this unprin-

52 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

cipled and impildent Federal bull dog." No more dis-
organizing proposition than this was ever made. But
a little subsequently to this, we find that, impelled by
ungovernable vindictiveness in prosecuting a man who
had contested with him the chair of the Presidency, he
asked a suspension of that great landmark of freedom,
the act of Habeas Corpus. For arrogance similar to
this, and for attempting, among other offences, to vio-
late this 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 his life. It will be thus seen
that the sufferance of democracies, when conducted by
the popular favorite, who, while writing speciously of
liberty, outstrips the most arrogant monarch in his
stretches for dominion, affords, sometimes, an exempli-
fication of passive obedience from which even despot-
isms might learn a lesson. But the climax of these ink-
lings of anarchy may be found in a letter from the
model Democratic President to the model Democratic
editor, who yet survives to perpetuate his " early les-
son," and to favor 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 Ritchie, found in the fourth of these volumes,
we find the following : " The Judiciary of the United
States is a subtle corps of sappers and miners, con-
stantly working under ground to undermine the foun-
dation of our confederated Republic. We shall 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, ./will say, that against this every man should
raise his 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 JEFFERSON. 53

argued closely, in the celebrated Kentucky Resolutions,
to prove that the people might resist the Executive De-
partment, lie 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 his old
age, he winds up by instructing an apt disciple to " lift
his arm" against the Judiciary, the only remaining
branch of the Government.

The figurative epithet here applied to the Supreme
Court shows emphatically the abhorrence with which
Jefferson regarded that august tribunal. The political
reader may chance to be reminded, in this connection,
of the high dudgeon which a certain distinguished Sen-
ator manifested on a recent occasion, when, in his place,
he denounced another distinguished personage for hav-
ing characterized modern Presidential candidates as
"prize-fighters." It is barely probable that, notwith-
standing their acknowledged erudition, neither of these
eminent individuals knew of this illustrious precedent
example in the vocabulary of political billingsgate, else
the first, a model professor of genuine Jeffersonism,
might have refrained from the assault, and the last, a
mild and equable member of the body thus reviled,
would have been able effectually to shelter himself with
a lawyer's most valued plea, though he flatly disclaimed
the construction applied to his apt figure.

PART III.

AMONG all the men of the Revolutionary era, Jeffer-
son is solitary and alone in the propagation of the per-
nicious doctrine of armed resistance to constituted au-
thorities. They are doctrines, however, not greatly to

54 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

be wondered at in a disciple of Jacobinism, who
thought that a rebellion, once in every twenty years,
was a political blessing, and treated such as nothing
more than a natural exuberance of patriotism, a rekind-
ling of the smouldering fires of liberty. But the evil
influence of such teachings, in connection with one yet
so revered as the .father of progressive democracy, is
felt and seen to this day. It was exhibited clearly in
the conduct of one, who, in long after years, was folded
in the mantle of Jefferson, and almost adored as his
representative and worthy successor. The known con-
tempt of the great apostle of Democracy for the dignity
of constituted authorities, and especially for that of ju-
dicial tribunals, was a carte blanche to all the vandalic
excesses and frantic political conduct which, in many
distinguished instances, have since been practised by
his partisans. Andrew Jackson had need to appeal to
no higher authority than the opinion of Jefferson, when,
with the boldness of a Cromwell, 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 White House, he sent his famous Pro-
test Message to the Senate, claiming that he was the
direct representative of the American People, and im-
posing silence on Congress as regards the acts of the
Executive, 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 this expediency and these emergen-
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 this Protest,
and in crushing refutation of these nefarious preten-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 55

sions, should be stereotyped on tables of gold, and bla-
zoned in lasting characters on the official record-book
of the Republic.

The power and political influence of the Federal
party terminated, along with 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 first genuine republican experiment ever ven-
tured. But this is not all. The period during which
the Federalists held the ascendency in the administra-
tion of the 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 individual members
with the whole to be harmonized, and the great and
complicated machine to be set in motion. Besides the
necessity of thus creating from a mass of disorganized
materials the framework of society itself; of devising a
system of finance by which, from a family of States
hitherto unused to any general and common system,
revenues should be raised, bearing equally upon all, and
capable of meeting debts of extraordinary magnitude
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 policy under novel circumstances and re-
lations, expansive as the growth of the nation, and to
be permanent as its existence ; of embodying laws ; of
rebuilding commerce from its wrecks, and calling forth
arts and manufactures where they had been unknown ;
besides ah1 these, there were still other obstacles in

66 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

their path. Almost coeval with the birth of the
American Government, commenced a series of wars
which, in extent, magnitude, objects, and in impressions
on the political world, were the most gigantic in the
history of bloodshed. Institutions, hoary with age and
venerable from their sanctity ; empires which had
seemed as permanent as the existence of man ; despot-
isms, whose iron grasp had for centuries stifled the very
breathings of liberty; laws, and usages stronger than
laws, which, for good or evil, 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 convulsion had
not been confined to the shores of Europe or the East.
They had extended to America, also. Here, meanwhile,
the same opposition which had exerted itself against
the formation of a government, was continued against
its operation. It was with mutiny in the crew that the
Federalists had to steer the ship of state through the
dangers of an unexplored ocean, in this most tremen-
dous storm which ever devastated the civilized world.
Every measure which might tend to a development of
the power of the General Government, was resisted.
Every embarrassment was thrown in the way of its ac-
tion. The impatience which naturally arises from new
burdens was taken advantage of, though their 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, through all these shoals
and quicksands the two Federal administrations had
been fortunate enough to keep their course harm-
lessly, and the Government was sustained in all its
original purity. The Constitution remained intact and
unmutilated in a single feature. No emergency had

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 57

been so pressing, even through storms of insurrection
and the most difficult diplomatic negotiations, to create,
in the opinion of Washington or of Adams, any neces-
sity to overstep the prescribed limits of the law. It re-
mained for the Democrats, under the advice of their
anti-federal leader, to find out that occasions might
arise to justify the President in acting independent of
the Constitution, as we shall soon see. Indeed, it is a
fact in the history of the 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 of the 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 Alien 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 which passed, as well as of the President who
approved them. The Executive assumed nothing. It
only put in execution a law of the people's representa-
tives. But the history of republics does not furnish
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
political history, to which, as illustrative of public feel-
ing and opinion 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 JEFFERSON.

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 liberty ; the friend of our revolu-
tionary ally, France ; the foe of British influence ; a re-
former, philosopher, sage, and genuine republican.
The Federalists looked on him in a far different light.
They charged him with being a revolutionist and Jaco-
bin ; with being blindly devoted to France, and per-
versely opposed to England ; with being hostile to the
Constitution, and the promoter of partyism ; with being
a free-thinker in politics and religion, whose learning
was used to pervert rather than to uphold the land-
marks of virtue and liberty. They argued that his
messages and his writings prove him to have had in
view, through his entire political and administrative
career, only three great purposes, and that his whole
efforts and influence were directed to their accomplish-
ment. These were, say they, the aggrandizement of
France, the humiliation of England, and the demolition
of Federalists as a party, and the expatriation of all
who held that faith. There can be very little doubt
that Jefferson was liable to all three of these charges.
But it is not for us rashly to say that the aggrandize-
ment of France, or the humiliation of England, were
the sole objects of his foreign policy, or that the anni-
hilation of Federalism was his chief object at home.
The purchase of Louisiana, or rather the circumstances
attending that purchase, have been cited as evidence
of the 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 will enable
the reader to understand more clearly, and to apply as
he may deem proper, the historical incidents belonging

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 59

to that transaction. But we must here remark, that
the purchase of that territory was the first of those
violent shocks which the Constitution has since repeat-
edly sustained under Democratic administrations. The
blows have been sedulously followed up since, and all
the agitation which ever distracted the country, or se-
riously threatened its peace, has grown out of this
Democratic principle 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-
sponsibility and consequences of their annexation, so,
likewise, 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 politically, that have followed from the purchase
of Louisiana. The wound has been inflicted, and the
gap fairly and widely opened for future aggressions of
a similar character. The sanctity of the instrument
has been repeatedly and roughly violated, and no one
is able to tell or to foresee where the mischief will end,
or how far the precedent may be abused 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 silent
acquiescence, has hardly ever failed to be resorted to,
as a precedent, in 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 of the truth
of the 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 tfHOMAS JEFFEKSOtf.

Spain the island of "New Orleans and all her possessions
west of the Mississippi river, and the name of Louisi-
ana was thus limited to that part of the valley. After
the close of the Revolutionary War, in settling the
boundaries of the United States, some contentions arose
between our own and the Spanish Government, espe-
cially as regarded the free navigation of the Mississippi.
These differences were not adjusted until 1795, when,
during the administration of Washington, his Catholic
Majesty agreed by the treaty of San Lorenzo, that "the
citizens of the United States shall be permitted, for the
space of three years from this time, the navigation of
the Mississippi, with a right to deposit their merchan-
dise and effects in the port of New Orleans." From
several causes, however, this treaty was not fulfilled
until 1798, and, most probably, but for a change of ad-
ministration here, a war between Spain and the United
States would have been the consequence. In 1796
Spain and the French Republic formed an alliance,
offensive and defensive ; and at that time France began
a series of negotiations with a view to the recovery of
her ancient province of Louisiana. This was not effect-
ed till 1800, under the consulate of Napoleon, when,
by the treaty of St. Ildefonso, Spain retroceded to
France the colony of Louisiana, with the boundaries it
had when given up to Spam in 1763. Spain, however,
still continued to exercise, nominally at least, the powers
of government in the country, and in 1802 the Intend-
ant of the province gave notice that American citizens
would no longer be permitted to deposit their goods at
New Orleans, and this, too, without assigning, as by the
terms of the treaty of San Lorenzo, " any equivalent
establishment at any other place on the river." This
extraordinary violation of national faith was followed up
by acts of the most offensive nature. The Spaniards cap-

, THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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-spread indignation
among our western citizens, and many threatened to
march down 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 silent on the subject. In January, 1803, the
House promptly called for information concerning so
delicate a matter, and this brought the fact of treaty
violation on the part of Spain officially to light. A
message was debated with closed doors, which, as Jef-
ferson must certainly have known of the outrages be-
fore the session began, leaves us to deduce questionable
and unfavorable opinions of his conduct. It certainly
was strange and unaccountable, indicative of but little
spirit, and shrouded with a politic caution and forbear-
ance that would have done honor to Louis the Elev-
enth.

When redress for these wrongs and a compliance
with treaty stipulations were demanded of Spain, the
American minister was informed that Louisiana had
been ceded to France. Jefferson then asked for two
millions of dollars, 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 growing power of
Napoleon, and particularly in his acquisition of Lou-
isiana, and the contemplated possession of that exten-

62 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

sive country with a large army. With this view the
fleet and troops under General Victor, destined for that
country, were kept so long blockaded that they were
finally 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 him to occupy Louisiana, and he therefore resolved
to exchange it for money, which France needed far
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 all the Continent, that crippled her
own power and nearly exhausted her means and credit,
and that carried death and devastation in its track
through a long series of well nigh fifteen years. So
soon as the French Emperor had resolved on his course,
he convoked his 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
will not," said Napoleon, "keep a possession which
would not be safe in our hands, which would perhaps
embroil me with the Americans, or produce a coldness
between us. I will make use of it, on the contrary, to
attach them to me, to embroil them with the English,
and to raise up against the latter, enemies who will
one day avenge us, if we should not succeed in aveng-
ing ourselves. My resolution is taken; I will give
Louisiana to the United States. But as they have no
territory to cede to us in exchange, I will demand a
sum of money towards defraying the expenses of the

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 63

extraordinary armament which I am projecting against
England.'' This declaration was made in March, only
a fews days after the memorable scene with Lord
Whitworth, the English Ambassador to France. With
his usual impetuosity, the First Consul sent Marbois
directly to Mr. Livingston, with instructions to open
negotiations forthwith, concerning the purchase. Ac-
cordingly, when Mr. Monroe arrived in Paris, he found
the business to his hands, and that, instead of the island
of New Orleans and the small territory of East and
West Florida, alone, Napoleon was offering to cede
the whole extensive territory west of the Mississippi.
This was a most startling 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 preliminaries ;
and on the 30th of April the bargain was struck, and
for a consideration of fifteen millions 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, having thus
supplied his chests, opened the scene of those bloody
wars which shook Europe to its deepest foundations,
blasted the commercial prosperity of the world, and
ended with the total humiliation and subjection of
France, while his own life was wasted away on the
friendless shores of St. Helena.

The acquisition of this 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 wTas seriously condemned, on
principle, by all the opponents of the administration,
among whom John Randolph, of Roanoke, already
dissatisfied with the JefFersonian policy, now took the

64 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

most prominent position. The main grounds of their
opposition were, that the French title was contingent
only, that the undefined boundaries would furnish a
cause for future contentions, that a fraudulent title had
been obtained from Spain 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, which 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
higher grounds of opposition than these, and they are
grounds which still 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 which
stipulated for the admission of the country into the
Union, 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-
lished "to form a more perfect union" of the "United
States." The United 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 of the States here described, was a clear

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 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 alien and a stranger
to share the powers of government alike with them.

Pressed by arguments of this kind, and by the opin-
ions of JeiFerson 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 into the
Union, according to the principles of the Constitution ;
that by taking possession of the territory it did not
necessarily follow that it must be admitted into the
Union; that this would be an after question; that
the territory would not be admitted into the Union
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
which gave it ; and that the question still 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
of the two-thirds rule ! And yet this was done by the

66 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

same legitimately descended radical Democracy in the
case of Texas, which, in our humble opinion, has about
as much Constitutional connection with this Union as
Cuba or Liberia.

But it is no less singular than true that Jefferson
himself confessed, to the fullest extent, to the unconsti-
tutionality of such acquisition of territory, or of its ad-
mission into the Union as a State. He admits that the
Constitution will bear no such latitudinous construc-
tion, yet recommends the adoption of the treaty, and
afterwards, the incorporation of Louisiana into the
Union. The volumes before us contain divers letters
illustrative of this inconsistency between theory and
practice, and explanatory of so strange an anomaly.
He addresses Lincoln, and Breckenridge, and Nicholas
particularly, arguing most conclusively against the con-
stitutionality of the very act he had recommended, and
which he resolved to sanction as President. In one
place he puts the question in its strongest light by say-
ing, " I do not believe it was meant that we might re-
ceive England, Ireland, Holland, &c., which would be
the case on your (viz., the Attorney General's) con-
struction." If not these, it might be asked, how will
we admit Louisiana ; or, if Louisiana, why not England,
Ireland, and Holland ? It is evident that if the clause
of the Constitution can be construed so as to admit
one, the same rule of construction will cover the ad-
mission of all ; or, vice versa, if one be excluded by the
Constitution, all are excluded. That posterity to which
Jefferson is so fond of appealing, and which has wit-
nessed each successive onslaught and "partisan foray on
the Constitution which have grown 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 JEFFERSON. 67

Constitution specifying 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 United States." We have only to remark
that if 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 United 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 opinions, and then these with
respect to the form of obligation prescribed to be taken
by the President on his accession to that office, candor
demands nothing short of severe censure. The Consti-
tution is not to be made subordinate to expediency, and
an upright officer must respect his oath, if we would
desire to steer our political course in harmony and
safety. If the Rubicon is passed, Rome must lie at the
mercy of the dictator. She will have nothing to shield
her from indignity, for that is the sacred boundary.
Neither will fancied or prospective benefits justify a de-
parture from the plain letter of the Constitution, or
from the stringency of official obligation. Every Presi-
dent might constitute himself a judge, and frame, in
this manner, a pretext for any conquest or any expen-
diture of the public money. As illustrative of this we
might point to the successive innovations which have
followed the acquisition of Louisiana. The Floridas,
Texas, California, and New Mexico were all the natu-
ral fruits of this first spurious blossom. The late
President, fortified by illustrious examples and prece-
dents, pursued an unscrupulous course of conquest with
scarcely a decent pretext, expending millions of money,
and destroying thousands of men, and in defiance of

68 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 ill-boding dissensions. The tone of public
sentiment has been infected. It has been poisoned
with the thirst for some species of political excitement.
-At the North, the Canadas afford fruitful sources for
indulgence in this vicious propensity. At the South,
since Texas has been annexed and since Mexico has
been subdued and pillaged, Cuba has become the centre
of this dangerous attraction, and sooner or later must
share the fate of the two former. The public taste of
both sections seeks gratification only in this species of
furor. We are constrained to say that all this is justly
chargeable to the example of Jefferson, and whether it
bring weal or woe, his fame must answer to that pos-
terity to which he appeals.

The great mass of the people, however, were agreed
as to the importance of this acquisition of Louisiana,
and all must acknowledge that, bating the wounds in-
flicted 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 which might
have called for impeachment under some circumstances,
has been regarded as the most meritorious of his pub-
lic career. So much, we perceive, is the world gov-
erned in its public conduct, by considerations, rather
of interest and policy, than of conformity to established
rules of law.

But it is not to be disguised that, in his haste either
to accommodate France, or to avoid a collision with
Spain, Jefferson suffered the purchase to be, in some
sense, unwisely concluded. In the first place, the sum
of fifteen millions was probably thrice as much as needed
to have been given, because Napoleon knew, at the

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 69

time of the 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 betwixt her own and the cabinet at Washing-
ton soon sprung up in relation to the legitimate bound-
aries of Louisiana. The United 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 United States to any portion
of territory east of the Mississippi ; but, in the most
peremptory manner, declared their claim to the Rio
Bravo to be totally unfounded. A long and angry cor-
respondence took place between the Spanish negotiator,
Don Pedro Cevallos, then Secretary of Foreign Affairs,
and the American Ministers. In the negotiations with
France 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 Mobile would fall within the limits
of the 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, while at
Paris, in 1804, made known the object of his mission in
a note to Talleyrand, and requested aid of Bonaparte
agreeable to his former assurances. But, in the mean
time, a change had come over the spirit of the French

70 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

Emperor's policy. The means acquired in 1803 by the
sale of Louisiana had been totally exhausted by his
subsequent wars, and he was now again pressingly in
need of money. He therefore made a convenience of
short memory, and not only professed total forgetful-
ness of ah1 such assurances, but gave unmistakable signs
of a favorable disposition towards Spain. This, how-
ever, was one of those artful demonstrations, or feints,
so often and so consummately practised by Napoleon,
in the accomplishment of his 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 this view, dur-
ing the negotiation between Spain and the United
States respecting the boundaries of Louisiana, a certain
paper in the handwriting of Talleyrand, but not signed
by him, was put into the hands of the American Minis-
ter at Paris. It required but little acquaintance with
French diplomacy to gather a full clue to the designs
of the Emperor from this 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 United States must assume a hostile
attitude towards Spain, and put on the appearance of
enforcing their claims. These singular and indirect
communications were, of course, made known to the
American President; and Jefferson, with unaccountable
deference to such questionable advice, embodied the
same in his message to Congress. After going through

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 71

with a concise preliminary statement of the matter in
dispute, and with divers hints as regarded the probable
dispositions of France in case of hostilities with Spain,
he adopts almost the precise language of the anonymous
paper when he says, " Formal war is not necessary, and
will not probably follow; but the protection of our
citizens, the spirit and honor of our country, require
that force should be interposed to a certain degree. It
will probably contribute to advance the object of peace.
But the course to be pursued will require the command
of means, which it belongs to Congress exclusively to
yield or deny." It will be perceived that this message
covers every design, and answers the whole purposes
of Napoleon. His advice was scrupulously followed,
though given quite exceptionably ; hostilities were
threatened, and Spain was bullied. The " means " were
what the Emperor wanted, and he resolved to coax and
dally with the United States, and to intimidate Spain,
that the first might furnish to the last money enough
to extinguish her indebtedness to France, and thus ena-
ble him to prosecute his series of conquests.

In consequence of this message, Congress voted
two millions of dollars 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 public, for the first time, that, on his arrival at
Washington, the Secretary of State had told him,
" that 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 million
appropriation on several grounds, ah1, as we think,
equally cogent and reasonable. The money had not

72 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

been explicitly asked for in the message ; — that, after
the failure of negotiations based on right, to purchase
the territory would be disgraceful ; — that France, thus
encouraged, would never cease meddling with our af-
fairs, so long as she could extort money from us ; and,
that the Floridas, as he thought, 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 availed 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 United States ship Hornet,
and passed into the coffers of Napoleon. Not a foot
of territory, as the facts of the case will clearly demon-
strate, was acquired by this appropriation. In fact, it
may be safely inferred that, having stopped it in Paris
on a claim that Spain owed France, Napoleon used it
to subjugate the very power to whom it was justly
due, if due at all, and to whom it should properly have
been paid.*

Anterior to Jefferson's Presidency, the Constitution
of the United States, administered by those who aided
in its compilation, had been found to answer its purpose

* The treaty of the cession of the Floridas, concluded at Washing-
ton 22 February, 1819, between Spain and the 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 of
these provinces, according to treaty. On the first of July, General
Andrew Jackson, who had been appointed Governor of the provinces
of the Floridas, issued a Proclamation, declaring, " that the government
heretofore exercised over the said provinces, under the authority of
Spain, has ceased, and that of the United States of America is established
over the same, that the inhabitants thereof will be incorporated in the
union of the United States, as soon as may be consistent with the
principles of the federal constitution, and admitted to the enjoyment of
all the privileges, rights, and immunities of the citizens of the United
Slates. — Holmes1 8 AnnaU, vol. 2d, p. 495.

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 3

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 republics 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 would have closed the ques-
tion and settled the point forever. This was not done,
and the obvious inference is, as Jefferson himself
argued, that no foreign territorial acquisition was ever
anticipated or provided 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
policy 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. All the rules for construing language with
which we are acquainted, lay down, as the first prin-
ciple, that a sentence must be interpreted connectedly,
iind all 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 which we have re-
ferred ; for the latter portion of the clause relied on by
the democracy affords a key by which the first may be
fully understood. " New States may be admitted by
the Congress into this Union ; but no new State shall
be formed or erected within the jurisdiction of any
other State ; nor any State Reformed by the junction
of two or more /States or parts of States without the
consent of the legislatures of the /States concerned,
as well as of the Congress." *

* Const. U. S.
4

74 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

The first part of this sentence, granting the power,
is governed by the latter clauses, defining the manner
in which States are to be formed, if it is governed at
all ; and if 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 '*
spoken of were foreign Legislatures ; for this govern-
ment cannot prescribe for foreign Legislatures. Im-
mediately succeeding this is the clause giving to Con-
gress the care and regulation of the " territory " and
"other property belonging to the United States?
which concludes by declaring "that nothing in this
Constitution shall be so construed as to prejudice any
claims of the United States, or of any particular State."
This can refer only to negotiations for territory be-
tween the United States and " particular " States of
"this Union." Neither of these could well have con-
flicting " claims" to the "territory or other property,"
of any other country than this.

We shall not dwell longer on this branch of the
subject. These are briefly pur views of Constitutional
construction. It will be seen that Jefferson him-
self had previously urged the same doctrine, though
his conduct clearly belied 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 own his principles, cannot be too severely or
too unqualifiedly condemned. A life of action, it is
true to some extent at least, must be a life of compro-
mise, if it is to be useful. A public man is often under
the necessity of consenting to measures which he dis-
approves, lest he should endanger the success of other
measures which he thinks of vital importance. But

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 75

the historiographer lies under no such necessity, and
we 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 mind of the coun-
try. Nor do we conceive that Thomas Jefferson is
entitled to the charity of this rule when adjudging his
public conduct. From 1792 until his election to the
Presidency, he had been particularly addicted to in-
veighing against the slightest Constitutional departures
in others. He had thus well nigh succeeded in bring-
ing temporary disrepute on certain measures of Wash-
ington's administration, and had stirred up against that
of the elder Adams such a storm of popular indignation
as was satisfied only with the overthrow of Federalism,
and which even yet exists in common connection with
his name and his party.

This is, as we have remarked, only the first of those
glaring infractions of the Constitution which marked
the dawn of the Democratic administrations, and which
have since continued to distinguish the Democratic
successors of the great Apostle. We have yet before
us the task of narrating others of a similar character,
which 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 fully
* felt for some tune 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, notwithstanding
its assaults on vital features of the Constitution and its
approximation to the calm of despotism, is generally

76 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

regarded as the golden age of genuine Democratic
government. Thus, also, do the reigns of princes who
have established despotisms by means of their personal
popularity, and supposed subserviency to the popular
will, shine in history with a peculiar brilliancy. During
the first years of tyranny is reaped the harvest sown
during the last years of liberty. The Augustan age
was rich in great minds formed in the generation of
Cicero and Cffisar. And yet, says Macaulay, most
aptly, the fruits of the policy of Augustus were reserved
for posterity. So, also, to bring the matter home, the
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 liberty were
fully reaped during the dictatorship of Andrew Jack-
son. In the time of Jefferson, such was the prestige
of his name in connection 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 Adams,
two of whom were recognized as prominent leaders of
a great party, which was fast rising on the ruins of
Federalism to oppose the anarchial tendencies of the
radical Jeffersonian Democracy. But under the iron
dominion of Andrew Jackson, on whom, as we have
said, the mantle of the great Apostle had fallen, 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 controlled by considerations of prudence
or of consequences. In our next we shall enter on a
period of the Jefferson administration, if not more im-
portant, at least more entertaining in point of historical

THOMAS JEFFEKSON, 77

incident, and which serves to illustrate, equally with
the acts just narrated, the deleterious influences of Jef-
ferson's example in politics and his administration of
the Federal Government.

PART IV.

WE now enter on a period of Jefferson's administra-
tion which 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 his evil genius. That
man was Aaron Burr, and his evil genius was Thomas
Jefferson. It was a grapple between giant champions,
whose resources of mind were too vast, and whose en-
mity, mutually 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-
litical and official influence, and, as might be supposed,
these united, 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 exhibitions of character pointed to
those traits which were afterwards developed in his
eventful 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 awful and
dreary march across the wilderness to Quebec. His
indifference to fatigue and hunger, and his strict impar-
tiality as an officer, sharing with his soldiers the priva-
tions of the march, and openly condemning an opposite
conduct in Arnold, gained him the admiration and

78 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

deep affection of the men, while it elicited the commen-
dation and respect of a majority of the officers. After
the siege of Quebec was formed, Burr volunteered his
services as aid to Montgomery, and was by that officer's
side when he fell. He caught the dying patriot in his
arms, and in defiance of the storm of grapeshot which
roared around, maintained his post of affection and duty
until 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
Washington's military family, at head-quarters near
New York, and participated in all the actions which
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, which lasted
during Washington's lifetime, but for which 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 actively and openly
took sides with the latter. This opposition, added to
previous unpleasant passages, only served to increase
Washington's prejudices. In long subsequent years,
during the first Presidency under the Constitution, this
dislike was bitterly evidenced, and the depth of Wash-
ington's aversion fully 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
integrity he had no confidence. This anecdote should
not, however, be rashly taken as irrevocable and infal-

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 79

lible evidence against Burr. It was known that, from
the first, Burr had expressed himself freely and harshly
as to the qualifications of the Commander-in-chief, that
he had condemned his 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 division.
These facts were well known to Washington, as well as
the partiality entertained by Burr for Gates ; and, in
the absence of any tangible cause ever assigned by the
General or his friends, we are forced to conclude that a
shade of personal pique and rancor may have influenced
the usually strict and admirable equanimity even of
this illustrious and revered personage. He would, in-
deed, have been more than mortal, could he have en-
tirely subdued all such feelings — feelings common to
the best as well as to the worst of men.

In March, 1779, Burr tendered his resignation to
the Commander-in-chief. It was accepted by Washing-
ton, in a letter the most complimentary and flattering
to Burr's military ambition. He subsequently was ad-
mitted to the practice of the law in Albany, and in the
spring of 1782 was married 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, while
giving rise to many awful and fanciful conjectures,
blighted and crushed the sole remaining earthly hope
of her solitary and suffering parent.

The history of Burr's political career in New York
and in the Senate -of the United States, his contest with
Jefferson for the Presidency, and his duel with Alexan-
der Hamilton, are well known to every general reader,
and have been elsewhere alluded to in this essay. He

80 fHOMAS JEFFEKSOtf.

left the chair of the 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 his 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 tern. 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 following that on which Mr. Burr
took his 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 his 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,
with a vengeance that seemed to compass nothing short
of his life, Burr, now fallen from his 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
Hamilton 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 too ar-
dent, and his ambition too insatiable and restless to re-
main inactive. The domestic circle afforded him no
comfort. The charm of his home, once his delight and
happiness, had fled. The wife of his youth, the devoted
partner of his joys and his adversities, was cold in the
tomb. His daughter, sole pledge of their love, was
married and removed into a distant State of the South.

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 evil, and whose touch was death. Profes-
sional pursuits were out of the question. Law business
was not to be intrusted to a fugitive from the law.
Political advancement was forever closed to his efforts.
No party would recognize him who was alike abhorred
by Democrat and Federalist — the object of Jefferson's
hatred, and whose hands were stained with the blood
of Alexander Hamilton. Thus bereaved and branded,
Burr became another Ishmael. Every man's hand was
against him ; it was no wonder that his hand should
soon be turned 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 wilderness, in hopes there to create
some employment calculated to appease his 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. If he sojourned 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, failed to
abuse hospitality by communicating with the President,
and, as a penalty for his contumacy, 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 Ohio. Blannerhasset, nar-
rowly escaping with life, was afterwards stigmatized
4*

82 THOMAS JEFFJERSON.

as a traitor, plundered of his wealth, and became a
melancholy wanderer. He lounged a few days at the
Hermitage, and even enlists its honored tenant in his
scheme of invading Mexico, in case of war with Spain.
The lion 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
replies to his satisfaction, and then the awakened lion
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 this
hapless exile.

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 de-
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 Hall.
And yet it is a fact well authenticated that the very
document in possession of Jefferson, and on which
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 probability
of hostilities between Spain and the United States, and
it was known that the President had instructed the com-
mander of the forces to drive the Spaniards 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 intensely wedded than Andrew Jackson, as
evinced both by a letter to Governor Claiborne, pro-
duced by General Wilkinson as an appendix to his tes-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 83

timony on the Burr trial, and by his sympathy with
Aaron Burr. Burr was a military man by nature, and
his greater ambition was to excel in military achieve-
ments. He was more tenacious of his revolutionary
than of either his political or professional fame. He
was evidently 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 fallen
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 high command, and enjoyed the boundless confidence
of his Government, Burr was too sagacious to have at-
tempted his seduction, by offering him peril and uncer-
tainty for safety and certainty. This tallies with the
testimony of General Eaton, not with his 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 Wil-
kinson, have undertaken to pass the whole American
army with less than one hundred ragamuffins. This
project of invading Mexico, under the countenance and
not by orders of the Government, was certainly not in-
tended as treason, which consists only in " levying war
against the United 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

been pursued independently of the Government, it was
a punishable offence, but not treason. The more relia-
ble conclusion is that Burr, unfriendly to Jefferson, and
bitterly persecuted by him, endeavored to use Wilkin-
son as an instrument for opening hostilities ; for, under
his orders, Wilkinson might do this at any time, and
thus bring the whole within the shelter of the Govern-
ment. The plan w^as to proceed under the apparent
authority of the Government, without directly asking
its connivance. And if, it may be remarked, General
Wilkinson, 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 his hand well. Burr never suspected
him until after his interview 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, turned attention again to the Washita 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 all probability
the Government would have obtained a conviction.

By this time, however, Jefferson had fixed his talons
on Burr, and appearances seemed to justify the conclu-
sion that the blood of his ancient rival would be soon
spilled to satiate his jealousy and rancor. He had been
informed of Burr's movements months before; but
merely to suppress the mischief was no part of the ta'c-
tics he had prescribed for his conduct. Burr was al-
lowed to continue his preparations, and Jefferson looked
on supinely, hi the hope that some plain act which
might be tortured into overt proceeding, should have

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 85

been unwarily committed. His design was not so
much to quell disaffection as to secure his prey. At
length a communication from General Wilkinson in-
duces him . to believe that the time has come, and he
issues the order for the destruction of the boats and
property of the expedition at the island, 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 military
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 history. A more
important state trial never occurred, not excepting
even that of Warren Hastings. All that was interest-
ing or romantic in Burr's previous history — all that
could charm the fancy in connection with Blannerhasset
and his beautiful island home — all that was magnificent
and inspiring, as regarded the ancient country of the
Aztecs and the Montezumas, were concentrated and
thrown into this trial. There were startling rumors,
too, that many among the highest and most popular
would be hurled from their 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 him 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 alike odious, the
whole artillery 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 JEFFERSON.

and of home ; abandoned by friends, and from whom
even relatives shrank with trepidation. In all America
one only heart throbbed in unison with his own ; but
that one heart — devoted — fixed — changeless ; sensitive
alike to his joys and his sorrows, was to him more than
all America, or all the world. It was the heart of
Theodosia, " sole daughter of his house ! "

Throughout the whole period from the arrest until
the discharge of Burr, and his departure for England,
the conduct of Jefferson was obnoxious to grave criti-
cism, and evinced a want of magnanimity unworthy of
his great fame and his exalted station. True taste
would have suggested to him a dignified neutrality of
action, especially in view of his official prerogative of
pardon, should the accused be brought in guilty ; but
more than all, in view of his past relations with the dis-
tinguished prisoner. He chose to pursue a course less
delicate ; aided the law by personal exertions, and min-
gled officially in the prosecution by employing eminent
counsel to assist the District Attorney for the United
States. It is said that he expended more than a hun-
dred thousand dollars of the public money in aiding
this prosecution. His letters to the District Attorney,
Mr. Hay, are full 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 own, and exert their whole in-
fluence to shield him from punishment." " Aided by
no process or facilities from the Federal courts, but
frowned on by their new-born zeal for the liberty of
those whom we would not permit to overthrow the
liberties of their country, we can expect no revealments
Trom the accomplices of the chief offender. Of treason-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 87

able intentions, the judges have been obliged to confess
there is a probable appearance. What loophole they
will find in the case, when it conies to trial, we cannot
foresee. Eaton, Stoddart, and Wilkinson will satisfy
the world, if not the judges, of Burr's guilt. The na-
tion will judge both the oifender 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 will remove him. They will see then, and
amend, the error in our Constitution which makes any
branch independent of the nation. They will 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 impunity
to that class of offenders which endeavors to overturn
the Constitution, and are themselves protected in it by
the Constitution itself; for impeachment is a farce
which will not be tried again. If their protection of
Burr produces this amendment, it will do more good
than his condemnation." In this last letter, four points
are very clearly made. It is evident that he intends to
cast an ungenerous slur at Chief Justice Marshall, the
Federal judge, offending; it is evident that, in con-
ducting Burr's trial, having 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 evident that he insinuates an at-
tack on the independence of the Judicial department
of the Government ; and it is evident, that in the ebul-
lition of his partisan acerbity, he casts a censure on the
Senate of the United States, because their impeachment
of Judge Chase, at a previous session^ did not terminate
in his displacement. Now, with all due deference to
the opinion of our distinguished subject, we must be
permitted to say, that in our opinion, Burr's projected

88 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

invasion of Mexico, by itself, would have done much
less harm than this proposed degradation of the Judi-
cial Department of the Government. We have no
sympathy with Jefferson's views on this question, and
hold them to be wholly irreconcilable with his professed
democracy ; for, to our view, his plans would ultimately
have led to a centralization 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 in which despotism may approach, and not an
improbable one ; quite as probable as in military form.
We have seen, thus far, sufficient evidence to convince
us that Jefferson, despite his favor for democratic prin-
ciples, leaned towards a policy which strengthened the
Executive 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 of the Habeas Corpus, and usurped the right to
seize, impress, and imprison witnesses. These arbitrary
acts and demands are in full accordance with the spirit
of his letters just quoted, and go to illustrate that pub-
lic liberty is not always safest in the hands of ultra
Democrats. Danton and Robespierre conversed spe-
ciously, and harangued eloquently, about the liberties
of France, when the Place de Louis Quinze was reek-
ing daily with the blood of slaughtered victims, and
the guillotine 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 JEFFEKSON. 89

of Aaron Burr. Nor can we at all concur in his harsh
and vituperative censures on Chief Justice Marshall.
That 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 enlightened 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 fallen to the lot
of any judge to have had occasion to seek so earnestly
for the truth, both as to law and evidence ; and none
ever presided with more dignity and impartiality in the
most responsible station in which one can be placed.
Old and previously settled principles of law were more
than once battered down by refined argument. New
principles and points were sprung, and discussed with
an ability seldom if ever displayed on any former occa-
sion. Every point of law was jealously disputed, on
one side or the other, and the nicest discrimination was
necessary to distinguish between mere forensic powers
and profundity of argument. Judge Marshall proved
equal to all these requisites.

The conduct of Jefferson, on this occasion, is liable
to reprehension on still another ground. He exhibited
a degree of intolerance and impatience at being crossed,
that argued downright 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
especially animadverted on the President's presuming
to withhold any papers necessary to the defence of

90 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

Burr, and declared that Jefferson's papers were no
more sacred than those of his client, who had been
robbed of the same by order of the Government. This,
together with the charge of violating the New Orleans
post office, in the person of General Wilkinson, although
believed 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 : " Shall we move to commit Luther
Martin as particeps criminis with Burr ? Graybell will
fix on him misprision at least. And, at any rate, his
evidence will serve to put down this unprincipled and
impudent Federal bull-dog, and add another proof that
the most clamorous defenders of Burr are his accom-
plices." We cannot imagine any language more excep-
tionable than this, when uttered by a high dignitary of
state, nor any course of conduct so really mean and un-
fair on the part of a chief magistrate. It shows the
effervescence of an over-wrought party bitterness, and
betrays a willingness to abuse power by using it for
purposes of private revenge. It is well known 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 in the indictment, had been
committed, and that, therefore, all other testimony was
irrelevant. This motion threw consternation and sur-
prise among the prosecutors, and produced one of the
most learned, discursive, and powerful legal arguments

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 will
stand a favorable comparison with Burke's celebrated
chef cfrceuvre in the great case of Warren Hastings be-
fore the British Parliament. Independent of its power
as an argument, it stands unrivalled in point of elo-
quence and emphasis of delivery. After having de-
scribed Burr and Blannerhasset ; coupling the first with
all that was dangerous and seductive, and the last with
all that was interesting and romantic ; painting vividly
the beautiful island on the Ohio — its blooming shrub-
bery— its gorgeous palace — the noble library which
opened its treasures to the master — the celestial music
which melodized its recesses, and charmed " the beauti-
ful and tender partner of his bosom ; " after dwelling
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 high 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 ill-fated man between himself and
punishment." But splendor of oratory and majesty of
description did not meet the issue, or answer the case.
The defence held obstinately to the naked and resist-
less principle of the law, and its inevitable application
to the point submitted. It involved all, it reached and
covered the whole merits of the case, but the Chief
Justice did not waver. He walked boldly up to his

92 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

duty, and charged the jury that such was the law. Of
course, a verdict of "Not Guilty" was the conse-
quence.

It might have been supposed that this elaborate and
painful trial, its exposures and its mortifications, and this
verdict, would end the matter, so far 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
all, and the jury had pronounced. But Jefferson had
been deprived of his vengeance, and the event rankled
within his bosom. His anger and dissatisfaction found
vent, and, strange to tell, 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 this
remarkable and petulant language : " The event has
been — (Here 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 until his testi-
mony has been committed to writing. The whole
proceedings will be laid before Congress that they may
decide whether the defect — (viz., the omission to con-
vict, we suppose,) — has been in the evidence of guilt,
or in the law, or in the application of the law, and
that they may provide the proper remedy for the past
and the future. * * * This criminal (that is Burr) is
preserved to become the rallying point of all the dis-
affected and the worthless of the United States, and to
be the pivot on which all the intrigues and conspiracies
which foreign governments may wish to disturb us with,
are to turn. If he is convicted of the misdemeanor,
the Judge must, in decency, give us respite by some

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 political journalists 'and
reviewers. But we must again object to his taste. It
would have been better to have altogether suppressed
such a letter to his confidential friend and agent ; but
it was a grievous error to curtail and star it. The in-
ferences liable to be drawn from its general tenor will
be far more unfavorable to his grandfather than would
be the part of the sentence omitted. But the whole
letter is objectionable, — especially the parts we have
quoted and italicized. It exhibits 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 eifdeavoring to dishonor, a judicial
officer, because, instead of laboring to convict and hang
an accused person, as the President evidently 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 fall on some " remedy
for the past," which would still enable him to pur-
sue and destroy his enemy, It accuses the Court
and Jury of deliberately preserving a criminal, that he
might incite " the disaffected and the worthless " against
his country. !N"ow 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 liberty to denounce, and repudiate such

94 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 his
greatest power, and would drag an English King from
his throne. It will not do to panegyrize Republican
liberty under Federal administrations, and then, in its
name, grasp at powers which were never dreamed of
in connection with 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 little to do with its
operations. But if Jefferson's recommendations at this
time had been carried out ; if the Habeas Corpus 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 civil
matters, as it is already in military affairs. Here is
another and striking proof, that they who boast most
speciously of genuiue Democratic principles, are not
always the safest persons to be trusted with power.

In connection with this trial of Aaron Burr is mixed
up another affair, which although somewhat collateral
to the main issue, yet serves to show how determined
Jefferson was to bring about a speedy conviction of the
prisoner. Among those who had been violently arrest-
ed in New Orleans, by order of General Wilkinson,
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 Carolinian, he
crossed the Austrian frontiers, made his way into
Moravia, and resolved to undertake the desperate ef-
fort of liberating Lafayette from the dungeons of Ol-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 95

mutz. By means of his profession, he gained some
communication with the captive, who was said to be
gradually 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 Bollman and his
coadjutor, they were chained by the necks to the floor
of the apartments they severally occupied. After six
months' confinement, however, Bollman and Huger
were released at the intercession of a powerful and
influential nobleman. Bollman became a naturalized
citizen of the United 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 levy war against the
United States. Indignant at being thus wickedly con-
nected, and totally disbelieving all treasonable intent
on the part of Burr, he solicited on his arrival in
Washington, a personal interview with President Jef-
ferson. He there made a full revelation of the whole
plan and schemes of Burr, so far as he knew them,
utterly repudiating all designs of any attempt to dis-
turb the Union. But he had unwarily committed him-
self to an artful diplomatist, who cared little about his
disclaimers or impressions, so that he could use him in
gathering any fact that might subserve his purpose of
indicting, convicting, and hanging Aaron Burr. A
short time after this interview, and in order to make
matters doubly sure, Jefferson addressed a note to
Bollman, adroitly worded, and solicited him to put in
writing what he had communicated verbally, but pledg-

96 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

ing his " 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, Boll-
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 which 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 this
time he had been apprised of the snare set for him, and
he refused to testify in a case where he might inculpate
himself. But Jefferson had planned his tactics. He
had privately dispatched to Mr. Attorney Hay, a full
pardon for Bollman, in order to deprive him of that
plea. Bollman 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 him, and to Bollman'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 him, and never go
out of the President's hands. At this tune, Bollman
charges, it was not used against him only, but actually
was in the hands of Mr. Hay, who had allowed General
Wilkinson to read it also. The existence of such a pa-
per became so notoriously public, 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 JEFFERSON. 97

may, the most charitable and indulgent will find much
to condemn in the conduct of Jefferson. One fact is
clear and unquestionable. Jefferson certainly broke
deliberately his word of honor, and without assigning
any reason to palliate the violation. In his zeal to con-
vict Burr, Jefferson had withheld papers necessary to
the defence ; had sanctioned the most violent outrages
on personal liberty, to compel the attendance of wit-
nesses ; had violated the law by removing the accused
beyond the limits of the territory in which the crime
was alleged 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
doubtful charge, one of the leading counsel, and had
done all that he dared to do, to gain the cherished ob-
ject of his desire. But all this was better than betray-
ing the confidence of an injured man, a prisoner ^and in
his power. Candor, as a reviewer, calls 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 de-
nied that treason against the United 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 denied
it, in the confidence of client and counsel, to Henry
Clay. He denied, under the seal of devoted friendship,
to Senator Smith, declaring, " if Bonaparte with all his
army was in the western country for the purpose of ac-
complishing that object, they would never again see
salt water." He denied it indignantly on his dying
bed, exclaiming, "I would as soon have thought of
5

98 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

taking possession of the moon, and informing my friends
that I intended to divide it among them." A careful
perusal of the evidence adduced on his trial, and an
impartial review of all the facts and circumstances of
his case, satisfies us that Burr was sincere in the above
declarations. The precise objects he had in view will,
in all probability, never be ascertained. His ambition
and restlessness led him into many wild schemes, and
perhaps into many censurable errors, but we are never-
theless satisfied that he was a persecuted man, and the
victim of a malignant proscription.

PART 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.
While 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 kindling
into a patriotic blaze that defied all extinction save in
the blood of our ancient oppressor, now turned into a
haughty and insulting enemy. The cause of such em-
phatic and unanimous hostile demonstrations we shall
now proceed to narrate, as prefatory to the most inter-
esting epoch of the Jeffersonian administration, and
which cannot be justly passed over in a review intended
to reach the whole of Jefferson's public life.

The 22d day of June, 1807, was signalized by an
act of aggression and outrage on the rights and honor

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 99

of the nation, which, even at this distance of time, must
excite a feeling 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 enforcing His Britannic Majesty's
recent proclamation, requiring all 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 frigate Chesapeake, then
lying at Norfolk, for four seamen on board his vessel,
claimed as deserters from British ships. With the ad-
vice and privity 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,
in 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 his own Government, and in the very
eyes of the whole American people. But such did, in-
deed, actually 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 sailors again formally demanded.
The American commander again refused, when the
Leopard cleared for action, and forthwith began a
heavy fire on the American frigate. Strange to say,
the Chesapeake offered not the slightest resistance ; but
after having stood under the fire of the British guns for
near half an hour, losing some thirty men in killed and

100 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

wounded, besides sustaining heavy damage in her hull,
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
sailors in question, returned without offering the slight-
est apology. The Chesapeake was then released, and
Commodore Barron, disabled and humiliated, put back
into Hampton Roads.

The news of this transaction excited at once the
deepest sensation. Indignation meetings were called,
and resentful resolutions passed in every town and city,
from Passamaquoddy Bay to the Gulf of Mexico ; and
the whole Union 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 turned
the whole weight of his influence on the popular side.
A proclamation was issued, setting forth succinctly and
vividly our causes of aggrievance at the hands of the
British Government, and peremptorily ordering all
armed vessels bearing commission from that power,
then within the harbors or waters of the United States,
to depart immediately from the same ; also interdicting
the entrance of all harbors or waters to all 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 rallied around the administration. The Brit-
ish Minister resident was called 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 while this was yet pending, and the American
mind still festering and rankling under the atrocious

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 101

outrage, the British Government rose to a still higher
and more insolent pitch of arrogance, and ordered that
even merchant vessels, trading peaceably under the
guarantee of mutual good understanding, 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 alleged, an
order in council 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 intelligibly, we must
retrace, and, crossing the Atlantic, survey the condition
of Europe.

The successes and bold schemes of Napoleon were,
at this tune, the source of absorbing interest to the civ-
ilized world. His coronation as Emperor had been fol-
lowed immediately by the great battle of Austerlitz,
which had prostrated Austria at his feet, and reduced
the Czar of Russia to so humiliating a condition as
ended in the total disruption of his confraternity with
the Germanic powers. The battle of Jena, fought in
October of the succeeding year, demolished Prussia,
and placed her capital in the conqueror's hands. Elated
with this important victory, Napoleon now meditated
the most gigantic and startling ideas ever put forth.
The whole continent of Europe was now under his in-
fluence, and the world beheld the singular spectacle of
a solitary island power, with a population of scarce
twenty millions, and protected by the ocean alone,
boldly struggling against a despotism which looked,
and seemed likely to attain, to universal dominion.
The orders in council, adopted in the month of May
previous, had established 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 JEFFERSON.

this order forbade all commerce to neutrals, in defiance
of international law, and was aimed especially against
France, Napoleon, seated in the royal palace of Berlin,
burning with resentment against** England, and filled
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 known
as his continental system. It declared the British
islands in a state of blockade, and prohibited all com-
merce and intercourse with them. But it is worthy of
remark, that Gen. Armstrong, our Minister at Paris,
was officially notified that the Berlin decree was not to
be enforced against American commerce, which was
still 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 impelled into a policy that
closed all avenues to a friendly adjustment of the diffi-
culties already existing between her Government and
ours. The orders in council, adopted on the llth of
November, 1807, as retaliatory of the Berlin decree,
contained provisions which bore intolerably hard on
American commerce. Among the most odious of
these was that which condemned all neutral vessels
which had not first paid a transit duty in some English
port before proceeding on their destinations ; thus
bringing the merchandise of neutrals within the limits
of the Berlin decree, as also of that of Milan, which
soon followed, and in which Napoleon denationalized
all vessels sailing from any English port, or which had
submitted to be searched.

From a calm consideration of these retaliatory
documents, thus promulged by the two great belliger-
ent powers, it is evident that had any American vessels
put to sea after December of 1807, or during the winter

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 103

and spring of 1808, they would inevitably have been
sacrificed — those bound to France or her dependencies,
to British, and those bound for the British dominions,
to French cruisers. And this leads us, having thus
succinctly premised, to the consideration of the great
measure of Jefferson's second administration. It will
be understood, of course, that we allude 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 evil 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 this much-abused measure. It must be
remembered that the last war with England dates its
origin to the disputes which began in 1804. During
this year, the Jay treaty with England, effected in
1794, under the administration of Washington, and
which had bred serious dissensions at the time of its
adoption, between the friends and enemies of the then
Executive, had expired by its own limitation. Jeffer-
son had been one of its earliest and most inveterate
opponents, had denounced it as crouching, submissive,
incomplete ; and now, in the day of his power, refused
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 JEFFERSON.

of paper blockades — all prominent grounds of discord-
ance. But in regard to the all-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 Britannic Majesty could not disclaim or
derogate from this right, yet that instructions should
be given to all British commanders to be cautious, in
its exercise, 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 taking the ground that any succeed-
ing minister might, at pleasure, withdraw the paper
accompanying the treaty, Jefferson, on his own respon-
sibility, and independent 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 this
paper (a stranger, any way, to the diplomatic world)
was correct ; but at the same time we incline to the
opinion that, in view of the magnitude 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 which 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-
tious differences. The treaty had scarcely been returned

THOMAS JEFPEESON. 105

to the negotiators in London, thus black-marked by the
American Executive, before the offensive proclamation
of the British monarch, already alluded to, was widely
promulged. The affair of the Leopard and the Chesa-
peake soon followed, and then came the Orders in
Council, and the Berlin and Milan decrees, all widen-
ing the breach betwixt our own and the British Gov-
ernment, and throwing us in a state of quasi hostility
with France. Under these circumstances only two
courses were left for the American Government to
adopt, viz., war with both the great belligerent powers,
or an embargo. The first of these, in our then en-
feebled state, would have been a mad as well as a most
ridiculous course. Besides, no adequate cause for war
existed against France, who had actually gone far to
show herself our friend. The history of the times
proves, that however severe the Berlin and Milan
decrees may have been in their effects on American
commerce, they were yet allowable precautionary and
retaliatory measures, the consequents of England's
atrocious and unparalleled conduct. With regard to
us, England was the only aggressive power; and it
was not until our interests clashed directly with the
provisions of the imperial decrees as they bore against
England, that France gave us the least cause of com-
plaint or offence. Then, indeed, in the plenitude of
his power, Napoleon committed outrages on America
which left us no alternative but unfriendliness. But
to have submitted, as Jefferson himself justly argued,
to'pay England the tribute on our commerce demand-
ed by her orders in council, 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 this country, thus situated as to
the two belligerent powers, was therefore exceedingly
5*

106 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

embarrassing. It required the skill of an unshrinking,
but a discerning and discriminating pilot, to steer clear
of overwhelming difficulties. That pilot was eminently
fulfilled in the person of Thomas Jefferson ; who, with
a sagacity that rarely failed him, adopted promptly the
only remaining alternative of an embargo.

On the 18th of December, 1807, accordingly, Jeffer-
son communicated the Berlin decree, the correspond-
ence betwixt Gen. Armstrong and Champagny, the
French Minister, and the proclamation of George the
Third, 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 of the same month. It had scarcely become a law,
before it encountered the most factious, violent, and
well-directed opposition ever before exhibited. The
whole Federal press, from New Hampshire to Georgia,
raised its hand to beat it down, and thundered forth
volleys 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 Alien and Sedition
Laws of 1798 was nothing to that which 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 flamewhich irradiated
their northern horizon, seemed to glow with increased
lustre, as if doubly reflected from the fires which burned
and roared beneath. The most monstrous and improb-
able cause was assigned as the justification of this fe-

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 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 silly enthusiasts
repeated the declaration, the more fervently it was
believed by honest people, too mad or too ignorant to
be pacified with reason or truth. Ships were angrily
pointed to, rotting at the wharves of Boston and of
Newport. Idle, drunken sailors, 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 shipbuilders united in a common
chorus of discontent. Merchants, from behind their
groaning counters, sent forth grumbling calls for re-
lief; and seemed willing to sell themselves, their piles
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 whispered about,
and stunned the ears of Jefferson and his Cabinet.
The crime which had just been charged against Aaron
Burr, and on the mere suspicion of which he had been
placed by an angry Government on a trial for his life,
was now openly advocated, and the opposition prints
teemed with threats of dissolving the Union. Then it
was that Jefferson's own bad teachings and mischievous
principles were hurled mercilessly at his own govern-
ment. The pernicious ultraisras of the Kentucky and
Virginia Resolutions of '98 rose scowlingly 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 chalice " had been " commended to his own

108 I*HOMAS JEFFEESOK.

lips/' He had defended and justified the Shay Rebel-
lion of '87, declaring that " no country could preserve
its liberties unless its rulers were warned from time to
tune that the people preserved the power of resistance,
and washed the tree of liberty 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 unlikely that the blood of the
first apostle of Nullification and Secession would be
first offered as a propitiatory sacrifice on the altars of
dissolution. So sure it is, that the evil counsels of sel-
fish and unrestrained ambition will recoil, in an unex-
pected hour, and cover their propagator with confusion
and dismay !

But notwithstanding this factious clamor and insane
opposition, a calm consideration of the circumstances
and situation of the country, at the period in question,
will lead us to the conclusion that the embargo was a
wise, salutary, and prudent measure. It was the only
available or practicable remedy against the withering
policy 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 until such
redress was obtained, it certainly was a most severe,
and, we may add, bold experiment on the interests as
well 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 denied but what they would have been universally
seized and confiscated. This would have produced un-
precedented bankruptcy. Insurance offices and mer-
cantile houses would have been speedily ingulfed in

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 109

hopeless ruin ; and scenes of calamity and distress, only
equalled by the explosion of Law's famous Mississippi
bubble in the beginning of the eighteenth century,
would have pervaded this Union 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 of the belligerents and enfeeble ourselves. We
should thus have suffered all the worst consequences of
war, without the chance of obtaining any of its com-
pensatory advantages. Under these circumstances, it
was evidently more politic that our vessels should re-
main 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 hostile powers over the water.
We should again, as in the case of the Chesapeake with
England, and of the Horizon with France, have been
reduced to the mortification of negotiating 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 confidently attributed to Jefferson at
the tune, and Federal writers continue to urge it to
this day. But the charge has never been adequately
proven, and cannot, we think, be at all sustained. That
Jefferson cordially despised England and its Govern-
ment we do not doubt ; nor does he any where attempt
to conceal his dislike. Nor do we doubt but that his

110 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

sympathies were in favor of France, from the beginning
of the struggle in 1792 to its melancholy close after the
battle of Waterloo in 1815. He retained, to his dying
hour, lively and cherished recollections of his residence
in that country. He had known and been intimately
associated with all her leading statesmen and warriors.
He had formed social attachments in the hospitable
circles of Paris that outlived absence and survived sepa-
ration. He had been domesticated in France during
the opening scenes of her eventful strife with England,
and while 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 his subse-
quent fierce Conflicts with the Federal party, and his
arduous competition for the Presidency with the elder
Adams. And now that he was at last on that eminence
which crowned his towering ambition, and had been
long the goal of his ardent aspirations, it was not likely
that, as regarded the interesting attitudes which marked
the two great hostile powers of Europe during his ad-
ministrative career, he should forget his early preju-
dices against England, or his 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 policy. The history of his
whole official conduct in connection with the Embargo,
the Non-intercourse Act, and his diplomatic dealings
with the belligerents, shows that he acted as became
an American President, and lifts him triumphantly

THOMAS JEFFERSON. ' 111

above all unworthy imputations. Throwing aside all
other considerations, Jefferson was not a man to bear
being dictated to, even by Napoleon. He felt the in-
fluence and power of his high official station, and showed
that he felt them. It was rather his weakness to be-
lieve that he could coerce and dictate to France, know-
ing, as he did, the deep anxiety of Napoleon to enlist
the United States as his ally against England. And,
indeed, the French Emperor, even while committing
outrages on American vessels, pleaded necessity as his
apology ; and while throwing the whole blame on the
British ministry, plied the American Executive with
artful and flattering laudations. With this view, Na-
poleon, unconsciously playing into the hands of Jeffer-
son's Federal opponents at home, affected to consider
the embargo as a friendly interposition on behalf of the
American Government to aid his continental system —
a system professedly devised to humble and weaken
English ocean dominion. In the saloons and reception
rooms of the Tuileries he made a show of boasting of
the United States as his ally, and constantly and pub-
licly assured Gen. Armstrong, our Minister, of his great
respect and friendship for the American people and
their Government. " The Americans," said the French
Minister, 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, all commerce and navigation,
rather than submit to that tribute which the English
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 speedily
finding its way into the newspapers, was seized upon

112 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

and turned against Jefferson and the embargo, as prima
facie evidence of a collusion with the French Emperor.
There is every cause to believe, as well from his own
letter in answer to the one communicating 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 his public
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, while France was reluctantly in-
volved, and forced to retaliate that she might preserve
her own integrity against the insidious and ruthless
policy of the British ministry. The object of the Presi-
dent was, then, especially in view of his unquestioned
predilections, to turn popular indignation mainly against
the first power, and leave the conduct of the trench
Government 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
be forced to become either his ally or his enemy ; that
there should be no neutrals in the contest betwixt him-
self and the British ; and that all 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 delivery of his embargo message ; and
his enemies charge him with having wilfully kept back
this important paper (a letter from Gen. Armstrong)
solely with a view to relieve France from the storm of
anger and indignation which was gathering against
England. Jefferson has not explained this, and his

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 113

friends have been silent 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 council and the Berlin decree. It may have
been, and most probably was his motive, to give Na-
poleon time to get over his passion and retrace his steps
•before throwing himself irrevocably in opposition to his
former conciliatory policy. It was well known that,
when Bonaparte heard of the last order in council, and
while preparing to fulminate his Milan decree in retali-
ation, he had openly said, " that he could not doubt
but that the United 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 his outrages, he afterwards pro-
fessed to be pleased with the embargo, he resolved from
that day to adopt a policy that might, it was hoped,
coerce the Americans to become his allies. It will be
thus perceived that Napoleon shifted his policy three
times, and in very short intervals. Jefferson may very
naturally have been embarrassed ; but on learning that
Napoleon had ordered the confiscation of American
vessels, he forthwith communicated the letter of Gen.
Armstrong to Congress, leaving them to take the
proper retaliatory course. The Embargo Act was well
intended, and ought to have been made a powerful
weapon in procuring redress from England. We give
Jefferson all due credit for recommending it in lieu of
war, which was not then practicable. But he was
highly culpable on account of his imbecility and vacilla-
tion in enforcing it, even after having been invested
with the fullest powers by Congress. Properly carried
out, the embargo would have greatly incommoded the
English colonies in obtaining the necessaries of life, and

114 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

would have injured her trade and naval power by with-
holding supplies of raw material and stores. But it
was most flagitiously violated. The greatest license
was given to smugglers and contraband dealers, and
these made rapid and unhallowed 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
failed in a great measure to answer its main objects,
and failed as much in consequence of Jefferson's imbe-
cility and lethargy, as of the factious, disorganizing, and
Jacobinical clamors which pealed in from the Eastern
States. An impartial judgment must pronounce, there-
fore, unfavorably as concerns the conduct of the Presi-
dent in this instance. That conduct would justify a
very harsh sentence at the hands of an independent
disquisitor; and that sentence would be, that while
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-serving when
assaulted by popular clamor and denunciation. It will
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 in the dust by Federal rancor, and consigned
by its enemies to unmerited infamy. And although its
action was countervailed by the imbecility of its friends
and the opposition of its enemies, its failure is attributed
alone to its intrinsic insufficiency and to its so-called
iniquitous conception. It is even now pointed to as
one of the errors and weaknesses of Jefferson's vicious
administration. And yet it was sanctioned by illustri-
ous precedent — another proof that its failure in 1807
was attributable to the bad conduct of its enemies and

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 Federalists and
Democrats. Washington had, in fact, been empowered
to lay an embargo whenever Tie should think the public
safety required it, and to take what course he pleased
to enforce it. (Vide Olive Branch, pp. 138, 139, 140.)
This discretionary power was conferred, and this dicta-
torial privilege given, at a time much less portentous
and critical than in 1807. And it answered its full pur-
pose ; because, thus empowered, it was known that
Washington was a man who would act if occasion
should require. He had shown this in his 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 hostile powers. 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 all reasonable bounds,
and vented his fury in offensive reproaches and incohe-
rent taunts to the American Minister resident. At this
time, however, ceased also Jefferson's official connection
with the Government. He retired from 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 pointing out to him

116 THOMAS JEFFEKSON.

a proper clue to the elicitation of hitherto neglected
branches.

After retiring from the Presidency, Monticello be-
came the permanent residence of Jefferson. He never
afterwards appeared on the stage of political action.
His time was quietly spent in superintending the busi-
ness of his farms, in the pursuit of literature and science,
and in familiar correspondence with his 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 his
fostering care, and it yet continues to flourish, a noble
monument of his public spirit and laudable enterprise
of character.

One other subject now began to engage his reflec-
t tions seriously and deeply. It was that of religion —
the Christian religion. He never thought it worth
while seriously to investigate the claims or merits of
any other. Compared with the religion of Christ, that
of the Jews or of Mahomet was, in his 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 & view to compare
them with the religion of Jesus. For many long years,
in the midst of political bustle as well 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 any question the religious opinions of its distin-
guished author. "We hesitate not to say that his inqui-
ries ended with a firm and total disbelief in the divine
inspiration of the Bible. He argued an entire dissimi-
larity between the God of the Old Testament and the
Supreme Being taught by Jesus ; viewing the first as

THOMAS JEFFEKSON. 117

•

an angry, a bloodthirsty, and vindictive being — the last
as merciful, forbearing, just, and paternally inclined.
He denounces the doctrines of Moses, but extols those
of Jesus. He looked on Jesus as a man only — the
most excellent and pure that ever lived, but still no
part or essence of Divinity. The doctrine of the Trinity
was to him an incomprehensible and inexplicable 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 inspira-
tion, because it was a belief incident to his education,
and common among the Jews, that men were often in-
spired by God. But he denies 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 his " grov-
elling" companions. (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 things 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-
mility, innocence, and simplicity 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 separating 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 JEFFERSON.

Christian priesthood, finding the doctrines of Jesus lev-
elled to every understanding, and too plain to need ex-
planation, saw in the mysticisms of Plato materials
with which they might build 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 lips of Jesus himself
are within the comprehension of a child ; but thousands
of volumes have not yet explained the Platonisms en-
grafted on them : and for this obvious reason, that non-
sense can never be explained."

And again, the letter to Dr. Rush, found in volume
third, on page 506, holds this language: "I am, in-
deed, opposed to the corruptions of Christianity, but
not to the genuine precepts of Jesus himself. I am a
Christian in the only sense in which he wished any one
to be ; sincerely attached to his doctrines in preference
to all others ; ascribing to himself every human excel-
lence, and believing he never claimed any other." The
last extract we shall quote is found on page 349, vol.
fourth, in a letter to Dr. Waterhouse : " Had the doc-
trines of Jesus been preached always as pure as they
came from his lips, the whole civilized world would
now have been Christian. I rejoice that in this blessed
country of free inquiry and belief, which has surren-
dered its creed and its conscience to neither kings nor
priests, the genuine doctrine of one only God is re-
viving ; and I trust that there is not a young man now
living in the United States who will not die an Uni-
tarian. But much I fear, that when this great truth
shall be re-established, its votaries will fall 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 JEFFERSON. 119

Aceldama ; and they will give up morals for mysteries,
and Jesus for Plato."

These extracts fully confirm the analysis of Jeffer-
son's religious 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 writings 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 evidence to show that
he doubted not only the genuineness of the Pentateuch
and of the prophecies, but of the whole writings of the
Old Testament. Still we cannot consent that Jefferson
shall be ranked as an infidel, as most of the orthodox
world demand. He protests himself against such a
sentence, and we have been unable to detect such ten-
dency in his writings. He admired and adopted Chris-
tianity as an inimitable and unsurpassed system of mo-
rality, and inculcates and defends its principles. But
he examined its merits and viewed 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
illusive, speculative mental vagaries. He regarded the
tenets of Calvin with ineffable and undisguised abhor-
rence. The doctrine of one God, indivisible and indis-
soluble, made into three parts, and these three parts
yet one only, — a Unity made Trinity at pleasure, or to
suit particular cases ; the doctrine 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 of the immacu-

120 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 establish and support an independent
" order " of clergy. A theory that announced as its
basis incomprehensibility and infinitude, yet attempt-
ing to explain and elucidate acknowledged mysteries ;
which 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 inexplicable and undefinable
faith; which proscribes doubt, interdicts examina-
tion, denounces as blasphemous the exercise of judg-
ment, and intrenches itself in dogmatism and preju-
dice ; which claims to be infallible, yet teaches the
consistency of sectarianism, — such a theory and such
religion were totally rejected by one accustomed to
such bold latitude of thought and 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 fallacy of these views. But when reviewing 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 full advantage of undis-
guised array. Such were the private and well "di-
gested " religious opinions of Jefferson, and by such,
fairly set forth, he must be judged. It would be un-
fair to expose him to censure, while smothering the
grounds of his belief or disbelief. And if, in the perusal
of these pages, any reader shall feel aggrieved on any
point of conscience by this expos& of our author's doubts
and skepticisms, let him, while preparing to grasp the
vengeful dart, pause and reflect, that many as good
and great, if not better and greater than Thomas Jeffer-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 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 lightly or inadvertently. We view-
its character, contents, and objects as forming quite a
suspicious feature in the public character of our dis-
tinguished subject. We shall not aver that it is unfair
or unallowable to treasure what me may casually 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 believe that free conversation is the surest index
to honestly-conceived opinions. It is the apposite and
quick expression of thoughts induced by reading, or
by previous casual reflection — the more to be relied
on, inasmuch as it is usually unprompted by cold cal-
culation, and is unrestrained by policy or timidity.
But to note down table-talk at dinings, evening 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 all rules which govern free
social and political intercourse. During the adminis-
trations of Washington, republicanism was in its in-
fancy, and the government in its chrysalis 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 Washington himself. Ham-
ilton was an open and professed skeptic, and did not
scruple to declare, as his firm opinion, that monarchy
was the most reliable form of government. Old John
Adams believed the same way, and even James Madi-
son indulged apprehensions. But all of these had re-
6

l'2'2 THOMAS

solved that the experiment should have a tair trial.
Hamilton was urgent and steuuous in his advocacy ot'
the policy, and joined with Madison and Jay in pro-
ducing a scries of papers remarkable tor ability and
power in support of a popular form of government, and
of the Constitution. These papers were embodied into
a volume which has attained to a world-wide celebrity
under the name of the "Federalist." And yet it is
principally to defame Adams and Hamilton that Jef-
ferson indited the Ana, although every member of
ington's administration came in for a full share
of espionage. Indeed, itMctVerson 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 politicians
that ever disgraced the history of any country. He
spares "Washington, truly, but in a manner not very
complimentary to the intellect of that illustrious and
venerable personage, lie represents him as having,
indeed, a good heart, but a weak, vacillating head; as
being entirely under the influence of Federal advisers,
and as indecisive and wavering in time of action.

But it is altogether unfair to judge either Hamilton
or his associates by opinions expressed at the time in
question, especially on the subject of popular govern-
ment. The experiment, fairly tried under their aus-
pices, was incontcstably proven and demonstrated ;
and, like all demonstrations, carried conviction. Its
proof was unquestionable. Washington modified his
original views so far as to admit its practicability,
but died seriously doubting its permanency. Hamil-
ton's conduct evinced his satisfaction at the result, in
the uudeviating support he gave to the judicial and
popular branches of the government. The election of
Jefferson to the Presidency, a few years afterward.

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 123

showed a general confidence in the success of the
scheme, and the acquiescence of the Federalists, then
One of the most formidable and powerful parties that
ever existed, was the clearest evidence of the triumph
of republicanism.

Under these eireuinstanees, and being cognizant of
these facts, we can find no excuse for the author of the
Ana in thus noting down and publishing conversations
uttered at an unsettled and a trying period of political
atlhirs; and when opinions, far from being firmly fixed,
were hastily formed, according to the ever-shifting
complexion of the experiment, and expressed less witli
a view to convince or persuade, than to elicit informa-
tion. We confess to an instinctive distrust of talk-
gatherers. AY hen we find or hear of a politician min-
gling in social circles, or among his adversaries around
the festive board, listening attentively to conversation,
while cautiously and rarely giving utterance to his own
opinions, and then noting down or retailing the results
of his observation, we feel an involuntary apprehension
of mischief, and are inclined strongly to suspect foul
play. 1>\ this rule we are constrained to judge Jeffer-
son in this instance. That he squared his conduct, in
alter days, from the notes and information thus suspi-
ciously gleaned, is quite evident both from his unre-
lenting jealousy of Hamilton, and from his remorseless
persecution of Aaron Burr.

In view of this, as well as of other cogent reasons,
it might have been supposed that a relative, justly
proud of his distinguished ancestor's fame, would have
spared the readers of his book the mortification of pe-
rusing these unpleasant revelations — the evidences of
an aspiring and a jealous mind, resorting to a most
questionable and unworthy espionage in working out
the overthrow of unwary adversaries. But the candor

124 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

of Mr. T. J. Randolph was stern 'proof against all pru-
dential suggestions or delicate considerations. A very
natural and pardonable unwillingness 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 delicacy and prudence. Nothing, however, is more
certain than that the publication 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 political warfare. We may, then,
safely assert, that while Mr. Randolph very prudently
counted the cost of suppression as weighed against the
profits of publication, the memory of his illustrious and
venerable ancestor has expiated dearly the fruits of his
speculation.

Our task is completed. We have now little 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
his influence has produced baneful and most depreca-
tive effects on the moral tone of our political world.
His opposition to all the essential features of the Con-
stitution, and to our present form of government, was
deep-rooted, insidious, and unceasing. His political
and governmental theories were eminently and dan-
gerously Jacobinical. Deeply tinctured with the as-
cetic and disorganizing principles of the French Revo-
lution, he worshipped an ideal of democracy that bor-

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 125

dered on downright Utopianism. On all points touch-
ing the practicability or durability of popular govern-
ments, he was almost fanatically radical and ultra. He
advocated the largest reservations of power in favor of
the people in their collective capacity, and the most
unlimited right of suffrage. He mistrusted and de-
nounced the well-guarded prerogatives of our Federal
Executive, and grumbled at the least restraining exer-
cise of even delegated power. And yet, during his
own Presidency, his practice afforded a most singular
contrast to his theories, as we think we have abun-
dantly shown in the preceding pages. No President
was ever so peremptory 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 his Congress the enactment
of laws whose operation threatened a violent severance
of the Union ; demanded and obtained a severe en-
forcing act ; invaded the Treasury at will to aid his
policy or to gratify his caprices ; and boldly assumed a
stretch of executive power, without precedent or paral-
lel, by rejecting, at his single discretion, a treaty that
ought to have been submitted to the Senate as required
by the Constitution, and especially while that body was
in session.

As the founder and leader of the Democratic party,
and the consequent promoter, originally, of the fierce
party dissensions which have since distracted the coun-
try, we are forced to pronounce the representative ex-
ample of Jefferson pernicious beyond computation. We
regard the influence and progress of that party as emi-
nently deleterious to the political welfare of the Union,
and as the incipient step and prime mover towards a
severance of the States — if, indeed, that calamity shall

126 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

ever befall us. Their disorganizing and "pestilential
teachings began with the very dawn of the govern-
ment. The democratic members of the Convention
which formed the Constitution maintained, during its
session, an active correspondence with Jefferson on
each and every element proposed as its basis. Their
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 countervail and to mar all 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 likely to be ; seduced by theories more plausible
than solid ; applying to a free elective government, de-
riving all its powers and authorities from the voice of
the people, maxims and precautions calculated for the
meridian of monarchy ; they turned all their views and
directed all their influence towards depreciating and
weakening the Federal Government. Against this, as
the Hydra-headed monster of all their professed appre-
hensions, their combined batteries of talent and of na-
tional influence were solely directed. Had they pre-
vailed, the General Government would have been com-
pletely shorn of all its efficiency ; and mankind would
have been treated with the singular spectacle of a
powerful and growing people, belonging in classes to
thirteen separate and independent sovereignties, seek-
ing a precarious union in an instrument allied with
anarchy and founded in the grossest radicalism. But
what they failed to obtain directly, they have contrived
and managed to effect indirectly, with almost perfect
success. The history of the country has clearly shown
that the root of evil and the elements of destruction
lie, not in the Federal Government, but in perverted
construction of the rights and powers of the State Gov-

THOMAS JEFFEESON. 127

ernments, ana supposed reservations to the people. To
secure the ascendency and popularity of this doctrine,
the Democratic leaders have fallen 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 all constitutional ad-
mission of foreign territory, and then abruptly break-
ing down 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,
little regardful of the means used for the accomplish-
ment. Consistency has been reckoned a virtue only so
long as it accorded with expediency. Principle has
been made the handmaiden of policy. Party and
power have been the watchwords through all phases
of political or sectional differences, and among all the
strifes of ambitious and aspiring rulers. And, as the
crowning point of their incongruous system, it may be
stated as a remarkable and an instructive fact, that the
Democratic party, while using the whole enginery of
political power to hang Burr for suspected designs
against the Union, and while threatening the Nullifiers
with the cannon of the General Government, has yet
been the apologist for every popular outbreak and rev-
olutionary movement, from the tune of the Massachu-
setts insurrection to the Dorr rebellion in Rhode Island.
The connection of Thomas Jefferson with all these dis-
organizing principles has been sufliciently explained in
the foregoing pages. We regard him as the master-

128 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

spirit of former mischievous inculcations, and his influ-
ence as the mam prompting cause of all succeeding po-
litical malversations of " the progressive Democracy."
In fact, and at the best, the impartial reviewer is con-
strained to measure the public character of Thomas
Jefferson by a rule of selfishness that shone conspicu-
ous through his whole political career, and which must
ever detract materially from his claims to gratitude
and veneration as a statesman. And while all unite in
ascribing to him great powers of mind, vast cultivation
and information, and much that elicits and merits
thankfulness in connection with our Revolutionary his-
tory, his memory will be mainly perpetuated, and his
admirers 'must consent mainly to hand him down 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 afflictions and sorrows. Death
had visited his family circle more than once. One by
one its loved members had been snatched away. While
yet at the starting point of elevation, and while the
halo of future honors gleamed but faintly in the distant
political horizon, he beheld the grave close over all that
had been affectionate and beautiful in her who had
blessed his youth with her love, and made happy the
earliest home of his manhood. She left him two little
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
his heart, and his love was never shared by another.
The daughters, under his paternal care, survived the
trials of 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 familiar with her absence. This was in the
meridian of his first Presidency; but the pomp, and
circumstance, and splendor of high office could not as-
suage the anguish of a wounded heart. The blow fell
heavily and unexpectedly. Henceforth his earthly af-
fections were absorbed in the love of his only remain-
ing child and her children. And while yet the chasten-
ing rod of death was suspended, and he was bending
beneath its trying inflictions, 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 his 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 Monticello heavily
oppressed in mind and circumstances. His books, his
apparatus, his literary and scientific pursuits were all
impotent to chase off these mortifying reflections, and
the rich treasures of intellectual research were soiled
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 his library ; and the forbearance and liber-
ality of those he owed, added to other matters, helped
him to avoid the sheriff's clutches. His estate, how-
ever, was never relieved, and his principal bequest to
those he left behind consisted of the papers which 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 Monticello, in the arms of his
6*

130 THOMAS JEFFERSON.

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 eventful
scenes of his life. His thoughts wandered from the
strifes and unpleasant personal collisions with old po-
litical friends which had blurred the latter years of his
public career, and seemed to dwell amid the conse-
crated shades of Independence Hall, and the stirring
scenes of the Revolutionary era. His last wish was
" that he might be permitted to inhale the refreshing
breath of another Fourth of July." And the wish was
granted.

A REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND TIMES

OP

WILLIAM EL CKAWFOKD.*

AMONG the public men of the past generation who
may be styled representative characters, few stand
higher on the list than WILLIAM HAKEIS CKAWFOKD.
His name and political character have been indelibly
impressed on the history of the country, and long suc-
ceeding generations will look to him as an eminent
republican exemplar. His fame, therefore, will be
permanent; but the remains of his public career,
owing to his peculiar temperament and habits of life,
are singularly intangible, and belong entirely, as natu-
ralists would say, to the fossil species. There was
nothing in his private or public character to invite the
gossipry of history — that surest method of emblazon-
ing one's reputation. He did not belong to that class
of politicians whom crowds follow and admire, of whom
every penny writer has something to say, and whose
journeys form one continuous and glaring 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 William H. Crawford. National Portrait
Gallery. Philadelphia. 1839.

132 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.

results. When the ends for which he strove had been
accomplished, he did not pause, like most other leading
statesmen, to preserve the means of such accomplish-
ment. History, therefore, is barren of his deeds, and
perpetuates his 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, like some towering col-
umn among ancient and unidentified ruins, unbroken
by age and erect amidst the crumbled masses around,
tells of a giant race that have passed before.

The sketch before us, understood to be from the
pen of his accomplished son-in-law, Mr. George M.
Dudley, of 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 unauthorized prun-
ing* by some witless 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 mutilated, 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 illustrious relative. We have, there-
fore$ chosen to make his sketch the text of the following
article ; with no view, let us say, to criticism, for, under
the circumstances, that would be neither allowable nor
tasteful, — though it is possible that we may take the
liberty 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 II. CEAWFORD. 133

coiiiine our objects to mere succinct biographical de-
tail, 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 Republic. We address
ourself to such task not without considerable embar-
rassnlent and distrust. The difficulties already inti-
mated are very discouraging. Mr. Crawford left no
materials on which to build any connected account of
his life. 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, while glim-
meringly acknowledged as a greater than Cicero, and
whose name will be familiar through countless ages to
come, has left " not a wreck " of his genius, and lives
only in tradition and in the eulogies of his rival. This
is not the only difficulty. The history of the period in
which Mr. Crawford figured as a statesman, apart from
its mere general features, has never been compiled ;
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 which we are obliged to intro-
duce very detachedly in the course of this review. It
extends through a period which witnessed a total dis-.
solution and absorption of one of the ancient political
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 which had not obtained
its present identity and compactness when disease hur-
ried him prematurely from the theatre of political life.

134 WILLIAM H. CKAWFOBD.

It also embraces some points personal to himself, and
to other distinguished public characters, which render
their evisceration and discussion quite a delicate under-
taking, but which, nevertheless, ought not to be passed
over unnoticed — especially by the candid and privileged
reviewer. Thus much we have deemed it necessary to
premise, as well to explain the meagreness of what
might be otherwise regarded a prolific subject, as to
advertise the reader of the more immediate purposes
of this article.

Crawford was born, as we are told, in Nelson coun-
ty, Virginia, in February, 1772. While yet quite a
youth his parents removed to Georgia, — first to near
Augusta, and afterwards to Columbia coiinty. Here
he was sent to school, and learned the ordinary Eng-
lish branches of education. He had scarcely attained
the sixteenth year of his age when his father died,
leaving the family in very reduced circumstances.
Young Crawford immediately turned his yet scanty
learning to active account, and supported his mother
and family by teaching school, until he was twenty-two
years old. At this time he began to feel a desire to
obtain a classical education, and was not at all deterred,
even at his comparatively advanced age, from seeking
its gratification. There was, in the same county as his
own little school, an academy of high repute, under the
superintendence of a teacher who afterwards became
famous as the instructor of the leading statesmen of
the South. Even then, his obscure literary realm con-
tained subjects who, in after years, adorned the na-
tional councils, and filled the country with their fame.
That retired academy was, in fact, the nursery of Geor-
gia*! most distinguished sons, in politics, literature, and
religion. The rector was the Rev. Dr. Moses Waddell,
who, at a subsequent period, became widely known as

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 135

the founder of Willington Academy, in Abbeville Dis-
trict, South Carolina, — celebrated as the matriculating
font of John Caldwell Calhoun, as also of many others
whose names are eminently renowned in the land.

In 1794 young Crawford entered Carmel Academy
as a student. He soon obtained the confidence and
favor of Dr. Waddell, and was promoted to the situa-
tion of usher, receiving, as his compensation, one-third
of the tuition money. We have heard it told of him,
that while at this academy, in the double capacity of
tutor and pupil, it was determined by himself and some
few of the elder school-boys, to enliven their annual
public 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. Crawford was a man
of extraordinary height and large limbs, and was always
ungraceful and awkward, besides being constitutionally
unfitted, in every way, to act any character but his
own. He, however, cheerfully consented to play Cato.
It was matter of great sport, even during rehearsal, as
his young companions beheld the huge, ungainly usher,
with giant strides and Stentorian voice, go through
with the representation of the stern, precise old Roman.
But on the night of the grand exhibition, an incident,
eminently characteristic of the counterfeit Cato, oc-
curred, which effectually 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 r but
when the dying scene behind the curtain came to be
acted, Cato's groan of agony was bellowed out with
such hearty good earnest as totally to scare away the
tragic muse, and set prompter, players, and audience in

136 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

a general, unrestrained fit of laughter. This was, we
believe, the future statesman's first and last theatrical
attempt.

In the fall 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 his mind ; suggest-
ing, at the same time, more enlarged plans of accumu-
lation. He accordingly set himself 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 accomplishment. He was admit-
ted to the practice in 1798, and the year following,
with a view to seek a suitable theatre of pursuit, he re-
moved into the county of Oglethorpe, and opened an
office in the little village of Lexington, its county seat.
" Such were his 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 client's cause his own, his unremitted
attention to business, his punctuality and promptness
in its despatch, his undisguised frankness and official
sincerity — disdaining the little artifices and over-reach-
ing craft of the profession — combined with a dignity
>?hich, springing from self-respect alone, was entirely
unmingled with affectation ; his honesty and irreproach-
able jnoral character, accompanied with manners the
most plain, simple, and accessible, secured for him a
public and private reputation seldom equalled, and
never surpassed in any country." This graphic account,
tallying with the whole character of the distinguished

WILLIAM H. ORAWFOBD. 137

subject, is not at all exaggeration, but is testified to by
the speedy advancement of Crawford, who, indeed,
after Mr. Early's entrance into Congress during 1802,
might fairly be said to stand at the head of the bar of
the Western Circuit.

These arduous professional duties and this severe
mental discipline were not without early and abundant
fruits. The greatness and overshadowing lustre of his
expanding mind began soon to diffuse an influence else-
where than in the court-room. The dull 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 intellectual energies of such a person. The
excitement of the political arena tempted him to the
trial for larger honors; and in the fall of 1803 he was
called by the people of his county to represent them in
the Legislature of Georgia. In this station a new field
of ambition was suddenly opened to the grasping intel-
lect of Crawford; and plunging as he did forthwith
into the absorbing vortex of politics, we lose sight of
him 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 political history of Georgia, which,
dating from Crawford's entrance into the Legislature,
controlled her destiny for well nigh thirty 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 malignant and inveterate rivalry, never
fails, even in the mild contests of civil life, compara-
tively speaking, to imprint lasting and influential traces
on the age which witnesses the struggle. This is emi-

138 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

nently the case in political 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 one of the sessions of the Legis-
lature, during the time of Crawford's service in that
body, it so happened that a member introduced a series
of resolutions which looked to the impeachment of a
leading judicial incumbent of one of the Georgia cir-
cuits. The individual thus assaulted had been long a
prized friend and confidential associate of Crawford.
He had been also an active and industrious opponent
of another personage who was then becoming rapidly
conspicuous in the political world, and whose prominent
position had already enlisted 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 his 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 violence that betokened
at once the depth of personal feeling and the indignant
contempt in which he held those who were urging their
adoption. As might have been expected, this fierce
collision of master minds soon diverted attention and
interest from the true issue, and all eyes fastened
eagerly on the hostile champions. Parties and factions
were formed, and the limits of social intercourse were
jealously confined to those of factional sympathy. The
soirees of the fashionable world were governed by like
envenomed rules. Innkeepers, and publicans 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. CRAWFORD.

spread through all castes and classes of society ; it, in
fact, found way even to the bosom of hitherto harmo-
nious and exclusive religious fraternities. 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
deadlier character. A challenge 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 amiability and amenity of disposition, was natu-
rally awkward, nervous, and every way unqualified for
a genuine duellist. Clarke was, on the contrary, a
practised fighter, and highly skilled in the use of weap-
ons, while, at the same time, of equally unquestionable
courage. The result might have been anticipated.
Heedless of all precautionary monitions and instructions
from his friends who accompanied him to the field as
seconds, Crawford 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 ball of even the rawest duel-
list. Consequently, when fires were exchanged, Clarke
was found to be entirely untouched, while his unerring
ball had taken effect in the wrist of his antagonist, hor-
ribly crushing the bones, and producing the most ex-
quisite pain.

This 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
unpleasing result, spread rapidly through ah1 portions
of the State, stirring up new and fiercer elements of

138 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

nently the case in political 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 one of the sessions of the Legis-
lature, during the time of Crawford's service in that
body, it so happened that a member introduced a series
of resolutions which looked to the impeachment of a
leading judicial incumbent of one of the Georgia cir-
cuits. The individual thus assaulted had been long a
prized friend and confidential associate of Crawford.
He had been also an active and industrious opponent
of another personage who was then becoming rapidly
conspicuous in the political world, and whose prominent
position had already enlisted 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 his 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 violence that betokened
at once the depth of personal feeling and the indignant
contempt in which he held those who were urging their
adoption. As might have been expected, this fierce
collision of master minds soon diverted attention and
interest from the true issue, and all eyes fastened
eagerly on the hostile champions. Parties and factions
were formed, and the limits of social intercourse were
jealously confined to those of factional sympathy. The
soirees of the fashionable world were governed by like
envenomed rules. Innkeepers, and publicans 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. CRAWFORD. 139

spread through all castes and classes of society ; it, in
fact, found way even to the bosom of hitherto harmo-
nious and exclusive religious fraternities. 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
deadlier character. A challenge 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 amiability and amenity of disposition, was natu-
rally awkward, nervous, and every way unqualified for
a genuine duellist. Clarke was, on the contrary, a
practised fighter, and highly skilled in the use of weap-
ons, while, at the same time, of equally unquestionable
courage. The result might have been anticipated.
Heedless of all precautionary monitions and instructions
from his friends who accompanied him to the field as
seconds, Crawford 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 ball of even the rawest duel-
list. Consequently, when fires were exchanged, Clarke
was found to be entirely untouched, while his unerring
ball had taken effect in the wrist of his antagonist, hor-
ribly crushing the bones, and producing the most ex-
quisite pain.

This 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
unpleasing result, spread rapidly through all portions
of the State, stirring up new and fiercer elements of

140 \V1LLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

strife, and confirming and strengthening all previous
animosities. Hill 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 divided 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 militia captain to that of
, Congressman or Governor, was decided, not with re-
gard to principle or qualification, but by a trial of
strength between the friends of Crawford and the
friends of Clarke. Even after Crawford had been
transferred from the councils of the State to those of
the Nation, the flame of dissension was kept alive with
vestal- like fidelity and tenacity ; for there arose up in
his place a successor who, from the first, asserted a full
right to the fiery inheritance by his high-handedness
and party bigotry, and whose name, when uttered even
at this day, stirs up within the bosom of the old Geor-
gian a wild association of ancient party jealousies and
of long-gone personal predilections. Indeed, the elec-
tion struggles of the Clarkites and the Troupites have
been too recently absorbed by those of Whig and
Democrat to have passed from the recollection of even
the youngest of the present generation of voters.

This ferocious contest, even after one side had
changed its original battle-cry, lasted continuously and
witli rvi-r-inc.ruasing malignancy for twenty years. Aji
the great Slate elections of 1825, victory, no longer un-
certain and wavering, perched finally on the standard
of the Troup party. A pitched battle, decisive in its

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 141

results as that of Pharsalia, had been fought by mutual
consent. Every log had been rolled — every stone had
been turned. Obscure, unfrequented county corners
had been diligently scoured to swell the voting hordes.
The sinks of cities had been ransacked. Cross-road
and village 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 polls. The
prison doors were flung open to pining and ^hapless
debtors, who, but for this fierce war of parties, might
have languished away the prime of their lives 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 ballot-box, were industriously
hunted up, and conveyed by faithful and tender hands
to the nearest precinct. Patients shivering with ague
or burning with fever, struggled with pain long enough
to cast their votes ; and it is within the recollection of
many now living, that drooping paralytics, unable to
move from the carts or dearborns which had borne
them from their couches, were served with the box at
the court-house steps, by zealous and accommodating
officers. Nothing, in fact, had been left undone which
might contribute to bring the struggle to a decisive
and unquestioned issue. Accordingly, when the day
arrived, each party, marshalled by its favorite chieftain,
was ready for action ; and amidst drinking, cavillings,
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 challenge. But the
scrolls soon showed on which side the tides of victory
were rolling. The contest resulted in a complete tri-
umph of the Crawford or Troup party, while the Clark-

142 WILLIAM H. CRAWFOED.

ites, chagrined and crest-fallen, 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,
all Georgia became a scene of rejoicing and revelry.
Magnanimity was forgotten in the maddening mirth
of triumph at the defeat of a long-despised foe. The
ordinary greetings of civil life were ungenerously ex-
changed for taunts or exultant blusterings when in the
presence of a vanquished adversary. Little children
ran about singing and shouting from the very contagion
of gladness. "Women 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 morality and
ghostly manner of life, were surprised in the joyous
melee, and were seen reeling about and carousing with
their less austere neighbors. The day was enlivened
by hilarious and gratulatory gatherings, and the night
made beautiful and merry by gorgeous illuminations
and garish festivities.

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 awfully af-
flicted. Friendships were often rudely severed, fami-
lies 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 which possessed suffi-
cient strength, as regarded other issues, to overcome
this ancient embodiment of party warfare ; and it is
remarkable that, even at this day, the Democratic and
Whig parties of Georgia are composed, in the main, of

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 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 fill the vacancy occasioned by the death of Abraham
Baldwin, a signer of the Declaration of Independence
and of the Federal Constitution. This flattering mark
of distinguished merit, thus early conferred on one so
recently an humble and unaspiring pedagogue, evi-
dences, in a striking manner, the brilliant dawn of
those splendid talents which, while yet in the meridian
of life, soon lifted him to the highest honors of public
office, and gave him in the political world an influence
that has survived his death. When it is stated, how-
ever, that these superior mental endowments were
aided by a rare boldness and independence of character
and of opinion, it will not be difficult to account for
this rapid preferment.

The political sentiments of Crawford were decidedly
liberal, and, in some respects, differed widely from
those which have been promulged and advocated as
the peculiar tenets of the Jefferson school. He marked
out his own course, and pursued his own conclusions,
little regardful of those party trammels which have
generally obtained a controlling influence with prom-
inent national politicians. Accordingly, at an early
period after his entrance into the Senate of the United
States, he joined issue with William B. Giles, of Vir-
ginia, the veteran debater of that august body, and the
acknowledged spokesman of the Jefferson Administra-
tion. The contest was on the Embargo question ; Giles
earnestly advocating its policy, while Crawford opposed
it as a measure fraught with mischief and distress, and
a useless and unwise preliminary to a war already vir-
tually begun, and which was clearly inevitable. Craw-

144 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

ford had very little 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 his 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-
ernment 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 thrown
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, slight 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 Federalism. The declaration
of war, it may be observed, was not favored by Jeffer-
son. With him the milder and, as he thought, scarcely
less effectual remedy of spirited retaliatory measures,
as concerned the British orders in Council and the
French decrees, was the preferred line of conduct.
Madison, long his warm adherent and premier cabinet

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

145

officer, had: his doubts and his difficulties. The multi-
plied aggressions of the British Government had, in-
deed, stirred up within the American nation fierce and
ominous fires of resentment. Still they perceived that
the business men of the country deprecated hostilities.
New England had gone quite to the point of rebellion
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-
ciled to the commencement of hostilities that would
certainly depress and cripple them. The cotton-plant-
ers and the tobacco-growers dreaded the ruinous de-
preciation in the then high price of their staple pro-
ductions, which 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 bullyingly defied those who advocated the last re-
sort. The Democrats hesitated ; and although Madi-
son afterwards broke through these procrastinating
counsels, and staked his administration on the issue of
the war, yet there was a time when his delay had called
forth no light reprehension from those of his political
friends who coincided with Crawford. His decision
lost him some friends and gamed him legions of ma-
lignant enemies ; but, at the same time, it operated to
change wholly the original complexion of the Jeffer-
sonian Democracy, and gave vitality and impulse to a
third party, which had suddenly emerged from the
chaotic political elements, under the bold lead of Wil-
liam Harris Crawford. But in 1811 the transition had
been powerfully aided by the position which had been
taken by Crawford and his Republican friends with
regard to the question of rechartering the Bank of the
7

148 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

ture and approval, .with a decent respect to the sharp
conflicts of opinion among his friends, demanded an
opinion from each of his four ministers. Three of
them, at his request, reduced their ideas to writing.
Knox, who was a poor hand with the pen, gave his in
conversation, and they were found to coincide with
those of Hamilton. 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 this
great public interest, may never be known. At all
events, Washington decided according to the views of
Hamilton, and signed the charter. He carried along
with him a sufficiency of the Republican 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 applied for a renewal of its charter, un-
der the advice and lead of Crawford. Crawford had
not taken his position inconsiderately or unwarily. He
was, in his sentiments, a firm Republican and supporter,
in the mam, of the Jefferson and Madison administra-
tions. But his mind was of too comprehensive and ac-
tive a cast to be fettered by narrow party ties, when
reason and experience pointed to a useful result. In
tracing the history of banking institutions, he was
doubtless forcibly struck with the fact that they had
found admission and patronage among the principal
and most enlightened commercial nations; that they
had successively obtained in Italy, Germany, Holland,
England, and France, as well as in the United States ;
and that, after a candid estimate of their tendency and
an experience of centuries, there existed not a doubt

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. l49

about their utility in the countries where they had
been so long established 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 Government repeatedly under the
greatest obligations to them in dangerous or distressing
emergencies. In reviewing the history of the Bank of
the United States, he found that the greatest amount
of good had followed its establishment, and that for
twenty years every department of industry, as well as
of government, had received timely aid and advantages
from its beneficent operations. These facts weighed
heavily with one of his eminently practical constitution,
whose mind, directed always to great and standard
measures, was wholly incapable of being dwarfed to the
pitiful dimensions of insane factious opposition, and was
impervious alike to the threats or the allurements of
sectarian predilections. He decided promptly on his
course of action, and determined to advocate the re-
newal of the expired charter openly and zealously.
With him were ranged Albert Gallatin, Secretary of
the Treasury, Pope, the Senator from Kentucky, and
some few more distinguished Democrats or Republi-
cans. But against him there appeared a formidable host
of talents and influence, and the entire prejudices of the
Jeffersonian sect. The principal of these opponents
were Smith of Maryland, and Henry Clay, the Senato-
rial -colleague of Mr. Pope. William B. Giles sided
with the opposition, but made a speech so rambling
and tortuous as to leave his opinions on the main ques-
tion well nigh undefined, and which his then coadjutor,
Clay, wittily characterized as having " discussed both
sides of the question with great ability, and as having
demonstrated to the satisfaction of all who heard him,
both that it was constitutional and unconstitutional,

150 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

highly proper and improper to prolong the charter of
the Bank."

Crawford was chairman of the committee to whom
the application of the stockholders, praying Congress
to renew the charter of the Bank, had been referred.
He applied himself to the duties of his station with an
ardor that showed his disregard of party associations
where the public good was concerned, and with a zeal
and fidelity that eminently evinced the depth and sin-
cerity of his convictions. He fortified his cause and
himself with every necessary extrinsic aid; took the
elaborated opinion of the Secretary of the Treasury ;
and consulted extensively with deputations from the
commercial and industrial interests of the great sections
of the Confederacy. But the mastery of extrinsic facts
did not alone serve to fit him for the ensuing struggle.
The benefits arising from the establishment and con-
tinuance of the Bank were unquestionable. The neces-
sity and expediency of renewing the charter could not
be successfully controverted. The battle had to be
fought on the ramparts of the Constitution, and of this
Crawford was fully aware. He had calculated that the
opposition would direct their main efforts against the
constitutionality of the measure, and thus drive the pe-
titioners out of Congress without allowing them to
bring in their array of popular evidence and convincing
facts. 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, effectually dislodged his adversaries from their
defiant position, and threw them at once on the defen-
sive. He courted, and evidently desired them to at-
tack ; but, failing in this, he was nevertheless fully pre-
pared to assume the offensive.

On the 5th of February the report of the Commit-

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 151

tee had been made to the Senate, and a majority con-
curred in the motion to accompany the same with a
bill to extend the expired charter of the Bank. The
bill 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 first 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 policy of the opposi-
tion. Crawford easily perceived that, confident of
numerical strength, they had decided either to provoke
assault, or else quietly to demolish the bill section by
section. He replied to Anderson, by observing that
such a method of dispatching business was novel and
astonishing ; that a bill had been presented to the
Senate to continue the operation of an institution of
twenty years' standing, whose good effects were uni-
versally admitted, and whose influence on the public
prosperity was not to be denied ; and yet, in place of
giving any reason against the continuance, the Senate
was told that public sentiment had decided the ques-
tion. He appealed to the mover if this was a fair and
magnanimous mode of procedure ? How was it possi-
ble, he asked, foj* the friends of the bill 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 bill 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 bill to give some reasons to induce the

152 WILLIAM H. CRAWFOKD.

Senate to give the same its support. Anderson con-
curred, and again repeated his former motion.

Crawford 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 deliberative body that a chairman should
be called on to state the reasons which induced a com-
mittee to report any provision to a bill, when a motion
was made which went to put an end to any discussion
of the detail. " Gentlemen," he said, " were about to
defeat the bill, and it 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 like pur-
suing a will-o'-the-wisp — 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 bill ;
that it was expected by himself and others, that the
chairman would favor them with an argument to induce
their support of the bill, and that then he might con-
sider of his duty in making answer.

This last rejoinder fully exposed the plan of action
which had been agreed on by the opponents of the bill.
It was clear that they did not intend to take the initia-
tive in discussion, and Crawford persisted in his en-
dc:ivor 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 deliver his views in a speech which,
ibr vigor and originality of thought, cogency of argu-
ment, and power of intellectual research, has never
been surpassed in any parliamentary body, and which

WILLIAM H. CKAWFORD. 153

fixed his claims to greatness. He begins by boldly
laying down the premise that the Federal Constitution
had been so much construed as if it were perfect, that
many of its best features were about to be rendered
imbecile, and that prejudice was thus tending to ac-
tually destroy the obje«t of affettion ; that when this
was carried so far as to endanger the public welfare, it
was necessary that its imperfections should be disclosed
to public view ; which disclosure, while it might cause
the adoration to cease, would not, therefore, necessarily
place the Constitution beyond the reach of ardent at-
tachment. He follows up this startling declaration
with a severe analysis of the Constitution, to prove its
force ; showing that the very numerous incidentalisms
which appertain to its express grants of power, clearly
demonstrate the fallibility of the instrument, with all
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 finally seizes on the fourth
article of the Constitution to prove " the absurdity,"
as well of the idea of its perfection, as of the construc-
tion that the enumeration of certain powers excludes
all other powers not enumerated. His method of rea-
soning this point is so novel, so interesting, and so re-
sistlessly convictive, that we shall venture to transcribe
the portion which embraces this 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 the powers previously granted ; and sets metes and
bounds to the authority of the State Governments. The second arti-
cle provides for the organization of the Executive Department, and
defines its power and duty. The third article defines the tenure by
which the persons in whom the judicial power may be vested shall

7*

154 WILLIAM H. CBAWFOED.

hold their offices, and prescribes the extent of their power and juris-
diction. These three articles provide for the three great departments
of government, called into existence by the Constitution ; but some
other provisions just then occur, which ought to have been included in
one or the other of the three preceding articles, and these provisions
are incorporated and compose the fourth article. The 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 the 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 the ex-
ecutive authority of the State from which he fled, be delivered up, to
be removed to the State having jurisdiction of the crime.' A similar
provision is contained in the same section, relative to fugitives who
are bound to labor, by the laws of any State. In the first case which
has been selected, express authority has been given to Congress to
prescribe the manner in which the records, &c., should be proved, and
also the effect thereof; but, in the other two, no authority has been
given to Congress ; and yet the bare inspection of the three cases will
prove that the interference of Congress is less necessary in the first
than in the two remaining cases. A record must always be proved
by itself, because it is the highest evidence of which the case admits.
The 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 the effect of a record. In
the second case there seems to be some apparent reason for passing a
law to ascertain the officer upon whom the demand is to be made ;
what evidence of the identity of the person demanded, and of the guilt
of the party charged, must be produced, before the obligation to de-
liver shall be complete. The same apparent reason exists for the
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 cany 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 nevertheless passed laws to
carry those provisions into effect, and this exercise of power has never
been complained of by the people or the States."

WILLIAM: H. CRAWFOKD. 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 limited, 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 pow^r to build
light-houses, and to legislate for the support of the
same. These all being clearly implied powers, and
having never excited complaint when exercised by
Congress, he maintains that the same ancient and
thoroughly settled rule of construction will leave Con-
gress with the power to create a Bank, derivable from
the clause which gives the power " to lay and collect
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, which is applied to light-houses, but denied to the
Bank, Congress can, as incidental to the power to regulate commerce,
erect light-houses, it will be easy to show that the same right may be
exercised as incidental to the power of laying and collecting duties
aud imposts. Duties cannot be collected, 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 does 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 this course of syllogism and logical de-
duction, he goes on to argue that the creation of a

156 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

Bank is necessary and proper, as the very best means
to collect, safely keep, and disburse the public revenue ;
not because the National Government is actually 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 that the* States have reserved to
themselves the exclusive right of erecting Banks, he
boldly promulges the doctrine that, so far from such
power having been reserved, the States are actually
prohibited by the Constitution from exercising this
power. He says : —

" In the tenth section of the first article of the Constitution, it is
declared, among other things, that no State shall coin money, emit
bills of credit, or make any thing hut gold and silver a tender in pay-
ment of dehts. What, sir, is a hill of credit ? Will it he contended
that a hank hill is not a bill of credit ? They are emphatically bills
of credit. But it may be said that the 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 fortiori, 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 solid constitutional argument,
the speaker next proceeds to discuss his proposition
with reference to its alleged party connections, and,
incidentally, as regards the competency of a State Gov-
ernment to resist the establishment, within its limits,
of a branch of the United States Bank. At the time
that the constructive rules obtained which authorize
the erection of a Bank as the fiscal agent of the Gov-
ernment, he contends that party, in its present sense,
was unknown ; that the Constitution itself was just
framed, and not beyond the influence of unquestioned

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 157

first impressions ; and that the Bank had then been
sanctioned by the best authorities, and in the best days
of the Republic. After contrasting those purer times
with the rancorous scenes in which he was then mix-
ing ; denouncing the intolerance and vindictiveness of
the then " Democratic presses ;" and protesting against
the illegal interference of certain " great States " with
the regular operations of Congress, he gives vent to
the following splendid philippic : —

" 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 his opinion in
favor of the renewal of the 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
guilty of perjury by having violated the Constitution. Yes, sir, these
are the circumstances under which we are called to reject the bill
When we compare the circumstances under which we are now acting,
with those which existed at the time when the law was passed to in-
corporate the Bank, we may well distrust our own judgment. I had
always thought, sir, that a corporation was an artificial body, existing
only in contemplation of law ; but if we can believe the rantings of
our 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 Hydra, ; it is a
Cerberus ; it is a Gorgon ; it is a Vulture ; 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 imaginations to be alarmed, and
our judgments to be influenced by such miserable stuff? Shall we
tamely act under the lash of this tyranny 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 against the course which has been pursued by these editors in re-
lation to this question. Instead of reasoning to prove the unconsti-
tutionally of the law, they charge members of Congress with being

158 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD,

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 Crawford was not content even thus to rest his
case on the solid basis of primitive republican authority.
Assuming that the Democratic or regular Jeffersonian
party were opposed, on principle, to the establishment
of a Bank, he proves that their public acts give the lie
to their opinions, inasmuch as this same party indirectly
sanctioned the Bank by establishing a branch in Louis-
iana in 1804, and, in 1807, by passing laws to punish
offences of counterfeiting, or otherwise improperly in-
terfering with the Bank monopoly ; and this, too, with
such unanimity, that the bill glided through both
Houses without a call 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 following emphatic
and unqualified declaration of opinion on a point which,
so far as the name and authority of our distinguished
subject may be regarded, must startle and disconcert
the wild 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 the State Governments to resist the authority or the execu-
tion of a law of Congress. What kind of resistance can they make,
which is constitutional ? I know of but one kind— and that is by elec-
tions. The People, and the States, have the right to change the
members of the National Legislature, and in that way, and in that
alone, can they effect a change of the measures of this Government.
It is true, there is another kind of resistance which can be made, but
it is unknown to the Constitution. This resistance depends upon physi-
cal force ; it is an appeal to the sword ; and by the sword must that
appeal be decided, and not by the provisions of the Constitution."

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 159

After a concise and lucid exposition of banking
principles as illustrated and developed in connection
with the history 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 owned by foreign capi-
talists. 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 really an advantage to the country.
He argues that if, by investing their principal means in
an American institution, dependent entirely on the will
of the American Government, 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 hi which 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 the
agency of this Bank, skilfully and successfully managed. During
this period, the improvement of the country 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 detail, but sound in its fundamental principles ? Does

160 WILLIAM H. CKAWFOKD.

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
he made a propitiatory sacrifice for the promotion of the public wel-
fare, the savor of which will ascend to heaven, 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 the 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 of debate. Consequently, the speeches of his
opponents which followed the delivery of his own, are
mostly discursive and declamatory, rarely ever argu-
mentative. They did not bring forth a solitary 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 view to defeat the bill by conjuring up against
it long dormant party prejudices, and to enlist all the
rabid animosities of political warfare. And so irrefuta-
bly had Crawford planted his positions, that even Henry
Clay, with his 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 of the mind. But, at the same time, it is not un-
likely that the boldness and independence displayed by
Crawford on this occasion, served first to attract and
wean him from the ultra Democracy of the true Jeffer-
sonian school, and to direct his ardent and high-toned
ambition to the attainment of great political purposes
and ends, which rose above the circumscribed and im-

WILLIAM II. CEAWFORD. 161

practicable views of the radical sect in whose opinions
he had been raised.

The discussion, however, was not altogether of a
peaceful and quiet character. Most of the opposition
speakers, aware of Crawford's extreme sensitiveness
and irascibility of temper, were careful to avoid all ex-
ceptionable allusions to the differences of opinion which
separated him, on this question, from the main body of
his political friends, and to eschew all course of remark
which might induce unpleasant personal application.
But Whitesides, a Senator from Tennessee, was not so
prudent and forbearing, and declared, in the course of
a very indifferent speech, that members of the Demo-
cratic party who were now found making common
cause with the friends of the Bank, must be regarded
as political apostates. This remark stung Crawford to
the quick, and aroused at once that deep sense of re-
sentment which possesses all spirited persons who are
conscious of honest motives. In reply, he denounced
the use of such language, in connection with a member
or members of the Senate, as indecorous and unbecom-
ing ; declaring that no one should, without the walls
of the chamber, apply such to him with impunity.
Whitesides attempted to exculpate himself by an ex-
planation ; but explanation had then been offered too
late to restore friendly feeling. He did not deny hav-
ing used the expression, and Crawford persisted in de-
nouncing it as an assertion made without the proof to
sustain it, and which was plainly contradicted by the
record. This closed all doors to an amicable adjustr
ment, and, so far as appears, Whitesides made a merit
of submission to the denunciation.

It is known that the bill, reported by the commit-
tee, failed to pass at the session of 1811. Crawford,
therefore, did not succeed in accomplishing his main

162 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

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
which sustained its political fortunes through many
years of trials and struggles. But the debate, in view
of the previous party relations of those who participated
in it, gave rise to political 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 Jeffersonian party, and among these
was James Madison, then President, though known to
be less attenuated in his opinions than the illustrious
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 feet
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 became evident that a confusion of parties,
already foreshadowed in 1808, must speedily ensue.
The main body of the Federal party gladly followed
his lead. The prominent liberal 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 this manner a third party
began slowly to emerge from the confusion; for the
largest portion of the 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 lib-

WILLIAM H. CBAWFOED. 163

eral members. While, then, the new party did not ab-
sorb this rancorous phalanx, their ranks were soon
swelled by important accessions from the Democratic
fold. Chief among these was President 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 politi-
cal sympathy. Clay soon followed, and publicly an-
nounced, as he has repeatedly done since, his entire
change of opinion on the Bank question ; while, on the
floor of the House of Representatives, Calhoun himself
was recognized as the prime mover and leader of those
who favored the re-establishment of the Bank.

These events gave birth to the Whig party, which,
soon gathering compactness and strength, has exercised
great influence in the political world from that day to
the present. Men may since have changed, and run
the gauntlet of political tergiversations ; but the party
is essentially the same, and at its head may still be re-
cognized many who were principal actors in its original
formation.

It is painful to pause, at this interesting period of
Crawford's political history, to record the unwelcome
fact that his opinion, as concerned the constitutional
power of Congress to charter a Bank, underwent in
his latter life an entire change. His great speech in
support of the Bank had not been successfully answered
at the time of its delivery. It gave birth to an influ-
ence that shortly afterwards created the elements of a
new party organization, converted to its opinions many
of the most distinguished of the Bank opponents, and
brought about a train of legislation that established the
Bank as one of the cardinal means of carrying into
effect the granted powers of Congress. This legislation
remained unaltered, and almost undisturbed, for nearly

164 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

twenty years after the charter of 1816, during which
time the Bank had faithfully and correctly transacted
all the fiscal business of the Government ; and at last
its political fortune had only gone down before the
selfish animosities of jealous politicians, and the indom-
itable will of an equally implacable and intolerant party
chieftain. During all this long period Crawford was
alive, in retirement, at his rural seat of Woodlawn.
His Bank speeches, if they had not made for him all the
political consequence he ever enjoyed, had at least first
introduced him to the nation, and laid the foundation
of his greatness. The fruits of his bold exertions and
labors were manifested on all sides, and in every quar-
ter of the Union, by an unparalleled progress of general
prosperity. He had made the Bank a favorite with the
nation, and, in the outset of his brilliant career, had
staked his fortunes on its single issue. Long years
rolled away, and his fame became identified with this
first object of his public devotion. But time, which
had developed the full scope of his policy, verified his
expectations and predictions, and crowned his efforts
with unsurpassed success, had touched him with a
heavy and blighting hand. Disease had made rapid
encroachments, and dealt him a blow from which he
never recovered. Artful and unprincipled men, seek-
ing his confidence under the guise of friendship, had
abused his weaknesses and inveigled him in unpleasant
personal controversies, which subjected him to the
merciless assaults of ancient political enemies whose
rancor he had been led to provoke, and which grew to
be too serious, too bitter, and too intricate 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,
with whom he was then so fiercely engaged, and origi-

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 165

nally his opponents on the Bank question, had become
of late the peculiar friends and guardians of the Bank
interests. It is not, therefore, surprising that, under
such circumstances, he should have been dispossessed
of his calm judgment and discretion — especially when
it is further considered that the varying tide of politics
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 his life, and after he had been in
close retirement for more than seven years, during
which time the whole complexion of parties and of
politics had undergone a change, leaving no outward
discernible marks of the eventful era in which 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, his early
friend and political follower, was leading opposition to
the Bank in the House of Representatives, and against
him, in favor of the Bank, was arrayed the entire Sonth
Carolina influence, headed by McDuffie, who had just
publicly assailed Crawford's veracity on a delicate and
important point. Thus was presented to him the un-
welcome spectacle of enemies sheltering themselves from
overthrow behind the solid ramparts of his own previous
opinions, while his friends were being daily confused
and driven off by the exhibition of this proof armor
which himself had forged. It would be attributing to
him more than human endowments to suppose that
these facts did not materially influence the apparent
change of opinion to which we have adverted.

About this time, as our information unfolds, Craw-

166 WILLIAM H. CKAWFORD.

ford, in his capacity of Circuit Judge, went over to the
county of Elbert for the purpose of holding the semi-
annual term of its court. He staid there over night,
as had long been his custom, with an ancient and confi-
dential friend, himself an active and zealous politician.
Conversation turned on the proceedings of Congress,
as regarded the Bank, and, incidentally, concerning his
own former political relations with that institution.
During its progress, the host adverted to a copy of the
debates, in his 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 found, as it
was thought, a genial and strong covert behind which
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 failed to pass a resolve giv-
ing to Congress the express power of chartering corpo-
rations. The importunities of friends, powerfully aided
by the very natural bias of personal resentments, in-
duced him to seize on this as the pretext for a change ;
and as conviction is not difficult where inclination leads
the way, the change was easily accomplished and was
soon announced. This account of so strange a revulsion
of opinion, once, in the zenith of intellect and of life,
deeply entertained and cherished, is fully confirmed
both by his own pithy letter to the editor of the Savan-
nah Republican, and by the admission of Mr. Dudley
in the sketch to which we have elsewhere briefly ad-
verted. It is an account well worthy of a nice and
scrutinous observation ; and we should scarcely deem
our task to be fairly fulfilled did we not address an
effort to that effect. The justice of history requires,

WILLIAM H. CRAWFOBD. 167

especially at the hand of impartial and candid review-
ers, to be fully vindicated in connection with one whose
opinions will inevitably exercise great influence with
the future generations of the Republic-, as they have
eminently done with those of his own times.

It is true that the Convention of 1787 failed to en-
graft within the express powers of the Federal Consti-
tution the power of chartering corporations. But it is
equally true that a proposition to invest Congress with
the direct power of erecting forts, arsenals, and dock-
yards, also failed.* And yet Congress has always exer-
cised, and must continue to exercise both powers. The
principle of implication reaches and covers both cases,
and we contend that Crawford's own argument, to
prove the existence of implied 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 government with the distinct
recitation of every grant necessary to put in operation
the whole machinery of legislation, would have been to
swell the present admirable limits of the Constitution
into crude, indigestible, and impracticable dimensions ;
would have sheared it of that remarkable simplicity
and comprehensiveness which render it so accessible
and practical, and would have entailed 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 which to draw all proper laws.
The grant " to regulate commerce " is an elementary
and cardinal grant of power, and needs to be amplified
by all 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 incidental one.

168 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

tangible and operative. So also with the power " to
establish post-offices." A post-office would not be de-
sirable without the supervision of a postmaster; and
this officer, by the will of Congress acting under the
implied power drawn from this clause, is appointed by
the Executive or his Cabinet. These two instances are
sufficient to show the nature and character of the Con-
stitution, and fully establish Crawford's own former
position, " that the enumeration of certain powers does
not exclude all 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 similar
propositions as applied to other enumerated grants, and
while his own argument on the point, more than twenty
years previously, still 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 all his former
ideas concerning the character and context of the 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 with the fact which induced his change of
opinion on the Bank question, would have compelled
him to deny all such powers to Congress. The labors
and the reflections of his whole political 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 intellect, shorn by disease of its meridian strength
and lustre, and naturally impaired, to some extent, by
long retirement and premature old age. Our admira-

WILLIAM H. CKAWFOED. 169

tion for Crawford's character and talents, our sincere
respect for that greatness which filled the world with
his fame, would forbid us rashly to yield the ability of
the splendid argument which distinguished his 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, alleged in after years as the cause
of his change of opinion on the constitutionality of the
Bank, could not have weighed very heavily 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 alluded
to in the debates which 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 investigations must have brought the fact to his
eye in the elaborate opinions officially submitted by
Edmund Randolph and Jefferson, when required to do
so as cabinet officers by President Washington ; not to
name that of Hamilton, who argues the point at consid-
erable length. The contents of these papers were
known well to the politicians of the Revolutionary era.
Besides, Crawford was in the habit of frequent inter-
course 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 hi either of his speeches ;
and the fair conclusion is that the fact then weighed

O

veiy lightly in his estimation. And why should it not ?
How could it be regarded in a serious view ? Ought
not the Constitution to be decided on by the import of
its own expressions ? Crawford was too astute a poli-
tician not to be made aware of the evil consequences
8

1*70 WILLIAM H. CRAWFOKD.

which might result, if an obscure and scantily reported
history, as to certain matters which occurred in the
Convention, shall govern the construction of the Con-
stitution. The instrument, like all other written forms,
is entitled to a fairer and less attenuated measure. All
must admit that there are incidental powers belonging
to the Constitution. If the conclusion shall, 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 of the old one, which
could exercise no powers not expressly granted.

Crawford, even in his latter days, could not have
questioned the power of Congress to grant a charter of
incorporation to the municipal body of Washington
City. And yet no such power is expressly conferred
by the Constitution. If, because 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 applied to a bank or to a munici-
pality ; and if the absence of express power constitutes
a restriction, the rule must be universally 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 well 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 validity 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. CRAWFORD. 171

sition to insert an express power to grant charters of
incorporation, is not, a, fortiori, the evidence of opinion,
on the part of the framers, hostile to the proper exer-
cise of such power. In arranging a form of government
adapted to the growing and varying wants of a country
which bid fair, even then, to become a populous and an
enterprising empire, it is scarcely allowable to suppose
thaH a Convention would have assumed the responsibil-
ity of fixing as an immutable feature of the Constitution
a special fiscal agent which, for better or for worse,
was to be the perpetual depository of the Government
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 convenient
as a disbursing agent than some other project. The
means by which national exigencies are to be provided
for, national inconveniences obviated, national pros-
perity advanced, are of such infinite variety, extent,
and complicity, that there must of necessity be great
latitude of discretion in the selection and application
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 of the Convention
on the subject of adopting the proposition in question,
clearly show that its rejection was carried on numerous
grounds, none of which refer to a decided opinion as to
its incompatibility 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. CRAWFORD.

perfected. The elements of opposition had sprung up
at every step in its progress to formation. Each ex-
press power had been jealously argued. It was only
after mutual concessions that opposing factions had co-
alesced on its main features. It was known 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 this opposition%as
strictly excluded ; and it is probable that, after agree-
ing upon the few express grants of cardinal power, the
clause giving 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 his entire
political career, Crawford had been distinguished by
bold expansion of thought and liberality of opinions.
He had been in advance of his friends and of his politi-
cal party on all the great practical questions at issue.
He had planned his action on these views, and never
varied from their pursuit. The views we have here
set forth are deducible from his own 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 full scope. We cannot, therefore,
consent that the foundations of his fame and greatness
shall be thus undermined by arraying the prejudices of
his latter years, as of superior authority to and against
the splendid achievements of his meridian life. Leaving,
then, these facts and reasonings to be appreciated as
may best chance, we shall 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 thrilling scenes which preceded the
declaration of war against Great Britain. It was well
known that, however widely Crawford might differ
from the body of the Republican party on questions of
domestic policy, on the subject of declaring war he
was with them heart and hand, and even zealous for
an immediate resort to direct hostilities. He had
given his voice for 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 followed that first
insolent invasion of our national rights, he did not hesi-
tate to declare that further postponement of hostilities
would bring dishonor to the American name and na-
tion. The timid and dallying policy of the Adminis-
tration was not in accordance with his bold and ener-
getic nature. Negotiations had been prolonged from
year to year, while both England and France were
daily preying on American commerce. Pirates and
privateers swept the ocean from one end to the other ;
our sailors were violently seized and impressed; our
merchandise was ruthlessly confiscated. No quarter
was shown by either of the belligerents, and no excep-
tions were made in any instance, or under any circum-
stances. Embargoes were raised only to subject our
vessels to pillage, and restrictions modified only to
benefit enemies and robbers. The Berlin and Milan
decrees were still rigorously enforced, to our dishonor
and injury, and British orders in Council still remained
in full 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 until April of the latter year, when the
Vice President, George Clinton, died. In consequence

174 WILLIAM H. CKAWFOED.

of this melancholy and sudden event, the chair of the
Senate became vacant. An election for President pro
tempore was held, and Crawford 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 delicate functions of this high
office with an ability, impartiality, and promptness that
won golden opinions from all parties, and that materi-
ally expedited the now complicated business of the
chamber. But his abstraction from the floor did not
operate to weaken his deep interest in the war ques-
tion. Hi* vote will be found recorded in favor of
every measure which looked to preparation for an
event that was now deemed inevitable ; 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 1 8th of the month ; and Congress,
after voting fuh1 supplies to meet the interesting exi-
gency, soon afterwards adjourned.

It is not within the purposes of this article to pur-
sue further allusion to the events of this memorable
war. This is more properly the province of some fu-
ture historian, whose labors shall be directed to that
subject. We will 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 negligent, if we are to judge their talent or their
industry by the fruits of their attempts. There are
pouits involved which claim the deepest interest, apart
from the shock and thunder of battle-fields and of hos-
tile navies, but which have received scarcely a passing

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 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 Republic. He
had been not more than five years a member of Con-
gress, and only eight years in public life. A compara-
tively short period had but elapsed since he had been
an humble and obscure pedagogue. Yet his fame was
now spread through the whole land, and the public
voice ranked him among the greatest ef the nation.
The eyes of the people turned to him with confidence,
as the crisis approached which all dreaded. His en-
ergy of character, boldness, and known business qualifi-
cation elicited 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
solicited to accept. After mature reflection and con-
sultation, he decided to remain in the Senate. This
act we feel bound to condemn. ' In view of approach
ing hostilities with England, and consequent disruption
of nearly all foreign intercourse, the Department of
War was to become the principal, and most interesting
arm of the Government ; especially when it is consid-
ered that the President himself was not peculiarly
gifted with those qualities which constitute an ener-
getic and successful war officer. Indeed, the event
showed that Mr. Madison was wholly deficient in this
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. CKAWFOKD.

A

pillaged and burned by the invaders. It is now gen-
erally conceded by military 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
Cockburn 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
civilian we regard him as standing pre-eminent among
all his compeers. But we do mean. to say that he was
totally unacquainted with the practical rules of the
military art, and most singularly deficient in natural
endowments as concerns the qualities of a war officer.
No one, we imagine, better knew of these deficiencies
than Crawford. He was high 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 all entirely unlearned in mili-
tary affairs, and accomplished only in the civil 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
qualifications 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 military life. The di-
plomatist and the commander are antipodes in char-
acter. The kind of study which 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 misinterpret expressions, to avoid direct
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, Wellington, Jackson, have proven
that the opposite of all these qualities are the true
characteristics of an accomplished 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 known to the country. But Crawford,
while having never received a military education, was
eminently prepared to manage the War Department at
a time when energy, decision, and bold qualities of
mind and^>f character were so imperatively needed.
Rapidity of thought was a chief trait in his mental
structure, and immediate action followed. He pos-
sessed great enterprise, great prescience, and great
resources of mind, while passion and enthusiasm were
strangely blended with calmness and deliberation.
None, in fact, who have studied and compared human
character, will fail to perceive that his prominent traits
of character were the very same as those which distin-
guished the elder William 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
restirfg on him, we think, a very heavy obligation 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 his known disinterest-
edness of character requires us to believe that his re-
fusal was induce'd by some strong personal reasons
which have not been declared.
8*

178 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

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 delicately and singularly involved,
and their conduct 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 followed on the Ber-
lin and Milan decrees, had begun to be most severely
felt by all classes of our citizens, and a spirifc of resent-
ment was becoming rife throughout the whole land.
In proportion to the delay of Congress to pass measures
which looked to direct hostility with England, did Bo-
naparte increase 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
policy 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 Berlin and Milan decrees against us, he never failed
to intimate, at the same time, that those decrees would
be relaxed the moment that our Government took the
initiative steps to hostilities with England. Indeecl, he
assured the American Minister that his course was the
consequence alone of British insolence, which last being
manifested as well to the United States as to France,
he was resolved to make no exception in our favor until
our Government prepared to resent the orders in Coun-
cil ; further declaring that the decrees were to be sus-

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 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 evils we were
suffering in consequence of suspended commerce, our
seamen were being daily impressed into the British
service, were received with marked favor by the Amer-
ican Government and nation, notwithstanding 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 whole
blame where, in fact, it properly belonged, on the com-
mon enemy of both countries ; and thus, by producing
angry and fruitless correspondences, to compel us into
a state of hostility with England. But the American
Cabinet were wise enough to see that these overtures
from Bonaparte, no matter how intended, might be ef-
fectually used to bring our relations to a determination
with either belligerent. 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 Minister
of Great Britain at Washington. He was a warm ad-
vocate of peace between the two countries, and, avail-
ing himself of this law, gave assurances to the Secretary
of State that the orders in Council should be withdrawn
after the 10th of June following. Without waiting to
inquire how far this declaration might comport with
the ambassador's instructions, Mr. Madison very pre-
cipitately, as we think, issued his proclamation, opening
the ports of the United States to British vessels, and
renewing intercourse with England. It would have
been more prudent, as the event showed, to await a

180 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOKD.

confirmation of this 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 friendship might have been fairly tried. But
the President, seemingly in too hot haste to conciliate
Great Britain, issued his 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 allowing to her ordinary grace time, threw
Napoleon into an uncontrollable ecstasy of passion.
The -Berlin and Milan decrees were executed against
American vessels with tenfold rigor, and our Minister
resident was loaded with taunts and reproaches.

In the meanwhile, 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, fell to the ground ; and the President,
repenting too late his precipitancy, renewed the Non-
intercourse Act against England, early in the ensuing
August. Mr. Erskine, chagrined and mortified, ' de-
manded to be recalled, and the last prospect of a satis-
factory adjustment faded away.

In this extraordinary state of afiairs, the Govern-
ment of the United States was indeed seriously embar-
rassed as to its future course with the two implacable
belligerents. In his anxiety to preserve amicable rela-
tions with both, and to avoid war, it is not to be denied
that Mr. Madison, constitutionally timid as a politician,
and perplexed by the unpatriotic course of the Eastern
States, committed many blunders, and was guilty of
extreme precipitancy in more than one instance. But
the purity of his motives cannot be questioned, not-
withstanding that his course may be liable to severe

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 181

censure. To relieve this embarrassment, however, and
to guard against future precipitancy, it was now deter-
mined to change position with respect to both bellig-
erents. It was determined that the merchant vessels
of both nations should be admitted into American
ports, while their armed ships were excluded. The
President, too, was again authorized to propose that in
case either power revoked its offensive edicts within a
certain time, the same was to be declared by proclama-
tion ; and that then, if the other nation did not also
relax its policy, 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 Berlin and Milan 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 English shall revoke their orders in
Council, or that the United States shall cause their
rights to be respected." The guarded language of this
letter, as well as the fact of its not being signed by the
Emperor or accompanied by any authoritative repeal,
should have placed, we think, a degree of prudent re-
straint on the course of our Government. There was,
clearly, a most serious condition attached; and the
question arose, whether it was precedent or subsequent,
when construed by the technical rules of law. The
American Executive adopted, promptly, the latter in-
terpretation, and, despite the signal consequences which
had followed his 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. CRAWFORD.

to many and serious disputes. That Napoleon intended
the concluding sentence just quoted as a precedent con-
dition, and that his degrees should remain in force un-
til the British orders in Council 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 own policy ; and she
did so decide and act. As a natural consequence,
therefore, American vessels were still seized under the
Berlin and Milan 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 Berlin and Milan decrees, since England had de-
clined to revoke her orders in Council, would only be
relaxed in our favor when the United States should de-
clare war, as had been expressly provided in the French
Minister's letter, against Great Britain. In this dilem-
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 policy.
This appeal called forth the celebrated annunciation
from the Prince Regent, that England would only re-
voke the orders in Council when the French Govern-
ment, by some authentic act, publicly promulged, should
make known the unconditional repeal of the Berlin
and Milan 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 still 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. CRAWFORD. 183

equivocally, 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 all along laboring to produce this result. His
policy was developing at every period of the negotia-
tions ; and a fact which now soon came to light, left no
doubt as to his designs in so long delaying a public and
authentic revocation of his decrees. Here is the start-
ing point of the secret history. The declaration of the
Prince Regent, while 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
definitive repeal of the Berlin and Milan decrees. It
was urged that Napoleon should explicitly 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 eifect the Prince Regent's
declaration had produced on the American Congress
and Government, Napoleon was reluctant, at first, to
make any response to this appeal. If he should re-
spond, and, in that event, England should revoke her
orders in Council, he feared evidently lest such revoca-
tion on his part might calm 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 meanwhile there came to France such rumors of
hostile preparations in this country, of embargoes laid,
and of moneys to be raised, of armies to be recruited,
and of fleets to be equipped, that all doubt as to the re-
sult was fully removed, and war placed beyond the
reach of remedy. Then he answered the call. A de-

184 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

cree, 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 unequivocally that no application of the Berlin
and Milan 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 delivery
of this mysterious document occurred in May, 1812.
It reached Washington early in July of the 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 tardily published must have produced
a change of British poh'cy, and in August news came
that the orders in Council, 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, well knowing 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 certainly do not be-
lieve that they could have been seriously inculpated ;
for, admitting, as we must candidly insist, that the
Cabinet had been guilty of some indiscretions, that

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 185

they had been somewhat outwitted, both by England
and France, but especially by the last, and that they
had fallen into some errors, we yet believe 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 the singular state of our relations with
France, when Crawford was appointed Minister to that
Court. Mr. Barlow had been instructed to demand an
explanation as to the causes which had induced the long
concealment of this definitive decree, to insist upon
ample indemnity for spoliations on our commerce under
the imperial decrees, and to bring about a favorable
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
following, at Wilna. On this journey Mr. Barlow was
stricken with the malady which produced his death, in
December, and ere yet he had been able to perfect the
negotiation. Crawford reached Paris in July of 1813,
and was charged with the same instructions. But the
Emperor was not then in his capital. He had been,
since 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 indemnities
and spoliations ; the coming event of his downfall had
already cast its shadow in his path, and disasters and
reverses, hitherto unknown to his arms, were already
combining to hurry the fatal event.

Nevertheless, on the 27th of July, fourteen days
after his arrival, Crawford took occasion to inform the
Duke of Bassano, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, in an
official note, of his presence as the Envoy of the United
States near his Majesty's government. The Duke re-

186 WILLIAM II. CRAWFORD.

plied, welcoming him 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 this
return was long delayed. During the entire summer
and part of the fall, the campaign was vigorously 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. At length the disastrous battle of Leipsic
was fought, and Napoleon retreated from Germany.
The brilliant victory of Hanau restored, for a moment,
the prestige of his military fame ; but the days of Ma-
rengo and of Austerlitz had passed, and the light of his
ancient glory was fast fading before the gloom of ap-
proaching ruin. He entered Paris on the ninth of No-
vember, dejected and mistrustful, in no mood for nego-
tiating concerning a matter comparatively 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 Minister
with great civility and favor. Crawford 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 complimented him, with true French urbanity, on
his fine personal appearance. He remarked tb the
courtiers who stood around, that the American Minis-
ter's looks corresponded most strikingly with his great
reputation as a statesman, and realized all previous
conceptions of him.

Notwithstanding this civil deportment, however,
the negotiation made no progress, and Crawford's over-
tures were constantly postponed. The "Bulking fortunes

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 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
six months, he writes to Mr. Monroe that he had only
been able to effect one interview with the Duke of Bas-
sano. This resulted in nothing. The communications
of Crawford, touching the demands of his Government,
were drawn with marked ability and skill; but the
rush of startling events in Europe prevented the Duke
from 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 April, 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 known that in less than two months from the
time that he left Paris, Napoleon was beaten at all
points. The allies, 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 Crawford received
instructions to press the demand for indemnity on the
new Government. But a serious obstacle was now
presented. The King assumed the ground that his
Government was not liable for the acts of the usurper.
Crawford argued the point with great force, and clearly
established the contrary position. The negotiations
were prolonged throughout the year, and, had the
Government lasted, it is more than probable, we in-

188 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOKD.

cline to think, that our demands might have been
satisfied.

But an event was suddenly interposed which 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 him, and every other
business gave way before the pressing necessity for
preparation to maintain his throne.

The memorable Hundred Days followed. 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 of the Duke of Wellington, and
was forming rapidly for a march to Paris. The bris-
tling bayonets of twenty banded nations were pointed
against his single throne, and France, threatened on all
sides, was looking 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 his ministers were not clothed with authority to
make any negotiation during his absence.

The scenes of the eventful campaign which ensued
are well known to all readers of history. Napoleon
lost the battle of Waterloo on the 18th of June, and in

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 189

a few weeks afterwards Paris once again opened her
gates to the allied armies. The fierce Prussian and the
haughty Briton were bivouacked on her promenades,
and each day witnessed some appalling act of military
power, or some scene of national degradation. Treas-
ured trophies of victory, and cherished monuments of
glory and of architectural taste, were alike 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 Crawford. The well-known banner of stars and
stripes floated proudly above his door, and its broad
folds were a sure protection to all who came within
their shadow.

During the occupancy of Paris by the allied armies,
a public procession was ordered to celebrate the King's
return. All the resident ambassadors from foreign
governments were invited to participate, and as the oc-
casion was to be made one of great attraction and
splendor, all were desired to appear in their court cos-
tumes. Crawford was, of course, especially invited, as
both conquerors and conquered were agreed in a com-
mon admiration of the American Government, and in
the desire to court amicable relations through its repre-
sentative in France. The day arrived, and was distin-
guished, among other things, by a mirthful incident in
connection with Crawford, peculiarly characteristic of
the man and of his habits. A forgetfulness of small
matters, particularly in the way of etiquette, was not
the least distinguishable trait of Crawford's character.
He could never bring his mind to the little task of em-
bracing all the minutia3 of ceremony. Accordingly, at
the hour designated, Crawford presented himself on the
promenade, but had utterly forgotten to don his court
vestments. He appeared in the ordinary dress of a

190 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

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-
apparelled spectators. It so happened that Crawford
was intimately and favorably known to the Duke of
Wellington, who was of course the lion of the 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 English hospi-
tality. This frank recognition on the part of the old
Iron Duke, who had as little 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 Crawford's
part, was set down to his credit as a very harmless but
apt exhibition of republican simplicity, designed to re-
buke the glare and glitter of royalty.

In the August ensuing Crawford threw up his mis-
sion and returned home. He had failed to accomplish
the object of his Government, but the failure did not
proceed from incapacity or negligence on his part, or
from any causes within his control. Revolution had
followed revolution too rapidly to admit of tardy diplo-
matic business. France was in a continual turmoil
during the whole period of his 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. CRAWFORD. 191

lution. Proj6ts of adjustment and of explanation would
be scarcely formed under the imperial dynasty, before
the storm would rise as the ancient regime swept on.
ward with its foreign allies. The basis of a treaty re-
cognized under one government would be peremptorily
disavowed by that which succeeded. Crawford's tem-
perament was not suited to a mild endurance of such
political tergiversations and fickleness on the part of the
French nation, while his republican notions of popular
rights were daily outraged as he beheld France groan-
ing under the sway of a monarchy, not its choice, but
imposed on it by allied despots. It is probable, there-
fore, that disgust rather than discouragement induced
him to demand his recall.

Thus was lost the last chance of ever obtaining a
satisfactory solution of the secret history as Concerned
the famous counter decree of April, 1811. The final
overthrow and banishment of Napoleon, the ostracism
of his ministry, and the untimely death of Joel Barlow,
closed ah1 penetrable avenues to its elucidation ; and it
will probably remain ever a mystery to the world, un-
less chance or some posthumous revelations, yet to be
made public, shall unfold and explain its details. We
may as well remark also, in closing this period of Craw-
ford's political life, that our claim for spoliations of
commerce under the decrees of Berlin and Milan was
prosecuted, amidst vexatious delays and despondences,
under many succeeding administrations both in this
country and in France, until, 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 Philippe.

Crawford brought home with him, as we are in-
formed, not a very elevated opinion of French charac-

192 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

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 qualities 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 fatally influenced by a perverted longing for
national glory and aggrandizement. He denied to the
French people the possession of the sound discriminat-
ing sense and sterling qualities of character which so
eminently belong to the English and the Americans in
their rational capacity. This may be regarded, by
many, as a harsh and overwrought judgment. We
incline to think, however, that those who judge France
by the sure test of its history will yield a concurrence
of sentiment. The prestige of great military fame, and
of martial deeds, has ever allured and controlled 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 of the
Alps, the victory of Marengo and its splendid results,
did more to endear Napoleon to the ardent French-
men, than all the grand achievements of his civil 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 Venice, the
passes of Simplon, of Mont Cenis, and of Mont Genevre,
which open up the Alps in four directions, exceed in
boldness, grandeur, and art any thing ever attempted

WILLIAM II. CEAWFOED. 193

by the Romans ; yet it is not going too far to say that
these noble monuments of genuis, as compared with the
glories of Austerlitz or of Jena, form, not a single cor-
nice of the broad pedestal of affection from which 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 supercilious and
vain. He had no tolerance for that species of patriot-
ism which springs from man-worship, and which burns
only at the shrine of military renown. It was enough
to fix and settle his opinion, when he had detected the
extreme susceptibility of the French people on this
point. Their chivalry, their bravery, their learning,
their numerous unequalled accomplishments, were all
powerless, in his view, to palliate such fatal 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 still, a very high admiration of
French chivalry and generosity of character, and must
award to them the palm of excellence in all those beau-
tiful accomplishments 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 services abroad
had justly increased his popularity with the people of
his own country, and his reputation as a statesman rose
to its zenith. He had been, for many years anterior to
his departure for France, pre-eminently the leading
member of the Senate, and his opinions and influence,
as we have already seen, had not only given tone to
the politics of a large portion of the country, but had
actually opened the way to the formation of a new
party organization, that seemed likely to absorb all the
9

194 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

better elements of both the Federal and Democratic
parties, as also to reconstruct, in all its original purity,
the true Republican party of l790-'92, of which Wash-
ington had been the leader. The government was then
in its chrysalis state, and this last-named party had
been formed on the basis laid down by the writers of
the Federalist. The advocates of a monarchical, or
strongest form of government, with Hamilton at their
head, had so far surrendered their original opinions as
to fall into its ranks, determined to test fairly and fully
the present Constitution. The Virginia politicians,
represented by Madison and John Marshall, and the
conservatives of New York, represented by John Jay,
formed its mam pillar. The ultra and radical Demo-
crats had not then been gathered into that fierce and
impracticable phalanx which was marshalled and con-
troled, a few years afterwards, by Thomas Jefferson,
though they had already organized upon the basis of
opposition to the Constitution. This instrument was
adjudged by them to be too centralizing and latitudi-
nous in its main features, to harmonize with their crude
notions of State sovereignty and independence. There
were many who desired to be free from all national
government, but a large majority decided that there
must be some permanent confederation of the States.
The discussion, in convention and in the public 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 Federalists and Anti-Federalists. The first favored
a strong government, and the last insisted upon a weak
government, or rather, no government at all. The
general sentiment of the country settled upon a com-
promise of these extreme opinions. Hamilton and
Madison united in support of the present Constitution,

WILLIAM H. CBAWFOED. 195

and the Democrats of the ultra school were left in a
hopeless and deserved minority. This union between
these two great men, with Washington as their com-
mon head, formed the foundation on which was erected
the National Republican party. The high-toned gov-
ernmental theories of the Federalists were so attenu-
ated and modified as to harmonize with the conserva-
tives of the Virginia 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 United 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 ally and faithful benefactress in the
war against the former, which resulted in American
independence. The proclamation of President Wash-
ington, under date of the 18th of April, asserting neu-
trality to be the settled policy of the United States,
encountered violent 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 Philadelphia, then the
residence of the General Government, was scandalized
by the organization of Jacobin clubs, or Democratic
societies, which promulged doctrines subversive of the
true principles of the Federal Constitution, and de-
structive to healthy political sentiment. About the
same time Hamilton published his numbers of Pacificus,
defending the executive proclamation. Madison, now
thoroughly detached from his late associations by the
influence of Jefferson, answered him under the signa-

196 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

ture of Helvidius. This controversy between the chiefs
of the constitutional organization of 1789-90, effectually
broke up the composition of parties which originated
at that date, and Madison continued steadfastly to co-
operate with the Jeffersonians until the era of 1816.
It is not for us now to inquire minutely into the his-
tory of the rival factions which soon sprang up after
this disruption between the adherents of Jefferson and
the elder Adams. The former, however, carried off
with them the designation of republicanism ; and
through the prestige of this name, Jeffersonian democ-
racy acquired an influence with the nation, which has,
for much the largest portion of the time, controlled its
destiny from that day to the present. But the inhe-
rent, vital energies of the government, combined with
every natural element of greatness, as also with the
strong collateral influence exerted by a conservative
national party, have saved the institutions of the coun-
try from a contamination of Jacobinism, which other-
wise might have been fatal to their health and exist-
ence.

It was to this original republican 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 evidently looked
in his efforts to direct the current and composition of
party organizations, during his senatorial career. On
his return from 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 which it
could not recover, and the lapse of a few years wit-
nessed its final extinction. The Democrats had been

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 197

seriously confused and disjointed by the events of a
war which, although begun and carried on under their
immediate auspices, had evidently demonstrated the
inefficiency and impracticability of their political theo-
ries and experiments. They had been forced to aban-
don their absurd and silly preference for the gun-boat
system of Jefferson, and to build up and rely upon an
efficient naval system, such as, years before, had been
recommended and advocated by Hamilton and John
Adams. They were now forced, at the close of that
war, to withdraw their opposition to the establishment
of a National Bank, and even to yield their constitu-
tional opinions. 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. Calhoun re-
ported a bill 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 Jeffersonism. Madison himself surren-
dered a long-continued opposition, signed the charter,
and made Crawford, its principal advocate, his Secre-
tary of the Treasury. In addition to this, they were
driven to incorporate high protective features in the
adjustment of the tariff of 1816, and that, too, not in-
cidentally, but directly, 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
all the industrial pursuits of the country, and these
called too loudly for aid and protection at its close, to
allow politicians to take shelter behind mere fastidious
constitutional scruples, or selfish partisan policy. The
emergency required enlarged and liberal legislation,
such as was adapted to the growing importance of a

198 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

great nation, and would prove the beneficence and
practicability of our system of government. 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 Federalism was finally beaten
down and smothered. It was just the time to indoc-
trinate public sentiment with the safer, more reliable,
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 both
the Democratic and Federal ranks, to form such party,
without incorporating the radicalism 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, having thus taken
root, gradually emerged into activity and compact-
ness ; and for the twelve succeeding years, its health-
ful and invigorating influence imparted a tone and be-
neficence to the administrative policy of the country,
which induced unparalleled prosperity, and which 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, which tore
through the land during the administration of Jack-
son ; although the lustre of a military fame, too daz-
zlingly illustrated in the achievements of that victori-
ous hero, not to win popularity among a grateful and
chivalrous people, at any hazard to national interests,
had well nigh totally obscured its milder radiance,
while it did for ever eclipse and mar the political for-
tunes of the prominent Whig leaders.

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 199

As the Presidential term of Mr. Madison was now
drawing to its close, the eye of the nation was directed
to James Monroe as his successor. But the leading
politicians of the party to which both Monroe and
Crawford belonged, did not pretend to disguise their
preference for the latter. Crawford peremptorily de-
clined ; but when the Congressional caucus assembled,
and proceeded to ballot for a nominee, Monroe ob-
tained only a few more votes than Crawford, notwith-
standing this prompt declination. This result was ex-
actly what it should have been. Crawford possessed
and showed more discernment as well as more disin-
terestedness than his friends. The pertinacity of these
was both impolitic 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 in the
sketch before us, that " it has often been confidently
asserted by a great number of experienced politicians
of that day, that if Crawford had permitted his name
to have been put in nomination at that tune, he might
have been elected with perfect ease." We even think
it is probable, from all we have heard, that Crawford
might have been of such opinion himself. Still, we
cannot agree that such hypothesis will 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 Crawford ; for the reason that we do not
believe, under the circumstances, that the people would
have been satisfied with such nomination. There is
abundant reason to believe, in view of what we have
stated, that electoral tickets would have been formed

200 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.

for Monroe, despite the caucus nomination of Craw-
ford. Besides his long experience and revolutionary
claims, Monroe had lately won upon the affections of
the people by superadding to the arduous duties of the
State Department those of the Department of War,
and through this had directed the latter operations of
our arms to a brilliant 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 qualifications of Crawford as a statesman would
not have weighed in the balance with Monroe's mili-
tary prestige, inconsiderable as it was, when compared
with the dignity of the award which he was about to
receive from the popular voice. NOT 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 politician. The labors of a ministerial
office are wholly incompatible with party intriguings.
Its incumbent is removed from the sphere of political
attraction, and is measurably overshadowed. Conse-
quently, we are wholly unable to trace our distinguish-
ed subject in connection with the numerous important
and startling questions which arose during Monroe's
administration, nor do we find such connection even so

WILLIAM H. CKAWFOED. 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 all such information ; and, in view
of the national character of his illustrious relative, we
can see no good reason why he should have withheld
such from the public. The public have a right to know
all that can be known of the political connections of
such men as Crawford. It is the duty of those who do
know to make all such known, especially when, in re-
sponse to a public call, they essay a biographical sketch.
But there is a cogent and special reason why we regret
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
republics elicited then deep interest in this country.
Hungary and other European nations form now the
basis of much political sentiment among the people of
the United States, and there is an evident tendency to
depart from the safe maxims of the early fathers of the
republic, and to change the policy of the government.
The opinions of such men as Crawford on such ques-
tions, and in times like the present, would doubtless
exert efficient and salutary influence on a great portion
of the public mind. We cannot doubt that these opin-
ions were in accordance with the policy of Washing-
ton's proclamation in 1793, though there existed con-
siderable differences in the Monroe Cabinet on this
subject. We know that John Quincy Adams was
quite latitudinous, and that Calhoun was very conserv-

202 WILLIAM H. CKAWFORD.

ative. The President himself had no settled opinion,
if we may judge either by his language, his policy,
or the conflicting testimony of Adams and Calhoun.
Each member of his Cabinet, it would seem, puts a
different construction on his language, and holds a dif-
ferent interpretation of his motives and his policy;
whilst Hayne, of South Carolina, did not hesitate, in
after years, to charge the language of Monroe as being
non-committal, and as having been employed merely in
the nature of a ruse de guerre. But history, of what-
ever description, is silent as concerns the opinions of
Crawford. The only clue to these is to be vaguely
gathered from the acts and movements of his prominent
friends in Congress. Taking, of these, Macon, Ran-
dolph, Van Buren, and Cobb of Georgia, and such test
would easily unfold his sentiments and views.

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 well said of
this period of his career, and shall 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 embarrassed, pecuniary difficulties pressing
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 administration of the affairs of the Trea-
sury. The national debt was faithfully discharged, and the burdens
of government upon the people were light and inconsiderable. At
the time of the greatest difficulty the estimated and actual 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

WILLIAM H. CKAWFOKD. 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 lull in political strife followed
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
Republicans, though not allied with the Jeffersonian or
Democratic school, further than by association. The
Secretary of the Navy rather inclined to the Federal
tenets, while Mr. Calhoun inclined to the Democratic,
though his course of action in Congress had been widely
variant from the ascetic teachings of that sect. In both
Houses of Congress, the Republicans of the Crawford
school of politics were in a decided majority, controlled
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 appellation of
Whigs. The absence of all acrimonious party strife,
consequent on the extinction of the Federal party, and
the dismemberment of the original Democratic party,
rendered it unnecessary to assume any distinctive ap-
pellation. Still they acted steadily together, in oppo-
sition alike to the extremes of Federalism and of De-
mocracy, respectively represented on the floor of Con-
gress by Rufus King and John Randolph; and the
great American system progressed gradually to a happy
consummation. There was a vitality and an energy
then discernible in the legislation of Congress, which

204 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED.

diffused life and spirit into all departments of business.
The nation looked to its 'government for proper encour-
agement and relief under the yet depressing influences
of the wa£, and soon the whole country smiled 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 this very period,
when genuine Whig policy and principles were de-
cidedly in the ascenadnt, is now looked back to by
all 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 solitary po-
litical principle was involved in the contest. There
was no attempt to keep up, but every effort to keep
down, old party organizations. The Federal party, as
we have already remarked, had been extinguished.
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 Jacobin. The words
were never heard in political circles. It was almost
impossible to draw a line of distinction between the
aspiring politicians, or to set up any distinctive party
standard by which to judge their opinions. Old mea-

WILLIAM H. CKATVTOED. 205

sures and the divisions they had occasioned had passed
away. New measures, under entirely new and variant
circumstances, had been brought forward ; yet nothing
is more true, as we have already intimated, than that
all the leading measures of Congress were of the genu-
ine Whig stamp, that they involved the same princi-
ples of interpretation, and required the same course of
argument in their defence, that Whigs have used for
the past twenty years.

It will readily suggest itself to every mind, that a
contest for the Presidency, under such circumstances,
would be resolved wholly into a contest of mere per-
sonal preference among the people. The original can-
didates were John Quincy Adams, William 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, in the person of an illustrious military chief-
tain, whose hot temperament and passionate energies
were not likely to soften the asperity of the contest.
This 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 materially weakened the prospects
of Henry Clay, by dividing 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
politician. 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. CEAWFORD.

tion, so uninformed as to the duties of a civilian as to
have resigned several offices with the frank admission
of incompetency, fonder of sport than of study, and
whose training had been mainly hi the camp or on the
frontier, would be seriously urged for the first office in
the Republic, on the single merit of one fortunate bat-
tle. Those great qualities of mind, or rather of will,
which afterwards made him the most popular and pow-
erful ruler that ever wore the executive mantle, which
commanded the worship of his friends and the admira-
tion of his opponents, and which identified the Ameri-
can name and nation with his own strong and heroic
character, were not then known to the nation. His
only claim to office was based upon the victory of New
Orleans ; and this 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 favor with
the people, by endeavoring to prove eac.h that their
candidate was, par excellence, the true Republican 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 this connection, that Crawford numbered
in the ranks of his followers a greater proportion of the
old Jeffersonian Democrats than either Adams or Clay,
notwithstanding his known liberal opinions. These,
considering themselves as the true standards of genuine
Republican orthodoxy, insisted on assembling a caucus,
although they were seriously opposed. They would
not listen, when reminded that, Federalism having long
ceased an organized opposition, such a course was not
now necessary to secure the ascendency of the Repub-
lican party. They grew intolerant when told that such

WILLIAM H. CRAWFOBD. 207

a resort to party machinery, in the absence of all 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 will
contend that such a nomination was entitled to any
great authority or weight. It could scarcely make
pretension to even full and fair party organization,
much less to nationality. But its contrivers claimed
for it all these, proclaimed it as the regular nomination,
and invoked all true Republicans to respect and sustain
it as such. The responses, however, were far from
equalling their expectations ; and we think that it will
now be readily conceded that the movement rather
injured than benefited Crawford's prospects for the
Presidency. It is certain that many of his devoted
and confidential friends inclined to such opinion, and
among others, one whose letters now lie before us,
written at the time of which they speak. This was
Thomas W. Cobb, then one of the 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 Crawford'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 consigned him to premature retirement, Cobb

208 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

embarked in his cause with a zeal that never flagged
or abated, and pressed his claims with almost frantic
fervor. He mourned his overthrow with a grief more
akin to personal devotion than political attachment;
and imbibing, doubtless from this cause, a settled dis-
taste for public life, soon afterwards threw up his sena-
torial commission, and retired with his 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 followed by
such auspicious demonstrations as hope had flattered
his friends to expect. He now writes to one of his
friends, Dr. Meriwether, that the caucus had not been
productive of very favorable manifestations. In fact,
this movement seems to have drawn down upon the
Crawford party the concentrated and increased bitter-
ness of both the Clay and Calhoun factions, while it
gained them no additional strength among the partisans
of Adams. Notwithstanding that Calhoun had openly
declined for the Presidency, the newspapers favorable
to his election still kept his name up in connection with
that office, with the evident intention, as Cobb writes,
to prevent his supporters from going over to Crawford
ere the coalition with Jackson had been definitely
effected. The caucus movement was received with
approbation only in the States of Virginia and Georgia.
North Carolina was not so decided, though Macon's
influence 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 Virginia he was equally 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 own 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 political friends of the parties. Crawford had a
comprehensive and sagacious eye, and could read men
with as much accuracy as most other politicians. Being
at the head of a dominant and powerful party in Geor-
gia, he resolved upon a stroke of policy which, un-
seemly as it might and did appear even to his own
friends, it was hoped might win to his 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 his 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 hi Georgia, the Clarkites. The act appeared
so ill-timed and so barefaced, in view of Van Buren's
then obscure pretensions, that the term " Vice President
Van" was jocosely bandied at every corner, and soon
Became a bye-word and slang expression. Long and
cruelly did the Clarkites use it as such against the
Crawford party. As an amusing illustration of this,
when the next General Assembly of the State convened,
the Clarkites, being in a decided minority, kept Van
Buren as their standing candidate for all the lower
order of appointments, with no other design than, by
thus showing their contempt for the nomination, to
annoy their sensitive opponents. There are many now
living who may remember with a smile the description

210 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

of tickets that were exhibited and read out on such oc-
casions. They had Van Buren caricatured on them in
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 — all 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 disparaging 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 turned
to be the cringing partisans of him they had thus as-
saulted.

But the policy (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 using serious and zealous efforts*
to effect the object in view. "If we can get New
York," said Cobb, " we shall then be sure of Connecti-
cut, New Jersey, and Rhode Island. Without New
York, we are lost." This opinion was known to Van
Buren, and tending, of course, to confirm him in the
like view, he went to work to secure the desired object
with an earnestness and adroitness that had seldom
failed of success before. There is no question but that
personal attachment to Crawford, as well as the usual

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 211

allowance of political ambition, influenced .Van Buren
on this occasion. He had long admired Crawford, and
now, in the hour of trial, when his enemies were about
to triumph over his defeat, the noble exertions and
eminent ability he brought to bear in the endeavor to
save and secure the election of his favorite, must ever
excite a kind remembrance in the bosoms of Crawford's
family and friends. His efforts, at one time, 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 Crawford. His
friends carried a majority to the Senate, and a fierce
contest now ensued. The people were clamorous to
take into their own hands the election of President.
Consequently, a bill to that effect passed the lower
House, with only a few dissenting 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
Governor re-convoked the Legislature, with a view
that the will of the people might be expressed and exe-
cuted. But the same scene was re-enacted with the
same result. The Senate again defeated the bill, 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 the nominations were made by the Legislature,
he sustained a signal and crushing overthrow.

212 WILLIAM H. CKAWFOKD.

This result abundantly foreshadowed the grand
finale, so far 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,
which 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 his
memory and to obscure his intellect. This sad news
effectually depressed the spirits of his friends, whilst it
raised the hopes of his enemies. He was forced, in
consequence of this affliction, to give up the business
of his office, ceased to appear in public, or to- receive
any but select company, and was removed to a delight-
ful cottage in the vicinity of Washington, in the vain
but fond hope that the quiet of rural life and the purer
breath of the country air might induce a speedy conva-
lescence. But that hope was never fully gratified.
After a struggle of many months, his speech, to a great
extent, was restored ; he regained the use of his limbs,
and his vision was slightly improved. But the great
intellect which had once controlled the opinions of a
nation, and had made his name famous wherever that
nation was known, had been blighted to a degree which
human skill could not reach, and was never again to
return with its original strength and lustre.

The extreme illness of Crawford was not generally
known, 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 uncertain whether,
under the constitutional provision, Clay or Crawford
would get to be the third candidate before the House

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 213

of Representatives. The State of Louisiana held the
die, and the friends of Clay confidently expected that
it would be thrown in his favor. But their calculations
were not verified. Jackson and New Orleans were as-
sociated by a common glorious link, and the memory
of his great victory turned 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
thrown out of the contest. This left a small balance in
favor of Crawford, who now" went into the House of
Representatives with an electoral vote nearly two-thirds
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 political trump was not turned up.
But the excitement was of a strictly legitimate charac-
ter. No threats of violence by force of arms were re-
sorted to, as in 1801, during a similar contest between
Burr and Jefferson, when it was proclaimed, on the au-
thority of Jefferson himself, that, in case the House
should defeat his election, " the Middle States would
arm." Such seditious, Jacobinical sentiments, would
not have been tolerated at the time in question. But
there was not less of anxiety or of interest. The
friends of all three candidates were alike 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 Washington was an electioneered for the one
party or the other in some shape, and every visitor

214 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

within its walls 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 fashion and the satellites of the 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 public demonstration; but the artificial
representations of the stage flagged and faded before
the real exhibitions of the political drama. The legis-
lative business of Congress received little 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 own prospects of
success. A letter written by Cobb about the middle
of January, to a friend in Georgia, affords a striking
illustration of these illusory calculations ; and being a
legitimate link in the history of its time, we shall quote
from it at some length, for the reader's satisfaction : —

" Doubtless, in common with others, you feel the greatest anxiety
about the 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 certainty whether
they will do so. Their conduct has been extremely mysterious and
doubtful. At one time, they led us to believe they would unite 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 out five of
them who will do so ; the others (seven) have not yet declared. Ohio
is divided, but this morning I have the positive declaration of one of
their most honest and intelligent members, that they have determined
not to vote for Jackson. But it is not settled how they will go be-
tween Crawford and Adams. The objections made by those friendly

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 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 brother-in-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 will unite on Jackson, which, with the Western States, secures
his success, inasmuch as he would have New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
Maryland, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennes-
see, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri. New York is yet set-
tled for no one. "We 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 is 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 that Adams can gain nothing from him.
The Yankees are determined that a President shall be made.

" New Jersey is willing to join us, if success becomes probable,
and I am assured that five out of six of New England will do so too,
when Adams's prospects are blasted. Should Crawford be elected, it
will be by a combination of Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island,
Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Jersey, Delaware, Virginia, North
Carolina, Georgia, Mississippi, Missouri, Kentucky or Ohio. Dela-
ware, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia have nailed their flag,
and will sink with 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 great 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 whole, I do not feel alarmed, though I am not confident. Here

216 WILLIAM H. CRAWFOED.

the}'' call me croaker. I say I will not express a confidence which I
do not feel."

This letter speaks for itself, and unfolds much that
is interesting in connection with the history 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 Crawford, that the Clay party were unable
to decide which would prove the most available 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 fixing
the desired union. On him, therefore, as is well known,
all eyes were eagerly fastened. 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 him to be
unfit for tjivil 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 duplicity." But the Legislature
of Kentucky had instructed him to sustain Jackson,
and the Jackson party, therefore, built up high hopes.
But they little knew the man with whom they were deal-
ing, if they ever supposed that such instructions would
guide him any further than they might comport with
his own judgment. He took, and has ever maintained

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 217

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 his fellow-citizens. Under these circum-
stances, therefore, he was forced to make a choice be-
tween Crawford and Adams. Still, the friends of Jack-
son did not cease to importune him with their efforts
to obtain his 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 allurements of high
office, in case Jackson was made President. On the
contrary, there has never been exhibited the least
shadow of proof that the friends of Adams or Crawford
made overtures of any character to Clay or to any of
his friends. That both of these were anxious to secure
his co-operation by all legitimate means, there can be
no doubt. There is some reason to think that Clay's
inclination, as well from their personal as political asso-
ciations, rather impelled him to a preference for Craw-
ford. But his stern temperament has never been
warped by private preference contrary to his sense of
public duty. His disposition is marked rather with the
severe attributes of Roman character, than with the
flexile 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 ilhiess, and
the serious afflictions with which he had been visited,
were well 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 his convalescence and improving state of health, but
10

218 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

in Washington the whole truth was known. But his
immediate friends attempted no concealment, although
they were sincere in the belief that he was rapidly
growing better, and would soon be sufficiently restored
to enter profitably into the discharge of any official
duty to which he might be called. Under this illusory
impression, in order as well to confute the malicious as
to convince and persuade the doubtful, they resolved
upon a course which, though corroborative of their sin-
cerity, resulted fatally to their hopes and expectations.
It had been now a long time since Crawford had min-
gled with the public. He had not been present at any
of the numerous festive and social meetings for which
this season is famous. To drawing-rooms and soirees
he was an utter stranger. Only a select and ultimate
few were in the habit of visiting him, eveii at his home.
A few days previous to the time of election, however,
and to the surprise of nearly all Washington, his friends
conveyed him to the Capitol, and kept him there in
company for several hours. The old man looked much
better than was generally expected, and deported him-
self with accustomed amenity and dignity. Many who
saw him only from a distance, were most agreeably
disappointed. Those with whom he shook hands and
spoke, however, were observed to leave him with grave
faces, and with all the signs and tokens of a melancholy
interview. Among these last was Clay himself; and it
was afterwards remarked by one of Crawford'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 his friends, and these
sounded the funeral knell to his chances for the Presi-
dency.

The contest was at length narrowed down to the

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 219

issue between Adams and Jackson, as nearly every one
had, from the first, predicted it would be. Parties
still continued immovable and uncertain. It was diffi-
cult to tell where either had lost, or where either had
gained. Calhoun had been elected Vice President by
a large majority, and refused to take part or mingle in
the election either way. He was known, however, to
be bitterly opposed to Crawford, and he afterwards de-
clared 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 politic. The
Crawford party no longer expected his co-operation,
and the Adams party, relying on his well-known dis-
trust of Jackson, and fully informed of Crawford's
wretched health, confined their electioneering efforts to
an intercourse marked only by cordiality and respect.
There is not on record the least particle of evidence
that they ever made any overtures to Clay's friends, or
approached himself improperly. But the partisans of
Jackson pursued a different policy altogether. It is in
proof, on their own 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 government " would be tendered
to Clay. They even went so far, in guarding against
the rumor that Jackson had declared his intention of
continuing Adams in the State Department in case of
election, to persuade Jackson to allow them to an-
nounce publicly 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 fill the offices of government as he

220 WILLIAM H. CEAWFOKD.

chose. While doing this much, however, Jackson took
very especial pains to denounce all attempts at intrigue
or improper collusions, and expressed himself with char-
acteristic emphasis and honesty of purpose. .We must
candidly say that we believe Jackson 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 vindictive-
ness that is wholly irreconcilable with the general
frankness and manliness of his disposition.

It has not transpired whether these declarations
were ever formally communicated to the friends of
Clay. But when the Jackson party found that Clay's
resolution was still 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 his friends
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 whispers of the " bargain
and intrigue " were heard. They were hissed serpent-
like through the political circles of Washington, 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
illicit overtures within their own cabal, were naturally
unable 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 behind
a masked battery, and attempted to resolve the contro-

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 221

versy into a personal issue between Clay and an old,
simple-minded Pennsylvania 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 all 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,
implying less of malevolence than scornful indifference ;
and afterwards he tells his constituents that to have
held such a man responsible would have subjected him
to universal ridicule. Nobody believed that Kremer
composed either his original letter charging Clay with
corruption and bribery, or the subsequent elaborate
letter which was sent to the committee raised to act on
those charges. The only thing he himself did write,
which was a positive contradiction of his original
charge, was seized and pocketed by one of his '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 original letter, in which he makes charges
that he afterwards denied were charges of either bar-
gain or bribery, and about which he evidently under-
stood nothing at all. 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 driveller, if not a fool, is evidenced by his whole
subsequent conduct. His cringing denials, his bolstered
re-affirmations in the face of those denials, his verbal
confessions to Clay's friends, his written statements
given to Clay's enemies, his challenge before the com-
mittee, and his subsequent disgraceful retreat, at one
time boasting, at another time begging, and always
blindly obedient to his dictators, all these show clearly

222 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

that he was much better fitted to mould cheeses and to
manufacture sourkrout than to conduct a plot or dis-
cuss state affairs. His only redeeming quality 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 failed to
flatter or to frighten him into the support of Jackson,
they now assailed him through the more trying medium
of his sensibilities. They endeavored to compel his
support by leaving to him only a choice between com-
pliance and the chances of political destruction. Their
scheme failed as to the first, as every body knows,
Clay was not shaken for an instant, but challenged in-
vestigation and defied conviction. At the same time
he caused his friends to assert publicly 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 zenith of his
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 him, before the masses,
of these groundless charges. Every effort to make
him President, from that day to this, has failed, solely
in consequence of the unwelcome fact, that his friends
have been met at every corner with these deathless
charges of the bargain and intrigue of 1825. It was in
vain that they were disproved ; that all proof was in-
vited and challenged ; that it was shown no proof ex-
isted, or ever had existed. One letter of five lines

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 223

from the Hermitage, containing 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 evidence, and to stamp
the baseless charge with the seal of divinity.

It is a significant and an instructive fact that the
friends of Crawford, so far from aiding and abetting
this unworthy attempt to destroy the character of a
high-minded opponent, with the view to force him to a
course which his judgment and inclination both con-
demned, accorded to Clay their generous and steadfast
support in all attempts which were made to obtain the
action of the House on the charges contained in the
Kremer letter. Forsyth came zealously to his aid, and
put forth in his cause the splendid parliamentary ac-
complishments and abilities which made him the orna-
ment of Congress. Crawford himself turned his face
against 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 believing
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 hostility
to Clay, in consequence of his preference for Adams
over their own candidate. They were mostly of a
school of politics which repudiated the latitudinous
constitutional theories of the day, and considered Ad-
ams as being more obdurate and unreliable on such
score than Crawford.

At length the day of election arrived. It was a
cold, stormy day of February. The hall 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 WILLIAM H. CEAWFO32D.

with privileged dignitaries, Senators, ex~members of
Congress, members of State Legislatures, judges, and
foreign ambassadors. Doubt was portrayed in every
countenance ; anxiety throbbed in every bosom. The
galleries and lobbies, filled to an excess that almost
stifled the eager multitude, presented a solid sea of un-
covered heads ; nor was there, perhaps, a solitary indi-
vidual of that vast number, who had not made a choice
and a preference between the three opposing candidates
for President. It was the second time in the history of
the Government, and within a quarter of a century, that
such a high duty and responsibility had devolved on the
House of Representatives. Most of those present were
alive and in political life when Burr and Jefferson came
as contestants before the same assembly, and some had
been actors in that memorable scene. They now recalled
with misgiving the frightful recollections of those seven
days' ballotings, which had been carried on amidst
threats of rebellion and of armed interference. It was
now to be tested whether the lapse of twenty-five years
— years allied 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 allegiance for a spirit of an-
archy. The foreign ministers present, observing the
immense concourse, and the absence of soldiers and
guards, seemed by their looks to have agreed that the
occasion would fully confirm or disprove the republican
theory of our political system. But there were no in-
dications of a character that seemed likely to lead to
any untoward development. At the usual hour the
Speaker ascended to his chair, and the rap of his ham-
mer brought the House to order. The roll was called,
and the first business being to proceed with the election
for President, in conformity with the terms of the Con-

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 225

stitution, tables were duly arranged, and tellers ap-
pointed. John Randolph presided at the table on the
Speaker's left, and Daniel Webster at that on his right
hand. The vote was to be taken by States, and amidst
breathless stillness and the most painful suspense, the
balloting commenced. When all 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 again taken his seat,
when the wild, shrill voice of Randolph was heard
ringing high above the buzz which followed Webster's
announcement, as he proclaimed a similar result at his
own 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 obtained just the complement,
and was, of course, duly and constitutionally elected
President of the United States.

So soon as this result had been officially made
known, there was heard some slight demonstration of
applause in one of the galleries. McDuffie, a member
from South 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 galleries be instantly cleared. This
motion, and 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 which filled the hall. It
seemed to them incredible that such an order at such a
time could be carried out, and that, too, by an invisible
10*

226 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

force. But their surprise was lulled, 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 all skepti-
cism, if any had really been entertained, as to the bind-
ing influence of law in the absence of physical force,
must instantly have vanished, when, in a few moments,
those spacious seats, which were so recently teeming
with conscious, anxious spectators, presented nothing
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
filled 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, notwithstanding
that many had anticipated that a struggle similar to
that of 1801 was about to occur again.

On the evening of the same day, the drawing-rooms
of the Presidential mansion were thrown open, and ah1
Washington flocked to witness the scene. The gather-
ing was brilliant beyond parallel 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 morning's contest from the
vanquished. Adams was there, but the same frigid
and callous 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 stern Jesuitism, dwelt
within a bosom to all appearance so impervious and
phlegmatic. The polished amenity and winning suavity
of Jackson shone in marked contrast with the less en-
gaging manner of his successful rival. There was not

WILLIAM H. CEAWFORD. 227

the slightest symptom, of even a lurking disappointment
observable in his mild, dignified deportment. He
shook hands with and congratulated Adams with a cor-
diality that seemed to defy scrutiny or question. No
one could have ventured to predict that the frank and
friendly courtesies of that evening would so soon be ex-
changed for a personal warfare, vindictive beyond what
has ever occurred in the history of the republic. Yet
no one will now question but that Jackson's behavior
on that occasion was forced and insincere, and that his
bosom was even then burning with wrath and the de-
sire of vengeance. How these were afterwards wreaked
against both Adams and Clay, history has told with a
particularity of detail more truthful than welcome.

Crawford was not present ; disposition and tastes
would have withheld him from going, even had his
state of health allowed. Besides, the result of the
morning's contest had both astonished and disappointed
him. He had never, perhaps, shared the sanguineness
of his friends, 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 of the 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 ultimate of their party repaired
to Crawford'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. CRAWFORD.

where Crawford was calmly reclining in his easy chair,
while one of his family read to him from a newspaper.
Macon saluted him, and made known the result with
delicacy, though with ill-concealed feeling. The invalid
statesman gave a look of profound surprise, and re-
mained silent and pensive for many minutes, evidently
schooling his mind to a becoming tolerance of the event
which had for ever thwarted his 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 rallied his friend Cobb, whose excess of
feeling had forbidden him to see Crawford until the
shock had passed — for he knew that 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 hi both the
adverse political factions, but more especially against
those of the successful party, as being more immediately
responsible for the crushing overthrow of their own be-
loved candidate. Crawford himself refrained from giv-
ing utterance to the least exceptionable sentiment, and
behaved, during the remainder of his stay in Washing-
ton, with a mildness and an urbanity befitting one of
his exalted station, who had just staked and lost his
political 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 four days after the contest
had been decided in the House.

" The Presidential 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 burst, and straight dis-
pelled. Every thing here is silent. The victors have no cause to
rejoice. There was not a single window lighted on the occasion. A

WILLIAM H. CBAWFOKD. 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 the old man himself
submitted without a change of countenance. Mr. Crawford's friends
nor himself changed not their looks. They command universal re-
gpect. Adams has 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 with 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 instructive page of history, and
may be easily traced to an intimate connection with
the party politics of the country from that day to the
present. They served to form the tempest which suc-
ceeded to the calm of the preceding eight years. The
absence of all principles from the contest, gave to it
peculiar virulence and acrimony, and made defeat to
be far more keenly felt. It caused a general prevalence
of the belief, that the cessation of party strifes, based
upon honest differences of opinion on the fundamental
theories of the government, was rather injurious and
hazardous than beneficial to the political safety of the
republic. Hitherto, since the day of Washington, on
whom even his opponents bestowed their suffrages, the
conflicts of the political world had turned on substan-
tial and great principles. From 1824 to 1848, compe-
tition has turned principally 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 his advent, at such a

230 WILLIAM H. CBAWFOBI).

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 ; while all must
admit that, in the eye of the world, his administration
gave a character and tone to the American name which
the lapse of many future generations will not alter or
obliterate. His passions and his pride were alike un-
regulated, and the pernicious and corrupting principle
of favoritism was a prominent element of his nature.
He gave out to his friends to expect from him every
thing in the way of patronage, and warned his oppo-
nents to expect nothing. He very seldom showed
quarter in battle, never in the political world after his
accession to the Presidency. These strong passions
came to be mutual and reciprocal as between the lead-
ers and followers of both parties ; and they increased
in intensity until, at last, the poh'tics of the country
was resolved into personal idolatry, a sort of man-wor-
ship on both sides. The highest public interests were
subordinate considerations, and the support of a favor-
ite chieftain became the primary object in the political
struggles which followed. It will be allowed by all,
we think, that this state of things was most inauspicious
to a regular and constitutional operation of the govern-
ment, and to a wise and stable policy in any branch of
public interest or economy. True it is that the nation
has prospered in every branch of industry, and our ter-
ritorial limits have been vastly increased within the last
twenty years, though we doubt whether this last will
eventuate in good or evil to the public interests. For
nearly the whole period intervening since Jackson's
election, the Democratic party has held the reins of
government, and partiality or ignorance of political
history might beget an inference in favor of Democratic

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 231

policy, at first sight, in view of the increased national
importance during its sway. Nothing, however, could
be more fallacious. No government ever withstood
such violent assaults on its integrity and strength as
this government has withstood, during the period of
Democratic ascendency, against the wild spirit and
radical tendencies of Democracy. Its domestic peace
has been twice seriously threatened in consequence ;
and the government owes its rescue, on both occasions,
mainly to the conservative influence of the Whig party.
The commercial and mercantile interests of the country
were visited with a blow that had well nigh disabled
them for ever. Their resuscitation has been brought
about by a resort to Whig measures. In fact, the
Whigs have been routed and overthrown only because
the Democrats have adopted and acted on their princi-
ples, while repudiating their name. The only Whig
measure which has gone down 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 cardinal principles of the Whig
party have been permanently impressed on the country
by Democratic men : viz., those of protection to na-
tional industry, and a moderate system of internal in:
provements.

Early in the spring following, 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. Political life had no longer any
charms for his ambition, and his whole family seemed
to rejoice that its idolized head was at last cut loose,
even though abruptly and mortifyingly, from the re-
straints and the miseries of a public career. The state
of Crawford's health was too feeble and precarious to
withstand the rapidity and discomforts of a public con-

232 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

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 friend, Mr.
Cobb, whose devotion to the fallen statesman was never
bounded by the measure of prosperity or success, but
clung faithfully in the hour of misfortune and failure.
His aspirations for political greatness seem to have ex-
pired with the close of the day which had witnessed
Crawford's final overthrow for the presidency: it was
but little more than two years afterwards that he threw
up his commission as senator, the victim of severe do-
mestic afflictions ; which, added to his keen mortifica-
tion at Crawford's defeat, fixed his determination to
leave the theatre of public life.

The people of Georgia met Crawford at every
county-town through which he passed on his return,
with all the evidences of affection and respect. A few
miles from Lexington, the court-house site of his 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 his home their illustrious 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 overthrown by
the nation, they formed in procession, and conducted
him to the town 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 called him into political life.
They viewed the friend of their youth with mingled
feelings of curiosity, veneration, and sorrow ; many

WILLIAM H. CKAWFOKD. 233

years had passed since he had been in Georgia ; a great
many of those present knew him only by report. Their
fathers had told them of his greatness, and had encour-
aged their youthful exertions by pointing his career to
them as a proud example of industry and application.
But he was not now the Crawford of his prime ; dis-
ease had robbed him of that fine appearance and ma-
jestic carriage which had so impressed all who knew
him in the zenith of his career. The commanding in-
tellect which had won the reverence of a nation no
longer shone with original splendor ; he was, in fact,
the mere shadow or wreck of what he ha4 been. Some
who went in with beaming eyes came away saddened
and downcast, when they called to mind the vast dif-
ference between the Crawford of 1812 and the Craw-
ford of 1825. All had heard of his 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 vigor had been seriously
assaulted. Those now living who met Crawford on
that occasion, mention the interview as being one of
the most melancholy of their lives.

Three miles distant from Lexington was Wood-
lawn, Crawford's private residence ; this was now his
next and last stage ; and the family entered within its
grounds with feelings more akin to those of exiles 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, peculiarly
rural spot, unadorned with costly or imposing edifices,
and boasts of no artificial embellishments of taste;
every thing around partakes of the simplicity and un-

234 WILLIAM H. CBAWFOED.

ostentatious habits of its illustrious owner. It was
fronted with a magnificent forest of oaks, through
which the mansion was approached from the main
road, along a romantic and winding avenue, just wide
enough for vehicles to pass with convenience. 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 hill
and meadow ; around and through these meandered a
clear little brook, which found its source in a delight-
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 his elder
children alone, and smiled in the luxuriance and gayety
of its numerous flower-beds. A rich carpet of blue
grass covered the lawn in front ; and here, of a calm
summer evening, beneath the shade of a venerable oak,
might be seen frequently gathered the entire family,
the retired statesman himself being always in the midst,
and ever the happiest and liveliest of the group. The
memories of the past, laden alike with greatness and
with gloom, seemed now to have faded to mere secon-
dary and subordinate importance. The quiet joys of
domestic life, unmixed with aught that could mar their
loveliness, spread content through the familiar circle,
and enlivened 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 political 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 his enfeebled health, once again in professional life,

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 235

with the hope of restoring his pecuniary aflairs. His
sons were yet under age ; and it was not until 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 and confidential friend, whose delicate
hand had drawn or arranged many of his most import-
ant official papers during the progress of his malady,
and whose qualities of heart and of mind distinguished
her as well in the fashionable as in the political and
social circles which centred at her father's residence in
Washington. While yet he was determining the mode
of his return to professional life, it so happened, how-
ever, that the bench of the circuit in which he lived
was made vacant by the death of its incumbent, the
celebrated cynic and wit, James Dooley. Governor
Troup immediately appointed Crawford to fill the va-
cancy, and this timely compliment secured for him at
once an honorable official station, and an annual salary
of three thousand dollars. He was elected to the same
office, the year following, without opposition ; but, as a
singular and striking illustration of the instability of
political fame, when the subject of his 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 ability, and of
scarcely second-rate standing as a lawyer, and a man
of pre-eminent talents and position, who had filled the
enlightened world with his reputation.

We must now turn reluctantly from these pictures
of domestic felicity and quiet professional duties, and,
as a candid and impartial reviewer, give our serious
and close attention to a subject far different in 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 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

who had been so long associated with the strifes, the
struggles, and the malignities of the political arena,
could not be expected or suffered to close these con-
nections by retiring suddenly from their perplexities.
Others were still struggling whose interests had been
involved with his own, and who would not surrender
him to private life while a hope of their own promo-
tion, either by his influence or his instrumentality r,
glimmered in the political horizon.

The conflict for the presidency betwixt the friends
of the administration 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 chieftain. Most, if not
all, of the old Crawford party had taken sides in the
same cause ; and the combined forces of all these an-
cient and still unreconciled foes were turned into a
common crusade against the coalition 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 Hamilton of South Carolina, formed the sole " elec-
tioneering staple " of the Jackson party. The contest
was one of desperation on the part of the coalition
which held the reins of government ; Clay mingled
personally in the strife, and struggled with a gallantry
that has never been equalled in the history of partisan
warfare. He met his accusers with a proud defiance,
and went even to the headquarters of one of the oppos-
ing factions to gather testimony in his favor. He ob-
tained from Crawford the letter to which allusion has
been already made, and published it in Washington.
The effect was universal surprise and consternation in

WILLIAM H. CEAWFOED. 237

the hostile camp. This letter showed that Crawford
did not share the general belief of the party with which
his friends 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 ill-will to Clay ; if he 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 if to afford but the melancholy
evidence of decayed faculties by exhibiting the most
remarkable of inconsistencies, a few months later we
find Crawford busily corresponding to secure the elec-
tion of Jackson over Adams in 1828. His letter to
Clay, approving the choice of the latter in preferring
Adams to Jackson in 1825, is dated in February of
1827. In the April following he authorized his opin-
ions in favor of Jackson's pretensions, as he declares in
a letter to one Alfred Balch. This letter, first made
public in the great quarrel between Calhoun, Crawford,
and Jackson, bears date in December of the same year ;
in which, while decidedly advocating the claims of
Jackson, he denounces Calhoun as being inimical to
the General, and urges that his name on the Jackson
ticket will create difficulty in the State of Georgia.
His dislike of Calhoun outweighed his preference for
Jackson ; and as he could not, without separating from
his friends, support Adams, this fact had well nigh
fixed him in a state of neutrality, so fearful was he that
Jackson's election " might benefit Calhoun." He even
wished to stipulate with Jackson that such benefit
should not follow on his 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. CRAWFORD.

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 Crawford's animosity. He
was as little prone to forgiveness as Jackson himself,
where his dislikes had taken firm root; he believed
that Calhoun was an unreliable and a deceitful man,
and, being now favorable to Jackson's election himself,
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 allowed 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 feeling
which craves company in disappointment. Crawford
no longer aspired to office, and thought as little 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
Crawford with this memorable quarrel between the
two first officers of government, is too well known, 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 with the common impressions in regard
to his conduct, we shall proceed candidly to set forth
the reasons which have induced such conclusions.

Crawford's opposition to Calhoun was deep-rooted
and interminable ; and to effect his defeat he began,
early in the fall and during the winter of 1827, to cor-

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 239

respond extensively with his friends in the Western
States, denouncing the candidate for Vice President as
unworthy of the support of Jackson's friends. Among
these letters was one written to Alfred Balch, of Nash-
ville, in which, after acknowledging 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 life, but says, nevertheless, that he had
already authorized Van Buren and Cambreleng, who
had 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 follows a series of accu-
sations against Calhoun, fixing upon him the charges
of duplicity, inconsistency, and enmity to Jackson.
The letter, on the whole, though eminently illustrative
of the candor and honesty which had ever characterized
Crawford's intercourse with his fellows, is a wretched
and most incoherent specimen of composition, showing
much more of determined prejudice than of care or taste.
It bears not the slightest resemblance to the finished
compositions which had emanated from its author in the
days of his prime ; his speeches in the Senate, his re-
ports as Secretary of War and of the Treasury, and his
diplomatic papers while Minister to France. It is so
awkwardly expressed in some parts, and the commix-
ture of personal pronouns so incongruously strung to-
gether, as to require every auxiliary of emphasis, pa-
renthesis, and all kindred resorts, to point and explain
his meaning. True, there are to be found unmistakable
traces of the author's mind, though not the mind of
1811 ; the polished style and classic elegance which dis-
tinguished the productions of his zenith are, however,

240 WILLIAM H. CKAWFOKD.

nowhere to be discerned in this series of letters. This
fact, of itself, must be held to demonstrate what has
been already assumed in this review, that the intellect
of Crawford had been seriously impaired by the attack
with which he was visited in 1824.

This and other letters were shown to Jackson, but
they produced no visible change in his feelings for Cal-
houn, nor did they, as expected and hoped, 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 colleges for President and Vice President yet
held the final determination. These have always been
held with peculiar sacredness in our system of govern-
ment : the electors are the trustees of the high 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 fidelity with which this trust is
thus discharged, controls in a great measure the opera-
tion of our governmental system. Still obstinately bent
on effecting the political ruin of one he held to be so
unworthy of confidence as Calhoun, Crawford did not
now hesitate even to strike at him through the electoral
colleges ; he wrote certainly to two of his friends, and
urged them " to use their influence " to secure his ene-
my's defeat in the colleges, when they should respect-
ively convene. We are obliged to say, that while this,
strictly speaking, was a legal, and perhaps an honest
course of political opposition, it was not fair or unex-
ceptionable. The colleges are not specifically intrusted,
but the received opinion is, that they are bound to
carry out the popular preference as evidenced by a
majority of the votes cast in the respective States which
they represent. Every body knows that these votes
are cast with reference to the known views of the di£

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 24 X

*

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 college contrary to the evidences of popular
preference. Jackson and Calhoun were recognized as
running on the same ticket in the State of Tennessee,
the first for President, and the last for Vice President
of the United States. This 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 his friend Campbell, one of the
successful Presidential electors, to endeavor to cut off
Calhoun from the vote of Tennessee as Vice President.
Nothing could be more hurtful to the integrity of our
political system than to adopt his course on this occa-
sion as a legitimate precedent. That will be the sad-
dest day in the history of this republic, when an at-
tempt to countervail and nullify the popular decisions
shall succeed through the medium of extraneous influ-
ences brought to bear upon the electoral colleges.
There is not a more delicate feature belonging to the
Federal Constitution than the mode of making a Presi-
dent, and its very delicacy argues its wisdom. The
trust is one entirely of honor, and dreadful is the re-
sponsibility of accounting to the people for the forfeit-
ure of such confidence; the very absence of all pre-
scribed safeguards to enforce compliance with their
decision, makes dereliction the more terrible to be en-
countered. If there was a legal penalty involved, a
11

242 WILLIAM H. CRAWFOKD.

•

legal and full defence would be necessarily allowed.
Both are precluded, and the safety of our government
lies in the strict observance of the sacred obligation im-
posed on the electoral colleges.

The fact that Crawford wrote letters both to Gen-
eral Campbell 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 will say, not even his fiercest enemies ; but that
his advice involved mischief, 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 of the Constitution or the law was
intended, and where the aim was to defeat a man whom
he honestly thought to be unprincipled and dangerous.

This project failed signally. Calhoun went into the
office of Vice President by a triumphant majority, was
considered first in the confidence of the President, and
was generally regarded as the most prominent aspirant
for the succession. Together, he and Jackson were duly
installed on the fourth day of March, 1829. Every thing
went on prosperously and swimmingly with the party in
power ; the administration at once attained to a popu-
larity that seems, at this distance of time, to have been
nearer akin to blind idolatry than rational approbation.
The country went mad with admiration of Jackson, and
his favorites and ministers were so far lifted along on
this scale of popularity as to be thought incapable of
doing wrong ; and among these, Calhoun stood con-
fessedly highest. Having failed to effect his overthrow,
Crawford had now retired from the contest, apparently
reconciled to the inevitable course of events. But new

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 243

actors now suddenly appear on the stage. A conspira-
cy— for it can be called by no other name, in our judg-
ment— was hatched and perpetrated, of which Crawford
was made the unconscious instrument, of which 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 in 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, which aimed at nothing short of the disgrace
of one alike 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 in 1818.

On a sudden, the nation was astounded with the
news that an irreconcilable feud had sprung up between
the President and Vice President. This was in the
spring of 1830, but little more than twelve months
since the inauguration. A copy of a letter had been
placed in Jackson's hands, which excited on the instant
the whole ferocity of his nature, and made him the
mortal foe of Calhoun. This letter made known that,
at a meeting of Monroe's Cabinet in the summer of
1818, called to deliberate on the events of the Seminole
war, Calhoun had distinctly proposed that the com-
manding general, Jackson, " should be reprehended in
some form, or punished in some form," for alleged un-
authorized and illegal conduct in the prosecution of
said war. The writer of this letter was "William H.
Crawford, and it was directed to John Forsyth, one of
the Senators from the State of Georgia. How or for

244 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

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 all the
facts, doubts that the design was to effect a personal
breach between Jackson and Calhoun, and thereby to
destroy the political consequence of the latter. Craw-
ford had authorized Forsyth to show his letter to Cal-
houn ; this 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 him, but it was not a complete copy ; impor-
tant and significant names were left in blank, which the
author would have scorned to conceal. He was play-
ing, if not a magnanimous, at least an open game.
Crawford 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 failing 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
wholly unable to find an excuse for Forsyth, much less
for the contrivers of the plot ; we think that Forsyth
was bound to show the original letter of Crawford to
Calhoun, 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 will
doubt that such was intended. But there is a twofold
reason why Crawford must have desired and why he
directed that the letter should be shown to Calhoun in
the original. In the first place, it was due to candor
and fairness of dealing ; and in the next place, Crawford
evidently desired that his enemy might have the chance
of attempting a correction, if he had inadvertently

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD. 245

erred in the statement of facts. Had his directions
been followed, the main correspondence would then
have occurred between himself and Calhoun, instead of
between Calhoun and Jackson. Besides, in such event,
much injury might have been averted from Calhoun, as
he would then have possessed the full means of unravel-
ling the plot — the suppressed names in the copy being
undoubtedly the index. Much mortification might also
have been spared to Crawford. After the correspond-
ence had been opened with Jackson, in consequence of
Forsyth's omission to obey his friend's injunction, Cal-
houn peremptorily and quite haughtily refused to re-
cognize Crawford as a principal in the controversy, re-
turned his letters with a most insulting reply, and
declined all correspondence except through the Presi-
dent. We must say that, on the whole, we think For-
syth occupied quite a remarkable, not to say unenviable
position in connection with this affair ; and we are at a
loss to reconcile Calhoun's ready admission that he did
not allude to Forsyth as being concerned in the efforts
which were being made to cause a rupture between
Jackson and himself. No matter what may have been
Forsyth's motives (and these we shall not impeach), it
is clear that the breach was effected through his imme-
diate instrumentality. At the request of one Hamilton,
of New York, a friend and political ally of Van Buren,
Forsyth writes to Crawford, asking a statement of the
Cabinet transactions of 1818, relative to Jackson's con-
duct in the Seminole war. Hamilton 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 his by the Marshal of Columbia Dis-
trict. This certainly looks quite mysterious, especially
in view of Hamilton's connections. Who was the friend
that had thus informed Jackson of the Marshal's state-

246 WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

ment, and of Hamilton's knowledge of the same fact :
viz., that Calhoun had moved to punish Jackson at the
Cabinet meeting alluded 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 shall not attempt to confirm or
to confute ; but it is clear that Forsyth's interference
at this period of the plot directly caused the rupture
between the President and Vice President ; and his
omission to comply with Crawford's directions to show
the letter to Calhoun, would seem to imply, on his part,
at least a very questionable indifference 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 far as his-
tory is concerned. The first of these was in relation to
a letter from Jackson to President Monroe, dated pre-
vious to the invasion of the Spanish territories, which
Crawford asserts to have been produced at the Cabinet
meeting in question. This Calhoun denies positively,
and brings to his aid, as proof of the denial, a long ar-
ray of letters from various heads of departments, all of
whom profess to recollect nothing about such a letter
as Crawford had designated. The last was the alleged
change of opinion on Crawford'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 shall not attempt to pass
judgment on so delicate a point ; we may believe that
Crawford was liable 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. CBAWFOKD. 247

ever guilty of deliberate falsehood. We have ever
held an equally high estimate of Calhoun's integrity,
and thus feel restrained from dwelling further upon so
unpleasant a matter. In long years after, when the
immediate families and friends of each party shall have
been gathered to their fathers, and when feelings in-
duced by the controversy shall no longer glow within
living bosoms, then the impartial reviewer may enter
with propriety on the discussion, and thus eviscerate
the truth of history.

The quarrel between Calhoun and Jackson was per-
manent and irreconcilable, and it was most probably
intended by those who had fomented it, that no recon-
ciliation should take place. The object was evidently
much more allied with motives of political advancement
and degradation, than with private enmities and prefer-
ences. Calhoun was driven from power, and his national
popularity sank beneath the irresistible fiat of his more
admired though less gifted rival. He never afterwards
regained his former hold on the affections and confi-
dence of the American people, and it is seriously denied
by his friends that he ever made any attempt which
looked to such object. He quitted the post of Vice
President, and obeyed the voice of his beloved State,
which had called him to the United States Senate, to
there expound and advocate, with his great powers of
mind and of debate, the unfortunate doctrine of nullifi-
cation. He devoted the balance of his life to the pro-
mulgation and defence of this and kindred doctrines,
and became wholly sectionalized in feeling and in con-
duct, although the whole country acknowledged, to his
dying day, the powerful influence of that splendid, com-
manding intellect, which had made him a giant of his
time, and had sustained him in all his parliamentary con-
flicts with the combined forces of our greatest statesmen.

MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND.*

SINCE the days when the celebrated novels of Sir
Walter Scott were issued from the Edinburgh press,
and heralded forth to the eager and admiring world as
productions from, the magic pen of the unknown " Au-
thor of Waverley," no work has created such high ex-
pectations or been read with such lively 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 view to solid im-
provement. This species of furor 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 fatal in the end
and consequences, to the permanent popularity and
esteem of a grave history — and more especially of a
history of England. The impressions of fiction are
pleasing, light, 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, will
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 : Qarper and Brothers.

MACAULAT'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 249

of style, sparkling sentences, entertaining and brilliant
episodes, occasional and tasteful metaphors, will do
well in romance, and it is mainly in romance that such
things are looked for by the refined lovers of literature.
In a work of history these all, 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 lofly place among historians who will
be read in after ages as reliable for authority and refer-
ence, as well as for useful instruction. We shall be
much deceived if the brilliant and gifted author of the
work now before us, does not experience the truth of
the above remarks before many years will have passed.
We are much mistaken if Mr. Macaulay does not soon
find that his hopes of greatest fame must rather be re-
posed on those splendid Selections and Miscellanies,
recently collected and published from among his nu-
merous contributions to the Edinburgh Review, than
upon this work of greater labor and higher expecta-
tions. The first may challenge not admiration only,
but the severest ami harshest scrutiny 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 fertility
and chasteness of imagination. Besides all this, the
Miscellanies are replete with sound lessons of instruc-
tion in ethics, the sciences, and politics. They abound
with nice and elaborate iUustrations of human character
in all its features, and of human nature in ah1 its as-
pects. Ah1 of this description of writing that we find
in his history, we shah1 find previously and better done
in his Miscellanies. Nor is Mr. Macaulay at all singular
in the notion, if, indeed, he has chosen to rest his repu-
tation on the work which has cost him most time and
11*

250 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

labor, in preference to what he doubtless deems his
lighter productions. Both Petrarch and Boccaccio
were engaged for years in writing ponderous volumes
of Latin on which to repose their fame, and through
the medium of which they had fondly expected to be
handed down to a remote posterity. Yet these works
of labor are scarcely known, never or very rarely read,
and are passing from all connection or association with
their names ; whilst the Sonnets of the first, and the
enchanting Decameron of the last, written by both at
intervals 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. Machiavelli labored arduously and long at
his history of Florence, a work which embodies vast
learning and which contains many reflections that afford
a clue to his real political sentiments and governmental
notions, and by which he doubtless hoped to live in the
memory of after generations. Yet it wras in the gloom
and sad seclusion of a prison that he produced that
singular little volume, — singular fcoth for its power of
thought and atrocity %of sentiment, — which has con-
signed him 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 unparalleled career, of discarding his grandest pro-
ductions as a basis on which to rest his permanent
fame, and even boasted at the well known " 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 into minority and secondary esti-
mation. This work, thus singularly announced, was
his life of Napoleon Bonaparte. Yet the contrary, as

MACAULAY'S HISTORY 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
generally regarded as imperfect in point of main facts,
and as every way unworthy of its illustrious author ;
while the novels, — read now in every class of society
with the same interest and enthusiasm as when, years
ago, they flew from the press like lightning, 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 indeed, like
them, he has been weak enough to suppose that the
volumes before us, bearing though they do, the marks
of untiring labor and diligent research, will be hailed
by a succeeding generation in preference to his Miscel-
lanies, as the enduring monument of his fame.

But, apart from considerations of this 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 avidity.
So popular a miscellaneous writer has surely not ap-
peared in the character of a historian 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 overshadowing, that we feel it to be an act of pre*
sumption and temerity to offer even the least disparag-
ing criticism. And if it be true that high expectation
is almost always followed 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 HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

as one of the most brilliant and entertaining histories
we ever read, or expect ever to read. True, it con-
tains little that is new in point of general facts — little
that could not be learned from Hume, or Fox, or Bur-
nett. But the minutiae of those facts are spread out
with taste, amplified, and explained in a manner that
must interest even the most fastidious. The concise
and discriminative review of English history, previous
to the epoch on which he intends finally and principally
to treat ; the learned and methodical disquisitions on
English Church History, the nice and finely drawn de-
lineations of party differences in the different ages ; the
bold portraitures of monarchs and statesmen and all
descriptions of distinguished persons, either in politics
or ecclesiastical history; the power and splendor of
diction, the brilliancy of description, the flashes of with-
ering sarcasm, the beautiful episodes, the occasional
lovely pictures of domestic life, of love and of death
scenes full of agreeable pathos and tender associations,
— all these, and much else that might be justly added,
form a whole of vivid and absorbing interest that could
spring only from a mind of extraordinary vigor and
versatility. But it is not like a history from the aus-
tere pen of Hallam, profoundly collated, tersely con-
densed, meditative, and perspicacious; bringing mat-
ters to the test of severe scrutiny rather than of super-
ficial or critical review. It does not impress with the
force of the smooth, well-arranged, and methodical
narrative of Robertson. We do not find in its pages
the analysis, the profound philosophy, 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 booksellers
as by his own great literary reputation, shall give place

MACAULAY'S HISTOBY OP ENGLAND. 253

to the calm and sober reflux of uncaptivated judgment,
to sit unchallenged by the side of great historians.
That time will surely come, and it is not, we incline to
think, very distant. He who has so often wielded
against other aspirants to a like high place the fierce
weapons of criticism, must not think to be allowed to
pass unassailed and unscrutinized.

Thus far, indeed, our author has swept critics and
fault-finders from before him, and the public has sus-
tained him. The only prominent critic who has inked
his pen for the task of review was so bitterly and un-
qualifiedly assaulted by editors and journalists, so bul-
lied by Quixotic litterateurs, and so worried by personal
attacks, that his effort may be said to have increased
rather than diminished the popularity of the work.
There were, however, two all-sufficient reasons why the
merits of that criticism were disregarded. In the first
place, it was put forth at an ill-chosen time. The whole
literary world was in a blaze of excitement and silly
enthusiasm. Had the excitement been of a rational
character, or the enthusiasm been kindled by less furi-
ous elements, had the longings of rabid curiosity been
in the least degree sated, the criticism might have
been received and treated with more leniency. But a
stronger reason against its favorable reception existed.
It was known that it was from the pen of one hostile to
Mr. Macaulay, and who owed him a grudge. This, of
course, determined its fate. But the circumstances of
the case are different now. The excitement and enthu-
siasm are fast subsiding. It may not, therefore, be
deemed presumptuous to scan the merits and demerits
of this great work, impartially and fairly.

The introductory chapter of this history is written
after the true style of its author. No one who has
read his Miscellanies could fail to tell that both must

254 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

be from^the same gifted pen. It abounds with excel-
lent ideas on the nature and consequences of early his-
torical events, imparting at once useful information and
suggesting whole trams of deep and improving reflec-
tion. Especially were we pleased with the author's
suggestions concerning the ancient pilgrimages, the
crusades, abbeys, and the spiritual supremacy arrogated
by the Pope in the dark ages. From all these the au-
thor very clearly and justly deduces important and
beneficial results on society and on governments. The
pilgrimages 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 of the benefits to be derived from na-
tional combinations, or coalitions between different
powers in a common cause. " It was better," as the
author says, " that Christian nations should be roused
and united for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, than
that they should, one by one, be overwhelmed by the
Mohammedan power." It is certain, we believe, that a
superstitious zeal and a fanatical spirit saved the whole
of Europe, 011 this occasion, from the corrosive influ-
ences and intellectual darkness of Islamism. Political
considerations merely, on the rough diplomacy of that
early age, could never have brought about those im-
mense and formidable combinations which diverted the
arms of Saladin from conquests and invasions, and
drove him to defend his own soil. It is equally certain
that if priestcraft had not in that age been predominant,
and literature nursed and cultivated in quiet cloisters,
the world would not yet have witnessed the lapse of
the dark ages. The sombre shadows would still have
rested over mankind, and the lore of the early ages
been unrescued from the womb of the past. The spiri-
tual supremacy of the Pope was a species of mild patri-

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 255

archal dominion which formed a strong bond of union
between the nations of Christendom. A common code
of international or public law — a fraternal tie — an en-
larged benevolence, were among the happy conse-
quences of this supremacy, generally denounced as
arrogant and unrighteous in 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-
collection that he and his vanquished foe were all mem-
bers of one great federation." It is to the reception of
the Anglo-Saxons into this religious federation, and to
the consequent inter-communication between the Island-
ers and Italians, that Mr. Macaulay traces the first
dawn of a permanent improvement in the civilization
and literature of the English people.

A condensed and spirited history of the Norman
character and conquest follows 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
which has been generally represented by English histo-
rians as disastrous and disgraceful, is here demonstrated
by the author as having been the basis of all the pros-
perity and glory of England. This event was the ex-
pulsion of the English monarch from Normandy by
Philip Augustus of France. The Norman barons and
nobles were now forced, from motives of interest, 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 followed the memorable scenes at Runymede
where the Magna Charta was extorted; Here, says
Mr. Macaulay, commences the history of the English
nation. Mr. Hallam also, in the first part of his " Con-

256 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OP ENGLAND.

stitutional History," appended to his Middle Ages,
speaks of this event as having been the first effort to-
wards a legal government. Yet the same author, in a
previous chapter, ascribes the date of many of the lead-
ing and valued features of the English Constitution to
a period earlier than the reign of Alfred the Great ;
and in 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 especially the right of trial by jury and the num-
ber of jurors, were in existence 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 history, 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 fairly traced to a period of time much earlier than
the conquest. The Great Charter of liberty — the es-
tablishment of the House of Commons — the distribution
of civil rights to all classes of freemen — the preservation
of national independence under the ancient line of sov-
ereigns, which some were rashly anxious to exchange
for the dominion of France — the definition and limita-
tion of the king's prerogative ; all these, however, date
their tangible origin and adoption from this period;
and, in this sense, English history proper may also date
its beginning from the same era.

At page 46 (Harper's edition), after asserting that
it is doubtful whether England owes more to the Ro-
man Catholic religion 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 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 257

with a good deal of that party asperity and bias which
political feeling might very naturally engender in the
bosom of a Whig historian when treating of this epoch.
No one who reads these pages can fail to discern, at a
glance, the political and religious sentiments of the dis-
tinguished historian. It is perhaps to be somewhat
regretted that the author, in this instance, had not
drawn a more salutary and substantial lesson from a
complaint which he bitterly utters on a previous page ;
viz., "the drawback," which English history has re-
ceived from being " poisoned with party strifes." The
author, in the true and bigoted Presbyterian spirit,
seeks to rob the church of all claims to that spiritual,
apostolic origin which eminent and erudite divines have
long labored to demonstrate as being her due. With
a disputatious reference to some mere petty differences
between her first established clergy, Mr. Macaulay ab-
ruptly narrows down and attributes the origin of the
church to a motive .of political necessity alone — a politi-
cal "compromise" between conflicting Protestants.
He will find many, we imagine, to disagree with him on
these points. It is an attack against the whole plan of
spiritual economy inculcated and held by her ablest
ministers. If Mr. Macaulay's premise and reasoning be
true, a fatal blow is given to the high pretensions of
the church. Episcopalians believe, and labor to prove,
that the church proper existed in England long prior
to the date of Henry VHL's apostasy, and its subse-
quent permanent recognition and establishment under
Elizabeth. It would be as well, they would contend, for
Mr. Macaulay to assert that Christianity itself had no
tangible or respectable existence until its adoption and
legal establishment by the great Constantine ; for what
is most unquestionably true, until that period the Chris-
tian religion was held to be the lowest, most contempti-

258 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

ble, and plebeian form of religion then practised in the
world, and scarcely more than dared to show its face
for fear of utter and helpless annihilation. The insig-
nificance and political debasement of the early Anglican
zealots, the Lollards and others who preceded them,
are not to be used as an argument adverse to their
holy, apostolic calling, if we believe with eminent di-
vines of the present day. English bishops, say they,
were known to have sat in the Council of Nice, a coun-
cil which was held long anterior to the date of Augus-
tin's visit to the British Islands. They persuade us
that the flame of the Church was burning stealthily but
steadily through long ages of persecution, until at last,
by a concurrence of great events, divinely directed, it
shot to its zenith amid the tempests of the Reforma-
tion. Right or wrong, therefore, the opinions and ar-
guments of learned and accomplished prelates clash
directly and fundamentally with those advanced by this
great historian. In his character of reviewer, Mr. Ma-
caulay had the full 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 views
carried into an elaborate historical work, intended to
be used as authority, and as a guide for opinion to
future generations, is quite a different matter ; and we
much question if Mr. Macaulay will meet with tacit
assent on the part of astute and proud divines of the
communion of the English 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 relative

MACAULAY'S HISTOKY OF ENGLAND. 259

estimate of character, whether to plant our deepest ab-
horrence on Cranmer, the hypocritical villain, or Jef-
freys, the open and shameless villain. Certain it is that
no previous writer of English history, with whose works
we are acquainted, has dealt half so harshly and severely
with this most esteemed of all Protestant martyrs who
expiated their faith in 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 well suppose, that, discarding all contem-
poraneous English authorities, Mr. Macaulay had as-
siduously drawn his character of the Archbishop from
the jaundiced picture left by that biassed Frenchman.
Even Hallam, who, when dissecting character, as our
author himself says in his elegant review of the " Con-
stitutional history," most generally draws on the "black
cap," deals with remarkable caution and kindness when
he comes to speak of Cranmer. He attributes his faults
more to the effect of circumstances than of intention,
though he insinuates that the Archbishop might have
avoided placing himself in situations where those cir-
cumstances were almost sure to occur. " If," says Mr.
Hallam in his Constitutional history, " casting away all
prejudice on either side, we weigh the character of
this prelate in an equal balance, he will appear far
indeed removed from the turpitude imputed to him by
his enemies, yet not entitled to extraordinary venera-
tion." This is a mild, and, as we incline to believe, a
just sentence. If Cranmer was entitled even to vener-
ation at all, he cannot have been considered so bad a
man by Mr. Hallam as he is represented to have been
by Bossuet, with whom Mr. Macaulay mainly agrees
in opinion. Mr. Hallam condemns, as all right-thinking
men must condemn, the execution, under Cranmer's
management, of the woman convicted of heresy, and

260 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

of a Dutchman who was found guilty of teaching Arian-
*sm. Yet these religious atrocities were the prevailing
sin and shame of the age, and may be ascribed, in 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 malignity on the
part of Cranmer.

A truly charitable and unbiassed mind will find
much in the melancholy scenes of Cranmer's closing
days to palliate, if not to justify his alleged errors and
weaknesses. He had been marked by Mary, and her
vindictive 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
equally notorious opposition to Mary's succession, his
exalted position in the Church, and his abhorrence of
papal supremacy, were all 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 view,
Cranmer, in the first place, was committed to the
Tower for treason, in September, 1553, a short time
after Mary's accession to the throne. In the month
following he was convicted of this crime for his share
in Lady Jane's proclamation. An inhuman 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 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 261

His first punishment was degradation at the hands of
one who was nearer akin, in his 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 visited and entertained by Catho-
lic dignitaries, was treated with marked courtesy and
hospitality by the queen's servants, was tempted by
every allurement of hope, was courted to his doom by
every seductive art. High expectations of preferment
were flatteringly 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
shown to him. Cranmer, overcome by a natural fond-
ness for life, and appalled by the prospect of the tor-
tures which awaited him, unwarily fell 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
mockingly laughed in his face, and were unable to con-
ceal their fiendish exultation. . Cranmer at once saw
through the plan, and divined his fate. But he re-
solved to thwart their unholy schemes, and to turn his
recent apostasy and his awful death to the benefit of
his beloved Church. When it was believed that he
was about to make a public confession of his conversion
to popery, and when the church to which he was car-
ried was filled with crowds of anxious and exultant
Catholics, Cranmer surprised his audience by solemnly
abjuring his recent recantation, by confessing humbly
his weakness, and by declaring his firm resolve to meet
death as a martyr to the Protestant religion. He was
immediately hurried to the flames, and died heroically.
This, surely, cannot be the man, allowing for all his
human and natural weaknesses of character, whom Mr.

262 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

Macaulay bitterly stigmatizes as " saintly in his profes-
sions, unscrupulous in his dealings, zealous'for nothing,
bold in speculation, a coward, and a time-server in ac-
tion," and as one every way qualified to bring about a
coalition of church and state, where religion was to be
sacrificed to policy ! This same man is eulogized by
David Hume, the most learned and accomplished of all
English historians, " as a man of merit ; as possessed of
learning and capacity, and adorned with candor, sin-
cerity, and beneficence, and all 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 quite as many facts, 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 survived a public avowal
of dishonor, the hardest test to which that virtue can
be exposed ; and if he once fatally failed in fortitude,
he, in his last moments, atoned for his failure by a
magnanimity equal to his transgression." The united
testimony of these distinguished and impartial histo-
rians, united on points which contravene materially
that of our author, though, doubtless, collated from
the same sources, should serve to qualify, to some
extent at least, in the reader's mind, the distorted and
uninviting portraiture of 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
history would seem fairly to warrant to characterize
him as base, crafty, hypocritical, and perfidious.

We come next to one of the most interesting di-
visions of the first chapter, and, indeed, of the whole
volume. It is ground on which Mr. Macaulay may

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 263

tre^d fearlessly, for he has elsewhere evinced that he is
thoroughly 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 English people." It
is truly delightful to travel along with the author
through this portion of his task. You see, at every
stage, the unmistakable impress of the great mind,
with whose thoughts you have grown familiar in the
Miscellanies. Every scene of the preliminary drama
of the rebellion, is brought vividly before the mind's
eye, and every part and feature of each scene, even to
the minutest details, 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 feeling that he has be-
come much better acquainted with the causes and
character of a contest which exercised such mighty
influence on the English Government. The dawn of
the coming strife — the contests between king and par-
liament, growing gradually fiercer as we turn each
page — the towering energy and unbridled ambition of
the one, often so mortifyingly humbled ; the mild and
adroit opposition of the last, untiring, undivertible,
proof alike against bullying and cajolery, and at last
strengthening into open and formidable resistance ; —
the rush and confusion of civil war ; — the impetuosity
of the gallant cavalier; — the calculating, irresistible
strategy, the cautious ambition, the vaulting aspira-
tions of Cromwell, never revealed till 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 which tells all who read that a
master's hand is guiding them through the mazes of a

264 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OP ENGLAND.

period in the world's history, where small minds 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 tune
that we fully admit the faults and crimes of Charles.
We can never be brought to believe 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 in all instances of this character, of no law at
all, on the person of their constitutional and legitimate
monarch. Yet we do not, by any means, subscribe to
the doctrine 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 which overtook his
hapless brother. One is justifiable and proper, and the
undoubted right of every free people ; the last is odi-
ous, unwarranted, and wholly inexcusable, in point of
justice and sound morality. It cannot be defended
even on the grounds of necessity, policy, or example.
The banishment or imprisonment of Charles would have
been sufficient security to the new government, as was
evidenced both in the case of Charles the Second, and
of James the Second ; and as the ofiice of king was
about to be abolished, it was needless on the score of
example.

Mr. Macaulay, however, in a most beautiful and
powerful passage, demonstrates the execution of Charles
to have been, if not a crime, at least that which Fouche
pronounced as worse than crime, a political blunder.
His public execution, his fortitude, his Christian meek-
ness and courage in view of death, his adroit protest

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 265

against the forms and authority of his condemnation,
his public appeal in favor of the ancient and venerated
laws of the realm, threw all advantages against his
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 exiled house, a reac-
tion which never ceased till the throne had again been
set up in all its old dignity."

The succeeding pages, descriptive mainly of the
Protectorate of Oliver, though written with great
power of argument, and perspicuity and splendor of
style, betray again the evident penchant of the learned
author to lay hold on every thing which may be wield-
ed, even through the august medium of history, in
favor of the principles and political tenets of that party
to which he is so prominently attached. The English
people may well be proud of the government of the
great Protector, but, to the eye of Mr. Macaulay, it
seems to afford peculiar charms. The praises which
he has taken care to " dole " (begging his pardon for
using a phraseology which we humbly think he has
fairly ridden down in these volumes) so sparingly out
to the monarchs and statesmen at whom he has been
previously glancing, ingeniously lavished on this cold-
hearted, unprincipled, though gifted usurper, with
showery profusion. Not that there is aught of elabo-
rated eulogy or fulsome panegyric. Every body ac-
quainted with his writings must know that Mr. Macau-
lay does not at all belong to this class of authors. He
possesses too much of taste and stern unbending inde-
pendence for 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 quali-
ties of the regicide in the high admiration which he evi-
12

266 MACATJLAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

dently feels for the lofty genius and bold character of
the Protector of England's proud Commonwealth. At
the same time he cannot refrain from an occasional tilt
with his favorite weapons of sarcastic, crushing ridicule
against the sanctimonious pretensions and drawling
hypocrisy of this arch politician and intriguer. Whilst
we hear much of the glory and greatness of the Pro-
tectorate— its formidable power — its prominent um-
pirage in 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 Mortality," 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 Parliament.

But it is very easy to perceive from a perusal of
this portion of the history, when taken in connection
with other productions from the same gifted pen, that
Mr. Macaulay is not only a Roundhead in sympathy
and political prejudices, but that, of all great men who
have ever stamped undying influence upon the world,
Cromwell occupies the first and highest place in his
estimation. Whether this exalted opinion of one so
generally hated by all readers of history, is induced by
an undisguised detestation of Charles and his party, or
by an excusable pride in the glory which Cromwell
threw around English character, or by community of
political and religious predilections, we shall not ven-
ture to say. Certain it is, however, that while our
author ranks him inferior to Caesar only in taste and
polite accomplishments, he places him far ahead of Na-
poleon in native strength of mind, and in all the car-

MACAFLAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 267

dinal qualities (invention only excepted) which form
the characters of truly great men. We do not find
this comparison in the pages which now lie open before
us ; but we find it in pages far more brilliantly written,
brilliant as these are, and where it is evident Mr. Ma-
caulay spent his principal force of thought and power
of composition. Indeed, the character of Cromwell is
far more forcibly drawn in the admirable review of
Hallam's Constitutional History by this author, than in
the more labored work of his English history." It is
from the review that we derive our opinion, mainly, of
the author's antipathies and predilections. Indeed, the
recollection of these previously expressed, and, doubt-
less, more candid sentiments, prepared us to examine
this portion of the history closely and cautiously. We
wished to guard against unwary temptations by a bril-
liant author, who might carry into a work of history
the bias of early and cherished prejudices, and the
influences of that Jesuitical acerbity of thought which
kindles so easily in the mind of a partisan reviewer.
We now find that we did not act unwisely. The same
course of thought, and the same one-sided, prepossessed
judgment which we easily discover in the reviewer, we
find existing in all 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 Cromwell of the review, so feelingly and
eloquently eulogized, is eminently the Cromwell of the
history. The only discernible shade of difference is,
that, in the last, the scope of the reflector through
which the reader looks, although one and the same in
both cases, is sensibly and prudently diminished.

We were not a little startled on finding that Mr.
Macaulay, by a kind of specious negative insinuation
rather than by direct assertion, attempts to persuade

268 MACATJLAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

his readers of a fact which we have never hesitated to
disbelieve. This is, that Cromwell at 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 inference that Cromwell, if he had
been left alone, would have desired to restore the Stu-
arts. The two passages from which we take these im-
pressions are the following : " Cromwell had to deter-
mine whether he would put to hazard the attachment
of his party, the attachment of his army, his own great-
ness, nay, his own life, in an attempt which would
probably have been vain, to save a Prince whom no
engagement could bind. With many struggles and
misgivings, and probably not without many prayers,
the decision was made — Charles was left to his fate." —
(p. 119.) Again, a few pages afterward, we meet with
the following in describing the dilemma in which Oliver
found himself placed after he had slain his sovereign :
" The course afterward taken by Monk was not open to
Cromwell. 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 will find it
difficult to persuade most of his readers that this crafty
usurper ever put up a sincere prayer after he had be-
gun his public career, or after the first faint sparks of
his lurking ambition had begun to kindle and burn.
Measuring the rise, and the stealthy, deeply-planned
progress of this amazing career by its still more amaz-
ing consequences, no one can fail to perceive that from
the very first outbreak of civil war, the designs of
Cromwell were directed to nothing less than supreme
power. His own mysterious and politic conduct on all

MACAUIAY'S HISTOKY OF ENGLAND. 269

important occasions, the assiduous court which he man-
aged always to pay to the army while training and
inuring it to the strictest discipline, his fierce and unre-
lenting mode of carrying on the war, together with the
concurrent opinions of all previous writers of English
history, leave this clearly to be deduced.

In the second place, it is quite discernible, we think,
that Mr. Macaulayt in his great zeal to throw every
palliative circumstance around the character of his
great favorite, has been led to adopt this opinion from
contemporaneous journals and memoirs of interested
witnesses, many of whom are referred to and quoted by
Mr. Hallam. Ministers, officers, and associates (who
mainly compose this class of writers), who survived
Oliver, and who lived after the Restoration, would be
very naturally inclined to interpolate every thing of
this character in their account of a period which was
abhorrent to the reigning family — and the friends of
the Protector had too long possession of the public
archives and documents, and were too wily 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 build up the character of Napoleon from mate-
rials of this description alone, and to discard those more
vigorous tests of deeds which the Saviour of mankind
himself inculcated as the true standard of judgment,
and to which selfish man must be brought if we would
ascertain his true nature — who of that generation could
question the patriotism or purity of a single act of his
public life ? We choose, therefore, to put aside all
evidence of this character in making up an opinion of
Cromwell, and to trust to it no further than it can be
legitimately reconciled to his deeds. By those deeds
and their intrinsic merits must we alone seek to meas-

270 MACAULAY'S HISTORY 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 Parliament, was no more done by Oliver to save
Charles's life or to restore the Stuart dynasty than was
the fiery charge of Napoleon at Arcola, or the disper-
sion of the French deputies at St. Cloud hazarded with
the view of restoring the Bourbons. Covetousness of
supreme power, ambition to rise on the ruins of govern-
ment, were the governing influence and chief motive
with both the stern Englishman and adroit Corsican.

The concluding pages of the first chapter abound
with the vigorous and spirited description characteristic
of this writer. They are read with the intense interest
which is created when one is drawing nigh to the
denouement of a novel like Kenilworth or Woodstock.
Like the novelist, our author holds his readers in a de-
lightful suspense when dwelling upon the feigned ir-
resolution of Monk ; and we almost forget, in our ad-
miration of the singular power with which the exciting
scenes are brought to their conclusion, that the catas-
trophe has been familiar to us from childhood. Fancy
pictures with a vividness that amounts almost to reality,
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 which
all England was the scene. Hill and vale, field and
forest, teem with multitudes flocking, with open arms,
to welcome the hardy legions of the Scottish army.
Cavaliers and Roundheads, Monarchists and Republi-
cans, Churchmen and Regicides, make up this enthusi-
astic and strange assemblage — all united against one
artful and dangerous faction. Every eye is now anx-
iously turned on the cold-blooded, taciturn, inscrutable

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 271

general, on whose decision rests the destiny of England.
At length he summons that convention which invited
the long exiled and friendless monarch to the home and
inheritance of his ancestors. Then are seen the flushed
cheeks and sparkling eyes of the down-trodden, perse-
cuted cavaliers, whose lips, after long years of tortuous
silence, are now at last unsealed — and the excited
reader almost finds himself listening to catch the wild
strains which ascend heavenward, as thousands of glad
voices mingle in chanting one of those pensive lays
which were treasured secretly during the iron sway of
" Old Noll," and rude snatches of which Sir Walter
Scott so aptly puts into the mouth of his unique charac-
ter of Roger Wildrake : —

" 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 all,
and which our author so briefly but brilliantly 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, tell us that the restored wan-
derer is approaching. " 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 sullen, sour, staid faces
are those which, amidst this general joy, alone venture
* Woodstock— page 283, vol. 2.

272 MACAULAY'S HISTORY 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 drawn up to welcome
the sovereign. He smiled, bowed, and extended his
hand graciously to the lips of the colonels and majors.
But all his courtesy was vain. The countenances of the
soldiers were sad and lowering, 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 this splendid scene, on
which both " the great Unknown " and " the great
Known " have bestowed their inimitable powers of de-
scription, must have been one of the most exciting and
joyous spectacles that the world has ever witnessed ;
and this declaration, we trust, will find us some allow-
ance with the reader who may chance to judge us aus-
terely for thus long dwelling upon it.

Having, at the end of the first chapter, safely
" lodged the restored wanderer in the palace of his an-
cestors," Mr. Macaulay opens his second with a whole-
some and astute, though rather uninteresting disquisi-
tion on the condition of the English Government at the
era of the Restoration. He condemns the inconsistency
and bad policy of allowing the exiled family to return
without exacting new and reliable securities against
mal-administration, though he inclines 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 this event, all unqualified as it
was, delivered the English people from the domination
of a soldiery that equalled the Pretorian bands of Rome
in capriciousness and ferocity. The crisis which fol-
lowed the deposition of the weak successor of Crom-
well was, indeed, one of imminent danger to the integ-

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 273

rity of the ancient and venerated constitutional govern-
ment of England. A fanatical and intolerant faction
had seized the reins, and supreme power was on the
verge of passing into hands which would soon have de-
molished all the cherished landmarks of constitutional
liberty, and substituted instead a rule more galling,
more repulsive, and far more precarious than that even
of the Rump Parliament which had been indignantly
kicked out of doors by Cromwell. Then or never,
therefore, was the time for all lovers of rational liberty
to harmonize and unite, adjourning, as Mr. Macaulay
says, all factious differences until a more convenient
season. Monarchy was found to be far preferable to
anarchy. The body of the English people acted with
characteristic judgment and good sense; dissenting
politicians and religionists united for the common weal,
and the fruit of that union was the speedy and timely
restoration of the exiled monarch.

This chapter is truly a history ; differing thus from
the first, which is more in 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 which we find in the preceding, with fewer of
the romantic and entertaining episodes which abound
in those that follow, and with very little indeed of that
proneness to tiresome biographical detail which dis-
figures the entire work. If the whole had been writ-
ten in the style and method of the present chapter, the
book might truly have been less brilliant, less enter-
taining, and less rapidly sought after by the multitude.
But, at the same time, there can be little doubt, we
think, that it would more surely have outlived this
mere ephemeral and superficial popularity, and be
finally stored away with such authors as Hallam, as
Robertson, and as Clarendon, as a work to be consulted
12*

274 MACAULAY'S IIISTO&Y OF ENGLAND.

hereafter, more for solid instruction and authority than
for entertainment merely.

During the earlier years of Charles the Second's
reign, England may be said to have been in a state of
transmutation. During the reign of the Puritans all
kinds of public and private amusements were sedu-
lously and harshly discouraged. The whole country
was a vast religious camp-ground for the operations of
drawling snufflers like " Tribulation Wholesome," or
" Zeal-of-the-land Busy," like " Praise God Barebones,"
or "Boanerges Stormheaven." The cottages were
filled with prototypes of " douce David Deans," — the
palaces with sycophantic minions of Pym and Harrison.
The public squares, the village-greens, and cross-roads
were nowhere made merry by Punch and Judy, or
May-day festivities. Drawling sermons, tortuous pray-
ers, and nasal psalmody in " linked sweetness long
drawn out," had supplanted all such abominations and
sacrifices to the beast and to Baal. The nose of Icha-
bod Crane would have been rarely valued in an age
which produced Ludowick Muggleton, and other fer-
vent " sons of grace," like himself. Such was the so-
cial condition of England when the " merry monarch "
came home to his inheritance with "Wilmot and Villiers,
and their accompanying trains of bastards and prosti-
tutes, and pasquinaders and buffoons. The^transition
was sudden — startling — bewildering ; but, in one sense
it was complete. It was like exchanging on the mo-
ment, the sombre gloom of a prayer-meeting conducted
by saints and psalm-singers, for the gorgeous brilliancy
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 which had long
been closed to the established form of worship were
again opened, and nave, and arch, and gallery, whose

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 275

echoes had long been silent, once more resounded with
those loved and melodious strains which the solemn
organ hymned forth to celebrate this joyous exit of in-
tolerance and persecution. The down-trodden and
proscribed drama was speedily resuscitated, and the
play-houses were crowded nightly with blazing de-
votees of fashion and pleasure. The glittering pa-
geantry of "Whitehall dazzled eyes which had long
been accustomed to view with awe the grave and
stately pomp of Cromwell's court. The voluptuous
charms and winning graces of Eleanor Gwynn and
Louise de Queroaulle, shone with a lustre in the saloons
and drawing-rooms that called up lively images of Ver-
sailles and Marly, and which 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 flowing, splendid vest-
ments, gaudily attired pages in waiting, and liveried
lacqueys had now taken the place of these ; while, in
the presence-chamber itself, was seen a showy, easy-
mannered and accomplished 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 evident that the domination
of the saints, both socially and politically, was for ever
done. Nor is it to be taken for granted, that all even
of this class mourned the downfall 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 in fond Christmas festivals, And week-day

27G MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

convivialities ; and wild country squires, and rude
jockeys and sportsmen, hailed the return of that lib-
erty which relieved their halls of crop-eared lecturers
and exhorters, and allowed them again to bear-bait and
horse-race. Some who, in 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 king to the boudoir of Barbara Palmer.
Indeed, if the divine standard of secret thought and
forced compliance to right be erected by which to
judge, we should doubt most seriously whether the
moral condition of England was at a lower ebb after
the Restoration, than during the saintly dominion of
Cromwell.

We were pained, however, to find on page 169 of
this chapter, more evidence of that bitter spirit which
influences our author hi his opposition to the Episcopal
form of religion. Not satisfied with denouncing the
prevailing immorality of libertinism, both in the politi-
cal and social world, Mr. Macaulay indirectly, and by
insinuation, seeks to lay some of the blame on the
Church of England. We are prepared to admit that
her clergy were too intent on religious vengeance
against Puritans, and too eager in extorting amends
for the pillage and deprivations they had suffered from
their stern persecutors. But the pure morality of the
liturgy, the whole admirable economy of the Church,
stand forth in noble vindication of slurs which a his-
torian, whose duty is rather to instruct than to prose-
lyte, should be cautious in throwing out. Yet our
author does not hesitate to use the language of the fol-
lowing sentences : " The ribaldry of Etherege and
Wycherley was, hi the presence, and under the sanc-
tion of the head of the Church, publicly recited by

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 277

female lips in female ears, while the author of the Pil-
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
during which the political power of the Anglican hie-
rarchy was in the zenith, were precisely the years during
which 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 inference so
unfavorable and unjust to the integrity of the Church
of England. Does Mr. Macaulay mean to say that the
Church was scandalized in 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 " allowed
and countenanced ribaldrous indecencies. Under the
statute of Henry the Eighth, the king " 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 all ecclesiastical convo-
cations. He alone receives a resignation from the chief
dignitary of the Church, the Archbishop of Canter-
bury ; and to him lies the ultimate appeal in Chancery,
from the sentence of every ecclesiastical judge. This
is the sum and substance of Blackstone's interpretation
of this connection of the king, as the supreme head,
with the Church. But, in no case is the king named
as guardian of the spiritualities of the Church. "Dur-
ing the vacancy of any see in his province," says the
great commentator, in speaking of the Archbishop of

278 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

Canterbury, " he is guardian of the spiritualities there-
of, as the king is of the temporalities." Under this
view of the subject, we think Mr. Macaulay's readers
have the right to complain of his disingenuousness in
this instance. It certainly is unfair to arraign the
Church for the immoralities of a king who is only her
supreme temporal head by virtue of his 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 controversialist, and forms
an exception to the general tone of the chapter.

The latter part of this first sentence, quoted above,
can only be characterized, we are bound to say, as
demagogical, and as being strangely out of place in a
grave work of history. Nor is this all. 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 Pilgrim's Pro-
gress," and it is more than probable that had he never
" languished in a dungeon," that beautiful and treasured
allegory would never have been given to an admiring
world. During the civil war Bunyan had borne arms
in the Parliament army, and imbibed all their austere
notions of religious duty and severity of life, as his
after career proves. Having inflicted upon himself a
series of mental tortures which would have terrified a
monk or a friar, he turned preacher, arid, in open defi-
ance of the law, began to proclaim tenets and doctrines
which were deemed mischievous, and as being too
nearly allied to the dangerous inculcations which had
led to the fierce persecutions of the commonwealth, to
be publicly allowed ; and for this contumacy and oppo-
sition to Government, and not "for proclaiming the
Gospel to the poor," was John Bunyan thrown into

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 270

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 in
the eye of the law, nor do we presume that it was in-
quired into on his trial, whether his 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 solitary than the valley of the
Shadow of Death through which Christian is made to
pass in his road to the Delectable Mountains, that he
indited that wonderful book which has made him the
delight of nurseries and firesides, of the palace and of
the cottage, and which has given immortality to the
name of a tinker'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
influence and intercession of one of that "Anglican
hierarchy," which Mr. Macaulay so sweepingly dispar-
ages in the page before us.

We are unable to perceive any thing else than the
ebullition of strong prejudice in the " unquestionable
and instructive fact" which the author states in the
last sentence quoted. Apart from this, we cannot dis-
cern its force and meaning. We cannot discern its
pertinence to the history at all. 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-establishment of
the " Anglican hierarchy," after years of persecution
and proscription, is to be termed the " zenith of its po-
litical power," we do not perceive why this should con-
nect the same with the profligacy of the age, or make

280 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

the Church responsible for the " low ebb of national
virtue," immediately after the Restoration. Political
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 unremitting diligence.
At a time when all England was wildly 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 delight at escape
from Puritan dominion, it might not have been safe or
politic — it certainly would have been no easy task — for
the Church stringently to have interfered so soon after
her own restoration, and to have impressed her pure
morality and admirable precepts on a giddy population.
We have very great veneration for the ancient and
venerable Church of England, as well as for its more
faultless branch in the United States, and, American
though we are, would most sincerely lament its down-
fall as politically connected with the Government. We
believe that separation would prove fatal ; or, in other
and plainer words, that the destruction of the one
would be the inevitable destruction of the other.'
Much of England's national glory and all of England's
happiness is attributable to her admirable and cherished
social attachments and associations, and these last are
closely interwoven with her Established Church. We
can appreciate and understand our author when he
speaks of Cavaliers, who, indisposed to " shape their
lives according to her precepts, would yet fight knee-
deep in blood for her cathedrals and palaces, for every
line of her rubric, and every thread of her vestments."
She is intimately connected with all the associations of
love, with all the tender relations of marriage, and with
all the fond endearments of home and of family. She
is a bond of union between hostile factions in the state.

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 281

Even civil 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 hostile foot has trodden her soil, even if we
make an exception of the descent of William the Third,
which was invited and connived at by the whole nation,
and in which Englishmen were the prime movers. We
have no desire to see these strong ties severed, or this
fortunate union of Church and State broken, in a coun-
try where is centred the peace and prosperity of two
great continents. We fully believe Mr. Macaulay when
he says, " that a civil 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 discernible 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 partially convert a work
of history to the purposes of depreciating an institution,
and disparaging an establishment, in the most vital of
its claims to honor and reverence, on the perpetuity of
which, as we humbly conceive, depends the welfare of
the English Government, and, in that, the peace and
prosperity of the whole world.

But the same people who, in this age of profligacy
and immorality, were entertained with the lewd pro-
ductions of Congreve and Wycherley, were also suffi-
ciently impressed with the interests of civil liberty 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 English his-
tory." This key to the dormant and inactive immuni-

282 MACAULAY'S HISTOKY OF ENGLAND.

ties contained in the Great Charter was reluctantly
given over to the English people by their jealous mon-
arch. Our author tells us (page^232) "that the king
would gladly have refused his assent to this measure,
but he was about to appeal from his Parliament to his
people on the question of the succession, and he could
not venture, at so critical a moment, to reject a bill
which was in the highest degree popular." So mate-
rially, we thus perceive, do the most treasured rights
of mankind depend on the caprice or policy of selfish
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 his
father to the heiress of the noble Scotch house of Buc-
cleuch, a house from which collaterally descended, hi
long after years, the "mighty wizard of the North,"
the great " Author of Waveiiey." The important and
romantic interest which belongs to the life of this un-
fortunate nobleman, together with the melancholy fate
which overtook him in the reign of his cruel uncle, au-
thorize Mr. Macaulay in dwelling on his birth, parent-
age, and early court life and military achievements,
which he does in a manner at once the most entertain-
ing and instructive. We are next introduced succes-
sively to three of the most noted political characters
which figure in English history. These are the younger
Hyde, Godolphin, and Lord Halifax, whose name has
been commemorated, in divers ways, as well in these
United States as in England. Mr. Macaulay has given
a description of this distinguished and influential states-
man (the most so of his time), which, while it raises our
previous estimate of his consummate abilities, rather de-

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 283

predates our opinion of the consistency and inflexibility
of his 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 historian as well as reviewer, to deal
rather with the dark than the bright side of human
character. He goes mostly upon the levelling 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, generally leaves both
for a feeling of contempt. We shall 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," trembling in his 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, all foreign powers had trembled at the name
of England ; how the States-General, now so haughty,
had crouched at his feet, and how, when it was known
that he was no more, Amsterdam was lighted up as for
a great deliverance, and children ran along the canals
shouting for joy that the devil was dead." (p. 179.)
And, indeed, at no period of her history had the chiv-
alry of England been at an ebb so low, or her resources
so little understood or at command. Buckingham and
Rochester could flirt with women, and venture a tilt
at swords with jealous gallants or outraged husbands
and fathers ; but they did not relish the sterner game

284 ATACAULAT'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

of meeting armed Dutchmen in battle. The few gal-
lant spirits around the person of the king were dis-
gusted with these insolent favorites, and shrank from
encouraging a contest in which such minions and para-
sites might exert an influence at once to be deprecated
and dreaded. The position of England in 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 we 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 this army England
owes all of her glory and all 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-
tinents, if even so far, if the military 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 victory had declared
for Napoleon on the field of Waterloo, England would
have been crushed, or, at least, severely and vitally
crippled. And yet the civil liberties of England are
not at all endangered by her grand military system.
Experience has abundantly shown that the arm of gov-
ernment generally deemed the most dangerous to free
constitutions and free systems elsewhere, is in this
country skilfully converted into an efficient and power-

HACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 285

ful arm of defence to both. England was never truly
great commercially and politically, until her regular
standing army was regularly established and appointed.
Here, in our judgment, may be found the best means
of solving the enigma which for two centuries has puz-
zled mankind. It was not until then that her policy
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 own island. From that moment, through all
diasters and reverses consequent on long and bloody
wars, all classes of society began to improve, and her
commerce began to spread and to prosper. Since 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 all proper government
in some countries ; England has staked her destinies on
pursuing the more practical system of politics.

The strong faith of Mr. Macaulay in his own plan
of writing history, as laid down in his essay on " his-
tory," and given to the world years since through the
pages of the Edinburgh Review, is abundantly shown
in the third chapter of the first volume now before us.
The whole tenor and nature evince his 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 detail, in point of anecdote and
memoir, in point of biographical narration, and in point
of minute statistical inquiry, is admirable and eminently
successful. The same ideas are advanced in his pleas-
ing review of Mackintosh's history of James the Sec-
ond— "a history of England" — he there says, after

286 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

having gone through his imaginary plan, " written in
this manner, would be the most fascinating book of the
age. It would be more in request at the circulating
libraries than the last novel."

A fleeting shadow of this coining event to be real-
ized so gratifyingly in his own case, doubtless prompted
this remark. If Mr. Macaulay's ambition was directed
solely to attain the name of having written a 'history
most intensely " fascinating," and which would outstrip
competition with works of fiction in the race of demand
at the book depots, he has every reason to be satisfied,
for his 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 still think that his-
tory should be written mainly with a view to some-
thing else than these "charms" so peculiarly fancied
by Mr. Macaulay. With all his staid and severe nar-
rative, and " majestic etiquette " of method and style,
we must say that we tire less soon of Henry Hallam
than of T. Babington Macaulay, with all his flowing
redundancy of narrative, his rare accomplishment of
style, and his total disregard of those " conventional
decencies " of historical compilation 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
minute statistical research, especially in England, but
we must hazard the confession that its great length, its
scrupulous, undeviating particularity, even in the nicest
points, and its barrenness of general historical 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
own want of the proper appreciative faculties, but so it
was, any way, and the confession must pass for what it

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OP 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, in the essay on history, 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 history as that " philosophy 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 milliners, toy-men, and jewellers
came down from London, and opened bazaars under
the trees which surrounded the watering towns 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 bowling green " of
fine genial evenings. We do not look for such things
in a work which has just absorbed our interest in re-
counting the more solid scenes of Cromwell's career,
and of grave contests between monarchs and their par-
liaments. In Miss Pardoe's Court of Louis the Four-
teenth, and in Mrs. Jameson's Beauties of the Court of
Charles the Second, we delight 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
dwell, the ardent admirers of Mr. Macaulay (in the list
of which 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 polite literature of this bril-
liant literary age does not long arrest the attention of
Mr. Macaulay. A few pages of pithy, forcible review
make up all that we hear of it, while science and phy-
sics are alluded to only with distant reverence. Both
are themes eminently worthy of the historian's atten-

288 MACAULAY'S HISTOEY OP 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 literature
at this 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 philosophy began to
obtain. As the great writer from whom we derive
these reflections remarks, " men were less learned, 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 literature 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 in taste had also penetrated. In France the
racy and brilliant productions of Moliere and Regnard
had supplanted those of the grave Corneille, and more
exquisite and refined Racine. In England, as was
quite natural at such a time, the austere and prescrip-
tive antipathy which had banished all sources of amuse-
ment during the reign of the saints, broke up effectu-
ally the continuity of those wrorks of elder dramatists
which had given tone before to sentiment, and made
way, after the Restoration, for a lighter, more frivolous,
and more meretricious species of dramatic entertain-
ment. One extreme in any department of policy
adopted by one party, is sure to lead to the adoption
of the opposite extreme by another party, in retaliation,
if from no other higher motive. Such was the case in

MAC ATJL AY'S HISTORY OP ENGLAND. 289

this instance, and it was under this new order of things
that the genius of a Congreve, a Dryden, an Etherege,
and a Wycherley, rose to the culminating point, and at-
tained to such enviable ascendency. To the more en-
tertaining and lively peculiarities of style in these wri-
ters over the old school, was added another attraction
which lent superior lustre and fascination to dramatic
amusements. This was the introduction on the stage
of female performers, who had never been admitted
under the ancient regime. To this bold but adroit in-
novation on established custom, the theatre-loving
world is indebted for its long subsequent acquaintance
with the brilliant histrionic talents and accomplishments
of Mrs. Siddons and Miss O'Neil. In view of the many
attractions of this 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, which he devotes
to its consideration are captivating beyond all parallel.
We only regret that we cannot transcribe largely for
the benefit of readers who have not met with the his-
tory, if, indeed, there be such. We may add that these
few pages form the only oasis in the whole barren waste
of this chapter, in point, at least, of true historical in-
terest.

To quote, then, the full language of Junius — we
now " turn with pleasure from this barren waste, where
no verdure quickens," and where no interest fastens,
and open at a page which more than compensates for
all of dryness that may have been encountered in the
preceding chapter, and which kindles at once to the
most intense and vivid pitch. We glide lingeringly
over the successive paragraphs, and almost sigh when
the brilliant though melancholy scene is closed. It will
13

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290 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OP ENGLAND.

be understood, of course, by those who have read this
book, that we allude to the author's graphic and suc-
cinct account of the dying hours of King Charles the
Second. All the personages of the mournful drama,
all the scenes and their singular 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, niece of the great Ordinal, were all there, ra-
diant with robes and gems, lustrous in all the glories
of matchless personal charms. We see the timid, mild-
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
awful extremity, of indifference and repulse. There,
too, for the first time distinctly, we behold the grim
lineaments of the stern 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 unravelled by the devoted Louise ; and,
by that secret staircase which has so often been used
by Chiffinch to introduce frail damsels to his master's
bedchamber, a priest of the Roman Catholic Church is
ushered into the room. Then the dying monarch
raises himself from his pillow, receives meekly the last
solemn sacrament, and preserving 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 their attentions and kindnesses, apolo-
gizes for the length of tune he had been dying, and
then resigning himself to the stroke, passes away with-
out a struggle.

MAC AUL AY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 291

This is the mere abstract of pages which might fur-
nish to a poet ample material for a tragic drama. No
scene was ever more splendidly or graphically described ;
no living moving scene was ever more clearly realized,
or ever afforded more intense and absorbing delight.
Innovation, bold and broad though it be, upon the con-
ventional, established 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 follows the account
of the proclamation of James the Second as King, and
then comes that hollow-hearted speech to the Council,
so profuse in satisfactory promises which were after-
wards so shamelessly falsified. From this point the
thread of legitimate historical 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 this cold-blooded mon-
arch ; the tortures of the perjurer Gates ; the cruel
treatment of the Scotch Covenanters ; the contumelious
secret negotiations with France ; and the assiduously
pursued, crafty, mad-minded effort to crush the Estab-
lished Church, in order to restore the supremacy of
that of Rome, we have little or nothing to do in follow-
ing up the object of these remarks. The chapter con-
tains much of biographical delineation. Sir George
Jeffreys and the brutal qualities of character and disposi-
tion so witheringly attributed to him, fill the reader with
sensations of unmitigated disgust and loathing ; while
John Churchill, the future illustrious Duke of Marlbo-
rough, is described in that characteristic manner which,
as we have before said, leaves us in doubt whether to

292 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

abhor or to admire a man who filled 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 grateful impressions of the victor of Blenheim and
Ramillies, the proud conqueror of Villars and a brilliant
array of brother marshals; the Captain-general of a
coalition which embodied such commanders as Eugene
and Peterborough. We give Mr. Macaulay full credit
for candor and accuracy, but we cannot thank him, in
view of these agreeable associations, for spoiling, with a
dash of his cutting propensity, so interesting and ex-
citing a connection of historical inquiry. There is
something immeasurably disgusting — especially, as we
should think, to a proud Englishman — when we connect
the hero of such mighty battle-fields, the active agent
of so mighty a coalition, with the mean, low-minded,
despicable, and petty miser and sharper of the history ;
with the kept minion of Barbara Palmer, 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 guineas from the haughty paramour, for having ac-
complished, so successfully, a feat at once so wither-
ingly ridiculous and full of hazard. We should as little
feel obliged to an American historian who, in giving
the account of Washington's early manhood, should
choose to represent the Father of his Country in the
midst of his 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, which, we are told, is phi-
losophy teaching by example. We can tolerate, in such
a memoir as that of the Duchess of Abrantes, the story
of Napoleon, as " Puss in boots," quarreling with pert

MACAULAY'S HISTOliY OF ENGLAND. 293

young girls, and of his playing, while Chief Consul, at
childish games of leap-frog and prisoner's base, during
his recreations at Malmaison. But how would such a
page as this appear in Thiers' History of the Consulate
and Empire, where this same man is shown to us as the
stern arbiter of the Duke d'Enghein's fate, as the victor
of Marengo and Austerlitz, and as the haughty Dictator
of prostrate kingdoms and empires ? As little 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 will be the last of historians who seek to combine
with the gravity and decorum of legitimate history
gossiping memoir and scandalous anecdote.

We come now to that portion of these volumes
which has, doubtless, startled all American readers.
In tracing the character of William 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 imagine, to a great many others who have
preceded and may succeed us in reading 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
down through generations, even, of wild, untaught sav-
ages as the choicest model of his kind, should come in
for so immoderate a share of our author's keen sarcasm
and pungent exacerbation. Even Voltaire, the most
critical and supercilious of modern authors, and not
famous for universal leniency and tolerance, yet as-
cribes to this good man qualities of heart and of char-
acter that alone would have made him immortal. —
(Diet. Phil., Art. Quakers.) Yet Mr. Macaulay would

294 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

have his readers to believe that William Perm would
have been delighted to take air passage from London
to Paris to have witnessed the tortures of Damiens.
He would have them believe that he was miserly and
extortionate, cringing, time-serving, 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 his readers to doubt and to contemn. This pro-
pensity reminds us of an anecdote, familiar in Missis-
sippi, of a certain juror, who was called on to try an
issue between two suitors as to the right of property in
a calf. The plaintiff's lawyer states his case, and our
juror at once conceives a verdict in his favor. The
defendant's lawyer next explains the nature of his claim,
and our juror yields his first impressions. Finally, 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 own the calf.
But — asking the pardon of our author's admirers for
this liberty — we must introduce one or two extracts
from the work to convey these impressions the more
properly, and to exemplify the justice of these remarks.
After devoting nearly an entire column to the praises
of William Penn, our author (p. 471, vol. l) says: "his
enthusiasm for one great principle sometimes impelled
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 in-
trigues of ambition. The integrity of Penn had stood

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

firm against obloquy and persecutions ; but now, at-
tacked by royal smiles, by female blandishments, by
the insinuating eloquence and delicate flattery of vete-
ran diplomatists and courtiers, his resolution began to
give way. It would be well if he had been guilty of
nothing worse than such compliances with the fashions
of the world. Unhappily it cannot be concealed that
he bore a chief part in 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 of the deepest corrup-
tion, sensuality, and hypocrisy. The courtier Penn,
intriguing with frail, pretty women, seduced from hon-
esty by flattery, easily cajoled and easily bribed, and
the grave, benevolent-hearted, scrupulous patriarch
Penn, treating with, and winning the confidence of
rude sons of the wilderness, ruling a colony by the law
of justice and morality alone, and then spurning to
obtain royal favor by abjuring the customs of his soci-
ety, are two dissimilar characters which we cannot
reconcile. The one is despicable, the other venerable.
We do not mean at all to impeach the authority of
Mr. Macaulay, but we must see the proofs before we
can be brought to believe in their identity of person.
In this we are fortified and sustained both by the gen-
eral voice of history and the solemn denial of Mr. Penn
himself, when charged as guilty by his enemies of the
court. The mere fact that such charges were made in
Penn's lifetime cannot be taken as proof of their truth.
Any man who occupies an envied position is h'able to
be vitally impugned by his contemporaries. The
charge of " bargain and intrigue " to obtain the office
of Secretary of State under John Quincy Adams, has
been levelled by unscrupulous enemies against Henry

296 MACAULAY'S HISTOKY OF ENGLAND.

Clay for more than a quarter of a century ; yet no de-
cent historian would venture to allude to it. otherwise
than in the stern language of reprobation. Even Wal-
ter Scott suffered in public opinion when it was found
that, in his life of Napoleon, he had condescended to
dignify with historical notice petty scandals against his
illustrious subject. We will 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 in prison, and that he
whispered proposals of incest in the ear of the Princess
Borghese, (both of which are alluded to by Sir Walter
Scott, though qualified with the expression of his dis-
belief in 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 his " vani-
ty," as Mr. Macaulay intimates, to abet foul corruptions
repulsive to "the general sense of all honest men."
Yet no one ever candidly believed the first, every body
rejects the second ; and we may safely add that no his-
torian has ever before taken such pains to prove up the
third.

During the reign of terror and bloody assizes under
James 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 applied
to William Penn. " Penn," says Mr. Macaulay, " ac-
cepted the commission ; " and then the author adds,

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 297

significantly, " yet it should seem that a little of the
pertinacious scrupulosity which he had often shown
about taking off his hat would not have been alto-
gether out of place on this occasion." — (p. 607.) The
sarcastic tone of this sentence cannot be misunderstood,
and betrays sufficient evidence of biassed judgment to
induce us to take Mr. Macaulay's character of Penn
with many qualifications and allowances. The invidi-
ous— at least unnecessary — allusion, 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, in order that he might not miss the show
of seeing a woman burned in London, strengthens our
impressions in this particular. Now we infer from the
general character of Penn, that a high and noble hu-
manity of sentiment prompted him to both these acts
— so liable to be used as the means of blackening his
fame. Never before having met with either in any
defined form, (never with the last,) we cannot venture
to contradict or defend further. Mr. Macaulay him-
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 turn-
ed into a feeling of unmitigated abhorrence and detes-
tation.

The first volume of this history closes amidst scenes
of melancholy and blood, appalling and sickening to an
extreme that inspires disrelish for perusal. The awful
scene of Monmouth's execution; the bloody assizes;
the hanging, drawing, quartering, and transportation
of the hapless victims of revenge: rotting skulls grin-
ning at every cross-road; the noisome atmosphere;
harrowing scenes of domestic affliction and suffering —
all told in the peculiar graphic and forcible style of this
13*

298 MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

author, make up a total of disgusting facts unparalleled
in the world's history, and which haunt one's reflections
for days after reading of them.

We shall not extend these remarks to the second
volume, at this time ; our only remaining 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 inclined to regard
this work more as a terse, well-digested, and brilliant
essay on the history 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 telling history, and, in this
sense, has attracted, as was naturally to be expected,
unparalleled admiration. But like all preternaturally
bright bodies in another sphere of attraction, it par-
takes more of the meteoric than of the fixed or intran-
sitive nature, and, we are inclined to believe, will be
pronounced in the end rather splendid miscellany than
unadulterated history. But it has served its purpose.
Mr. Macaulay has allured many to a branch of reading
which has generally been considered forbidding and
uninviting, and his brilliant, captivating style has in-
duced and held many to a task who might have been
repelled 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 history, and wreathed her face with winning
smiles, and in this has achieved a pleasing revolution in
the taste and character of the literary world. "Whilst,
therefore, he may not inspire the distant, reverential
awe associated with Hallam or Robertson, his pages
will always be opened with that agreeable anticipation
of healthy and rational entertainment which possesses a
reader of Kenilworth or Ivanhoe. Nor do we consider

MACAULAY'S HISTOKY OF ENGLAND. 299

such comparison with these last wonderful productions
at all disparaging to the claims of this history. Sir
Walter Scott has, it is true, created many of his 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 all the dazzling
attractions of fanciful conception. This peculiarity
constitutes the principal charm of his history — a pecu-
liarity and novelty of feature that must ever secure to
it, independent of glaring innovations and bold episod-
ings, a welcome place in all private libraries. It bears
no resemblance to the historical works of the authors
we have named. To compare Mr. Macaulay's history
to that of any of these, would be like 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 which lifelike
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 silk 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 pallet, and to purchase cameras and
copper plates. Curiosity ran wild. Old pictures and
family portraits became objects of jest and ridicule, and
for a moment the splendid galleries 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. While all yet admire the genius of the dis-
coverer and the strange and novel splendors of the dis-
covery, while the magic operation still continues to
dazzle and to puzzle beholders, it is yet evident that it
is placed subordinate to the grander and more enduring
achievements of the pencil. In making the application
of this apologue (if we may thus speak), we mean only
to express our convictions that historical works of this
class and description, brilliant though they may be, and
sparklingly as they may be welcomed, will be consigned
to a, like subordinate station when compared with the
labors of the elder and greater race of historians. We
do not even mean to say it is our belief that Mr. Ma-
caulay will meet this fate. There are many reasons to
believe that he will not. His vast genius, his profound
learning, his literary accomplishments, the fame with
which he has filled the two hemispheres as a miscella-
neous writer and reviewer, added to the fact that he is
the author as well as leader of this style of writing his-
tory, may, and most probably will, effectually 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 shall reserve much that we had intended to
say, in this connection, for some future continuation of
a task which was undertaken less to criticise, than to
endeavor to show that even the greatest writers, when
moving in a sphere of authorship different from that in
which we have been most accustomed and delighted to
hold converse with them, are very apt sometimes to
disappoint high expectations.

WILLIS'S POEMS.*

THIS book is certainly a literary curiosity — not be-
cause of its superior merits or rare composition, but be-
cause of its singular popularity and success, when we
compare these with its absolute unworthiness. Mr.
Willis himself has long been eminent among a certain
class of American literateurs, and his writings have
generally been puffed into a sicklied notice through
their influence ; added to the efforts of a whole legion
of venal journalists, whose inferior talents, wholly dis-
proportioned to their ambition, find always a most
agreeable task in coming to the rescue of poems ema-
nating from their cherished model, and whose life and
occupation consist in playing an eternal and endless
game of " Tommy, come tickle me ; " that thus, by a
method of amiable collusion, they may hoist their con-
federates and themselves into an ephemeral notoriety.

Now, as we, in common with all true friends to
genuine American literature, have a thorough contempt
for this species of writers and literary representatives —
though these are not the most objectionable class — and
sincerely regard them as obstructions to all healthful de-

* The Poems, Sacred, Passionate, and Humorous, of Nathaniel
Parker Willis. Complete edition, revised and enlarged. New York :
Clark, Austin & Co. 1850.

302 WILLIS'S POEMS.

velopment of a pure national literature, we have a mind
to express our opinions quite freely and candidly in
connection with Mr. Willis's book. But we desire it
to be distinctly understood that no personal antipathies,
as concerns our author, prompt us to the task. We
have no acquaintance, personally, with Mr. Willis. We
never met him or saw him, to our knowledge, and we
know nothing unfavorable to his character or reputa-
tion ; for if we did, we should be very far from entering
into a review of his poems, which, we fear, may justly
be considered harsh and condemnatory. If we had any
personal spleen to vent, we should seek a more manly
course of satisfaction ; while we should regard a goose-
quill ebullition of wrath as contemptible and ridiculous
— indeed, dishonorable. We are thus particular, be-
cause we have an especial object in view while we go
through with our task of criticism, which object mainly
is to expose the unworthiness of Mr. Willis and Ms co-
terie to represent American literature, and, at the same
time, to unfold some of the causes which make us, in a
literary sense, the slaves of English writers, and the
mere tools of Anglo-American publishers. We shall
address our efforts, in an especial manner, to this latter
class, for we believe that they are justly answerable for
the ascendency of that herd of venal pretenders to
literary excellence, whose daily flip-flap from job presses
not only discourage meritorious and independent com-
petitors, but have created such disgust for home litera-
ture as to divert the interest of our truly tasteful and
literary people across the waters, and to sicken them
at the sight of an American work. Their selfish and
unpatriotic conduct is manifested daily. Not content
with flooding our country with mutilated and spurious
English books, we are favored by these enterprising
gentlemen with reprints 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 English and French writers, who, unprotected
against American book pirates, and debarred from all
pecuniary profits in this country, are willing to write
for pennies, rather than lose all. A monthly maga-
zine may thus be gotten up by influential and wealthy
houses, which will overmatch American productions, as
well in quantity as quality of matter. American wri-
ters and journalists are generally too poor to write and
work for nothing, which they must do if they would
enter into competition with Anglo-American writers
and Anglo-American publishers. . The absence of an in-
ternational copyright law cuts off British writers in
America, and, vice versa, cuts off American writers
from all profits in Great Britain. Hence, a large pub-
lishing house, like that of the Harpers, wealthy, influen-
tial, and anti-American in feeling as concerns literary
development and encouragement, may easily swell their
enormous gains by pampering British writers who are
legally debarred from copyright in this country, and
who, poorly paid at home, pleasantly condescend to
pick up pennies from foreign bidders ; while 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 publishers. An American journal or
review, high-toned and able in character, is necessarily
very expensive, because its contributors must, in gen-
eral, be well paid. But an Anglo-American publisher,

304 WILLIS'S POEMS.

who refuses high-toned American productions, which
are protected by law, and casts his bait for British
writers who have no copyright privileges in our midst,
is at no expense save that of his paper and type. The
last can afford to undersell the first, and, of course, ob-
tains precedence with the public. American readers
are far more familiar with British novelists, poets, es-
sayists, and historians, than with those of the United
States. Thus is America made the slave of England,
literarily, not for want of equal talent on the part of
her writers, but from the selfish policy of large and
influential publishers. An American journalist is un-
derbid by literary poachers on British disabilities. The
American writer offers his work to an Anglo-American
publisher, only to be told that a British work of equal
merit can be thrown before the public free of all orig-
inal cost. Hence American literature is almost in the
dust; and when Irving, Cooper, Prescott, and some
few other master souls shall have passed away, it is
greatly to be feared that genuine American literature
will 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. Willis, and his numerous confreres. America is
without a poet, or a poetical prestige. Here, in our
opinion, is the reason. We have no Byron, no Moore,
no Walter Scott. The minds, if any such have ever
been born in our midst, which felt a consciousness, per-
haps, of inspiration akin 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. Willis, and, as the Coryphaeus
of his venal band, it is with Mr. Willis we intend to
deal. He has habitually assumed to himself, for a long
series of years, a species of supremacy in the second-

WILLIS'S POEMS. 305

rate literary circle, which makes him pre-eminently fit,
and proper, and legitimate game for our present under-
taking. The lofty and self-important tone which dis-
tinguishes, even yet, his weekly editorial bulletins, im-
presses, and is doubtless designed to impress, all readers
with an idea of his judicial super eminence in literary
affairs. Nor have we the least fault to find with this.
On the contrary, we award to Mr. Willis a high and
enviable degree of moral courage in playing his game ;
for it must be confessed, in view of his slender materi-
als, that he plays his 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. Willis's " Sacred Poems," and yet complacently
and serenely supererogate weekly patronage to all
other American poets and writers.

Nobody will doubt, we imagine, but that Mr. Wil-
lis has acquired his poetical notoriety by means of a
systematic and well-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 still, to emblazon their
works, and snap public opinion, or rather public noto-
riety. But we confess that, to our judgment, neither
puffers per se, nor puffed authors par excellence, ever ac-
complished a more dexterous or unaccountable achieve-
ment than when they succeeded in puffing Mr. N.
Parker Willis 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, especially 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 magazine projects a creditable scheme
to disseminate agreeable light reading, mingling with
the same fashion plates, fancy engravings, and much
learned talk about tournures and trousseaux. He en-
lists one or two really 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 called in to fill
up the intervals ; serving the first pretty much in the
same capacity as common actors, in 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 genius
developed," " unrivalled debut," " Tom Moore surpass-
ed," " Walter Scott equalled," " Byron matched," and
many other rare and rich specimens of genuine 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 Barnum's " Chinese lady."
In the mean while, the readers of the magazine are all
agape with astonishment at their protracted obtuseness
as regards the merits of this amazing child of letters.
They have whiled away years of intimacy with the
author's writings, and yet were required to be waked
up to his accomplishments. The din of trumpets is
systematically prolonged ; their ears are so continu-
ously racketed with the noise of his achievements, that,
at length, they read every thing bearing such a re-
doubtable name, and tacitly consent to have him en-
rolled as a standard author.

This account will not, we incline to think, be con-
sidered too overwrought or exaggeratory to those who

WILLIS'S POEMS. 307

are familiar with the reading of the various literary
newspapers and magazines of our northern cities. At
all events, we think we may safely say that the " Sa-
cred Poems " of our author are mainly indebted to this
species of collusive heraldry for their singular notoriety.
And to increase the chances of their being shelved as
standard specimens of American poetry, Mr. Willis has
thought proper, we suppose, to bring them out at this
time, in connection with other poems, prefaced with a
serene-tempered, somewhat self-gratulatory introduc-
tion, and quite a pretty picture of himself in one of his
most sentimental attitudes.

Whatever may be our opinions, we are, however,
constrained to criticise Mr. Willis as a poet. Maga-
zine publishers and newspaper editors chronicle his
comings and his goings, his sayings and his writings,
his adventures and his onslaughts, as those of "the
poet." He himself tells us that he " has no hesitation
in acknowledging the pedestal on which public favor
has placed him." We are forced, therefore, to regard
such high authority ; and as he looms forth to the pub-
lic eye, self-sculptured and architraved, we should be
wanting in respect to " public favor," not to recognize
his claims to the name of poet.

We expect to confine this article mainly to a notice
of the " Sacred Poems," as these, we believe, are gen-
erally supposed to form the principal cornice of that
"pedestal" to which our author refers. We must
begin by saying that they are, to our judgment, very
tame and unsuccessful transpositions of beautiful Scrip-
tural incidents. That which is intended for poetical
amplification and illumining, 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 really pitiful and sickly attempts to retouch and
embellish what has been far better told hi the original,
thousands of years ago, when languages had scarcely
assumed definite form. They abound with expressions
which are not only shamefully unpoetical, but are un-
euphonious, ungraceful, and improper ; while they are
most untastefully repeated, as applied to the different
characters, and for lack of originality 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 following lines
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 following 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 buried up his face" &c.

In the poem on " Absalom," David is reduced to
the same grievous necessity as Jairus and Abraham,
but the expression is slightly varied for the better,
thus:

" He covered up his face, and bow'd himself," &c.

" We next find " Hagar " seeking like consolation
as her predecessors in the volume :

" And, shrouding up her face, she went away," &c.

The last example to which we shall refer in corrob-
oration of our ah1 eged fault 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 communication with
Hagar, David & Co., resorts to the very same expedient
while grieving :

" She covered up Tier 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 being harsh
and discordant ; not to mention the fact that the ex-
pression is used six or eight times in short, succeeding
poems, comprising in all only some fifty-eight pages.
We had better say bury down than " bury up? for the
first is more likely; but the phrase, either way, is
clearly unchaste — especially when, seeking to glide
softly through the melodious flow of blank verse, we
chance suddenly to stumble against its roughness. In-
deed, we must say that Mr. Willis pays quite a poor
compliment to the taste of his readers when he supposes
that they will charitably endure such continuous and
ugly repetitions, in the absence of all excuse for such,
unless he shall plead, in extenuation, a want of origi-
nality, or an over-desire to obtain those " present gains "
which, in his preface, he very frankly tells us, were
more his object than was any " design upon the future."
We might, probably, account for the uncouthness of
expression more easily. In truth, we feel greatly in-
clined to attribute the same less to a want of proper
discriminative powers, than to the feeling of arrogant
confidence which easily prompts to immoderate self-in-
dulgence and unallowable liberties, 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 have
greeted these poems, because of their unpleasing, spirit-
less sameness and resemblance. They are alike in
thought, in character, in description, and in language,
nearly ; and if the names were not different, and the
scenes slightly shifted, we might unconsciously mistake
Jairus for David, and Abraham for Jephthah ; as also
the Shunamite mother for the widow of Nain, Hagar
for Rizpah, and Absalom on his bier, for Lazarus as he
lay shrouded for the grave. There is a grating continu-
ity of all the essential features and groundwork which
form each separate poem throughout the entire series ;
and, even if they possessed intrinsic merits, all interest
in them would be marred and spoiled by so inexcusable
a blemish. We turn over leaf after leaf without finding
that relief 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 which, as they well know, the best
of poets become soon insupportably tiresome. The ge-
nius of Spenser and of Ariosto is universally 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. Willis or
his " Sacred Poems " to these fathers of poetry and
their hallowed chefs d'ceuvre ; we mean only to say that
he has fallen into their only error — and that, not be-
cause he intended to do so on the ground of allowable
precedent, but because, although poet-born as he seems
to think, he has failed to learn one of the 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 " required,

WILLIS'S POEMS. 311

or as Mr. Godey's purse could afford, monthly offerings
to the pile of those " present gains." Their arrange-
ment and composition do not indicate or foreshadow
that slumbering genius which, after long years have
passed, can now inspire its possessor with such exultant
confidence as to herald the publication of his early-day
poems with an assurance to his readers that the " ripe-
ness of poetical feeling and perception are all before
him." The series forms a perfect family, in which the
resemblance between the various members 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 locality
and name.

Sir Walter Scott, in his book on Demonology and
Witchcraft, if we may pursue farther this course of re-
mark, tells us of a young London gentleman who, from
extreme nervous disarrangement, was seriously annoyed
by a troup of phantoms which appeared to his vision
nightly at a certain hour. He found it necessary to
call the advice of a medical gentleman. After examin-
ing the state of his patient, the physician advised a re-
moval to his country seat. The change of scene effected
wonders. The patient thanked his physician, deter-
mined on settling permanently in the country, broke
up his house in town, and brought his furniture to the
villa. But this, alas ! proved to be a fatal move. The
sight of the familiar furniture revived 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 again ! 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. Willis'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 naturally look for some
novelty and refreshment. But, lo ! the third is but the
first and second, dignified with a change only of inci-
dent and name ; the same thoughts, the same concep-
tions, the same descriptive outlines, except, perhaps,
that one transpires at day-dawn, another at noontide,
and the third at twilight or late evening. With the
precision of a musical box, which is wound up at inter-
vals that it may play over the same tunes again and
again, we find Mr. Willis, in nearly every successive
poem of his sacred series, true to his familiar portrait-
ures of a distressed father, an anguished and doting
mother, an interesting corpse, and a ministering spirit ;
varied only as the scenes are made severally to occur
by sunlight, or starlight, or moonlight.

But there are, in 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 instance, in the opening lines
of the poem of Jairus's Daughter, we have the follow-
ing lines :

" The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips,
And as it stirred with the awakening wind," <fec,

Here is a palpable impropriety. The pronoun it must
refer to the noun nominative, or the sentence is without
meaning ; and if it be intended thus, the idea is non-
sensical, for we are at a loss how to imagine that " the
awakening wind" can stir the shadow of a leaf; and
yet shadow is the relative of it, as leaf is in the objec-
tive case. We have heard of " airy tongues that sylla-
ble men's names," where the scene supposed is mingled

WILLIS'S POEMS. 313

with something 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 which Mr. "Willis
here resorts to bring forth his idea. There is something
strained in the idea of casting the shadow of a leaf on a
dying girl's lips. Her bosom, her cheek, her forehead
— any of the three could more properly have been used
than lips. The whole sentence is mawkish and ungain-
ly, even though it had been properly constructed.

A few lines further, speaking of Jairus as he " buried
up his face " in the drapery of curtains, he thus goes on :
"And when the twilight fell, the silken folds
Stirred with his prayer, but 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 his 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 again a most obscure and incorrect
phrase, insomuch that one cannot easily imagine how
silent prayer can possibly stir " silken folds." There
is, moreover, an ungraceful abundance of anatomical
delineation ; for we have, in the few lines quoted, little
else than a description, in regular succession, of hands,
nostrils, temples, mouth, neck, &c., besides the rather
odious picture of a delicate, dying young lady breathing
through her nose.

The seven or eight opening lines of the next para-
graph will do something better, and possess a moiety
of prettiness :

" It was night ;

And softly, o'er the sea of Galilee,
14

814 WILLIS'S POEMS.

Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore,
Tipp'd with the silver sparkles of the moon,
The breaking waves played low upon the beach
Their constant music, but the air beside
Was still as starlight, and the Saviour's voice,
In its rich cadences unearthly sweet,
Seem'd like some just-born harmony in the air,
Waked by the power of wisdom."

But, after much tame and badly-conceived descrip-
tion, we find in the closing paragraph a repetition of
the author's anatomical peculiarities, in a long and ful-
some jeremiad about "transparent hands" and "taper-
ing nails ; " " nostrils spiritually thin " and " breathing
curve ; " " tinted skin " and " azure veins ; " " jet lash "
and " pencilled brow ;" " hair unbound," " small, round
ears," "polish'd neck," and "snowy fingers." Each
noun is regularly mated with an adjective, two, three,
or more, as the length of the line 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 in the eighth chapter, second, third, and
fourth verses of his Gospel, thus :

2. " And behold, there came a leper aud worshipped him, saying,
Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.

3. " And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I
will : bo 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
exceedingly chaste and impressive ; with a melody and
simplicity of diction, at the same time, that fall agreea-

WILLIS'S POEMS. 315

bly on the ear, and are evincive of much closer alliance
with true metrical harmony, than is the pompous and
elaborated poem of which we are speaking. But Mr.
Willis has chosen to misconceive the spirit, and to mis-
interpret the facts of the incident — both, too, to the
disparagement of the gospel version. He sets out with
a warning flourish of trumpets, and an array of notes
of exclamation truly appalling, and which are wholly
at war with the mild and unpretending features of the
real incident. The Bible scene is eminently character-
istic of all that was lovely in the Saviour's earthly min-
istrations and associations. The portrayal made by
Mr. Willis in his poem is unstriking, and very badly
conceived in every respect ; while its execution is so
flat and commonplace as to excite a feeling of amaze-
ment that the author should ever have been reckoned,
or should presume to reckon himself, a poet. There is,
besides, an ungraceful perversion of one of the not least
impressive facts, which robs the story of its principal
charm. Jesus, after healing the suppliant leper, bids
him " tell no man," but to go and " show himself to
the priest," and offer the gift as commanded by Moses.
Mr. Willis, on the other hand, and with most unac-
countable want of artistic taste, chooses to send his
leper to the priest in the first instance, and that not to
offer " the gift " as " testimony," but to solicit a cure,
or rather to hear an official affirmation of the " doom "
which he was already expiating. Now we can imagine
something peculiarly interesting, as well as suggestive,
in connection with Matthew's story, — of how the poor
crushed victim of a loathsome disease might fall at the
Saviour's feet, and implore that compassion which he
had heard was never solicited in vain ; and, being
healed, should then go to the soul-hardened priest, and
show himself, as directed, with the gift in hand. But

316 WILLIS'S POEMS.

we are unable to perceive the beauty or force of Mr.
Willis's tortuous and unnatural version, or of the wiz-
ard-like malediction which he puts into the priest's
mouth. We seriously object, also, to the application
and correctness of the following simile, when, speaking
of Jesus, he says :

" Yet in his mien

Command sat throned serene, and if He smiled,
A kingly condescension graced his lips,
The lion 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, in the sense intended above, is never
evidenced in look or word. As for " kingly condescen-
sion," in connection with the character of this person-
age, the idea is as absurd as it is misapplied ; and, at
the same time, we have always loved to imagine " the
lion " rather as following and fawning upon so benign
a being as Jesus — caressingly familiarized as in the par-
adisal time — than " crouching in his lair " to an awe-
inspiring and commanding master. We never before
met with so gross and reckless an onslaught on the
mildness and meekness of the Saviour.

The third poem of the series opens thus :

" 'Twas daybreak, and the fingers of the dawn
Drew the night's curtain, and touched silently
The eyelids of the king."

We take this to be, on the whole, the worst con-
ceived and most unstriking similitude in the world.
We might very well go further, and pronounce it to
be the least allowable, and certainly the least apt. We

WILLIS'S POEMS. 317

have often known primer publishers to represent the
sun with a great red rubicund face ; but we have here-
tofore failed to find an instance where any writer,
whether of the primer or poetical order, has gone so
far as to picture the dawn wtih fingers. Mr. Willis's
conceptions must be far ahead of any that his readers
can claim, to imagine the remotest reality or plausible-
ness of this unique metaphor. How much of the hori-
zon, we beg to ask, will Mr. Willis invest with his im-
aginary fingers ? We must suppose that he had chalk-
ed out something definite and shapeful hi this respect,
for we can scarcely think that he refers to, or means to
finger the whole line of " the dawn." Nor do we at
all sanction the idea of "the dawn's fingers touching
silently the eyelids of the king." It is something outre
and unimaginable, and evinces a woful lack of that fer-
tility of thought which is the most essential element of
a genuine poetical endowment.

But a few lines further on, we meet with another
figure of speech which, if less allowable, is at least
equally novel and original. It occurs in the last of
the lines employed to describe David's wont of a morn-
ing to

" Play with his lov'd son by the fountain'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
similitudes, or very reckless, or else very deficient in
proper discrimination as concerns figurative acumen.
We know that the Mississippi river is said to possess a
mouth, in geographical parlance ; but a poet, unless he
possessed Mr. Willis's boldness, would scarcely venture
to clothe such mouth with lips.

On the next page our author quite coolly employs

318 WILLIS'S POEMS.

other fingers than those of the dawn to perform their
morning service — when, describing another daylight
scene he says :

" and they who drew

The curtains to let in the welcome light."

This is genuine flesH and blood — no undefinable and
unimaginable ethereality ; and looks more like the plain
common sense of every-day life. The repetition, how-
ever, indicates a scrupulous nicety and distinctness of
description, which is not usual to novelists or poets.
Mr. Willis has a most inveterate 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 fails to tell his readers
that the bed curtains were punctually drawn aside by
something or somebody ; while the alternations of time
which mark each poem vivify the illustration of name
which attaches to Bulwer's novel of " Night and Morn-
ing."

Passing over the " Sacrifice of Abraham," we come
next to an expression in the "Shunamite," which
strikes us with its absolute childishness :

" She drew refreshing water, and with thoughts
Of God's sweet goodness stirring at her heart," &c.

Nor have we the least patience with such flippant taste
as we find evidenced in the closing lines of the poem,
where our poet does not allow his readers even a
breathing spell — but favors them only with a starry
interval — betwixt the period of the child's lingering,
"long drawn out" death, and his hocus-pocus (a la
Willis, we mean) restoration to life by the prophet.

The poem of Jephthah's Daughter, we think, begins
with entirely too much abruptness :

" She stood before her father's gorgeous tent"

WILLIS'S POEMS. 319

There is a sort of sneaking resemblance to the opening
line of Mrs. Hemans's heroic poem, Casabianca :

" The boy stood on the burning deck."

Or if Mr. Willis and his admiring coterie will pardon
the allusion, 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 following, from the
same poem, that Mr. Willis had no very keen relish
for a woman's lips, or no very nice perceptions of their
daintiness, or else, having been born and bred in north-
ern regions, was unused to the tropical growths of the
sunny South :

" Her lip was slightly parted, like the deft
Of a pomegranate blossom"

Now we are not at all of opinion that the term
deft when thus applied is an admissible expression, for
we read much oftener of clefts in rocks than in blos-
soms. We have heard of Moses being ensconced in
the cleft of a rock while God's glory passed along : we
cannot imagine how Moses could seat himself in the
deft of a blossom; and yet, the objects being totally
dissimilar, the phrase must be incorrect in one or the
other case. But we take the liberty 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 cleft of this blossom is by no manner of
means a very graceful or luscious severance, but on the
contrary rough and rugged for so gorgeous a flower,
we incline to think that so exquisite a gentleman as
Mr. Willis would have hesitated about the comparison
if he had ever seen the petals of a pomegranate bloom.

While describing with much enthusiasm the beauty

320 WILLIS'S POEMS.

of Jephthah's daughter, the poet winds up with the
following :

" Her countenance was radiant with love ;
She looked like one to die for it" &c.

After having exhausted description of the same ana-
tomical tendencies as previously gone through with in
the case of Jairus's daughter, and lavished on his young
heroine every beauty of thought of imagery, we are
quite too suddenly let down with the expression above
italicized. To " die for it" is a loose, vulgar arrange-
ment of words, amounting almost to downright inde-
cency. We do not look for such within the pages of
so neat a book, or from the pen of so courtly a littera-
teur, especially when that pen is engaged with such
lofty and sacred subjects. We recollect to have come
across such an expression in the first pages of the Heart
of Mid Lothian, where, after the mob had broken down
the door of the tolbooth, one of the number releases an
imprisoned fellow-bandit, with the advice, "Rin/or it,
Ratcliffe !" Now, at such a time, in such a place, and
uttered by such a person, no expression could have
been more appropriate or in better taste. But as ap-
plied to so lovely and interesting 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."

This, again, found a few lines afterward, is an incor-
rect and unfortunate simile. There is nothing martial
or stirring in connection with leaden materials. Lead
gives back a dull, dead sound. Nor is it possible to
understand or perceive the pith and point of an expres-
sion which presupposes leaden shoes, as it is a metal
never used ibr that purpose, whether for men or horses.

WILLIS'S POEMS. 321

The last being evidently alluded to, we rather think a
son of Vulcan would smile at stumbling on such an
idea.

We are glad we can reconcile 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

The summit's breezy pitch, the Saviour raised
His calm blue eye — there stood Jerusalem I

* * * * 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 the morn's exhalations."

The imagery here shadowed forth is inconceivably
grand and magnificent, wholly beyond the bounds of
the rather contracted and too tame description of Mr.
Willis. Indeed, we have long thought that this most
interesting Scriptural event is eminently prolific of wide
and glorious themes of contemplation, and we wonder
that so spiritless a writer, poetically speaking, as our
author, should so boldly have ventured to versificate
the simple and unadorned narrative of the sacred pen-
men.

We have loved, oftentimes, to imagine the incidents
of that eventful morning when, seated on the pictur-
esque summit of the Mount of Olives, 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 which all around opened
to view. And what would not his adorers of the pres-
ent day have bartered to have been numbered among
the little group whose wondering eyes were fixed, en-
tranced and bewildered, on the benign and mysterious
young Being whose lips were giving utterance to that
gloomy prophecy which announced, in mournful strains,
the approaching calamities and woes of Zion !

" There stood Jerusalem ! "

The early rays of the sun dispensed, perhaps, a cheerful
hue over the scene, and the soft breath of the morning
breeze swept gently through the groves of palm trees
which waved in the valley. Just beneath, at the moun-
tain's base, was the smiling 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 sullen majesty the
bleak and frowning mountains which overlooked the
ancient city of the Canaanites, and immediately be-
tween was Jerusalem itself — with its hills, and winding
walls, and wild ravines — looming in the mellow light,
with those stupendous architectural monuments which
had endured since the age of Solomon, and which, long
centuries anterior, had fallen under the eye of the Mace-
donian conqueror. Rising proudly above the rest was
the famous mount of Zion, the ancient Acropolis of
King David, crowned with the splendid palace which
had once sheltered the royal lover and his frail Bath-
sheba; whose spacious harems swarmed afterwards
with the thousand voluptuous houris of their amorous
son, and which, even in ruin, seemed to assert its former
grandeur. Opposite was the crescent-shaped mount of
Acra, romantically studded with lesser eminences ; and

WILHS'S POEMS. 323

from whence to wo red the grand and gorgeous struc-
ture first consecrated to the worship of Israel's God,
the gigantic dimensions of which yet startle and be-
wilder mankind. We may easily imagine that, as the
sun's brilliant rays irradiated the glittering front, it
appeared to the group on Mount Olivet as a vast moun-
tain of dazzlingly white marble, presenting a magnifi-
cent array of domes, and pillars, and turrets, all fretted
with golden pinnacles, which, touched with the resplen-
dence of the early morn, shone with surpassing gran-
deur. Intervening was the broad valley of the Cheese-
mongers, so famed in Bible story, and from the dark
bosom of which bubbled the sparkling pool of Siloam ;
while on the north, from amidst cliffs and crags cov-
ered scantily with dwarfed shrubbery, was Calvary —
destined, a few months afterward, to tremble beneath
the wonders* and the horrors of the crucifixion. Be-
neath were seen the rock-clad streets which had been
so often threaded by the hostile bands of Gentile 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 his fierce soldiery, had designed to
honor the Jehovah of his fallen foe ; and there, too,
had Pompey the Great, fresh from the gory field, bent
his haughty spirit before the hallowed associations be-
longing to the spot.

Such are the imperfectly told and mere skeleton
outlines of a theme which might have challenged the
minstrelsy of a Homer, but which Mr. Willis, with
singular apathy and negligence, has been content to
cramp up within the space of some half dozen lines, in
despite of its crowds of suggestive associations so le-
gitimately appropriate to his subject.

The limits of a critique will not allow us thus to loi-

324 WILLIS'S POEMS.

ter ; we must pass on, therefore, to the " Baptism of
Christ." Our attention is first arrested by these
lines:

"Softly in

Through a long aisle of willows, dim and cool,
Stole the clear waters with their muffled feet?

We do not know, in the first place, what business the
preposition in has where we find it, unless Mr. Willis
designed, at the risk of grammar, to lengthen his line
to the proper measure ; but we are utterly confounded
when our author eomes to speak of the " muffled feet "
of " clear waters." We are familiar with the expres-
sion, " foot of the mountain," or " foot of the hill," 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 acquainted with Willisiana
perfumes, we are in like manner to learn Willisiana
figures of speech, having already shaken hands with
the " fingers of the dawn," and stumbled against the
"muifled feet" of water.

A few lines after these we find that Mr. Willis, with
the unrestrained privileges of a poet, ventures unhesi-
tatingly and quite complacently to settle a Scriptural
quarrel which has consumed hundreds of disputatious
folios, and has puzzled learned theologians ever since
the apostolic era ; for, alluding to John the Baptist, we
meet with the lines describing him as

" He stood breast-high amid the running stream,
Baptizing as the Spirit gave him power."

It is by no means conceded by Christians that John
actually went into the " running stream ; " and although
Mr. Willis's version may be sanctioned by the sectaries
of the old Baptist denomination and the neophytes of
the Campbellian school of divinity, 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 ; while even Rome might fulminate her Pa-
pal bulls against the rash assumption.

We take the following from the poem of Hagar in
the Wilderness :

" It was an hour of rest ; but Hagar found
No shelter in the 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 Urn 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 the 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 lifted 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 exhibited a most woful deficiency in creativeness of
imagination and artistic ingenuity. If we analyze mi-
nutely, it is to be feared that numerous minor blem-
ishes may be shown. In the short space of eighteen
lines the words he and she are made to occur eleven
times ; as if the author's ideas could not be cut loose
from his characters. During the same time Hagar rose
up and sat down again twice. She lifts Ishmael up
and lays him down twice. The last time she leaves

326 WILLIS'S POEMS.

him to repose in a rather intangible and undefinable
place, for Mr. Willis tells us she " laid his head beneath
the shadow of a desert shrub." We should suppose
that a desert or leafless shrub would afford but scanty
shade, where even " thick pines " had been found too
" close and hot."

" Fair were his locks. His snowy teeth divided
A bow of Love, drawn with a scarlet thread."

These lines are found while describing one of the
sons of Rizpah ; but the reader is wiser than we claim
to be, if he can unravel the meaning. How " snowy
teeth " can divide a " bow of Love," we are wholly un-
able to divine ; nor can we tell what earthly 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, a ball of our author's " scar-
let thread " to wind through this foggy complicity of
words at all understandingly.

We next get something of an ethereal adventure :

" 0 conscious heart !
*******
Number thy lamps of love, and tell me, now,
How many canst thou re-light at the stars,
And blush not at their burning ! "

This is decidedly of the Swedenborgian cast — so refined
and so spiritualized as to bully conjecture and frighten
fancy. We would be pleased, moreover, if Mr. Willis
will explain the aptness of the allusion, when, speaking
of the heart, he asks if it will blush f

WILLIS'S POEMS. 327

"We decline, 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.
Willis may pardon to candor much that has seemed
bitter and harsh in 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 quality of that poetry, which, in certain
circles, has lifted Mr. Willis to that pedestal of favor
which he so modestly acknowledges in his preface. It
has been perceived, doubtless, that we do not concede
that unhesitating and redoubtable supremacy to which
our author has so flippantly laid claim. On the con-
trary, we must frankly declare that we consider Mr.
Willis 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. Willis cannot ex-
pect to so venalize others of less susceptible, and, per-
haps, less indulgent temperaments, as to extort univer-
sal concessions in favor of their poet's claims to the
laurel wreath. It has been, all along, their good pleas-
ure and his interest 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 ; while leniency may become
culpable in view of Mr. Willis's vaulting ambition and
excessive vanity, as well as of the extravagances of his
admirers ; and especially in view of the very serious

328 WILLIS'S POEMS.

fact that American literature, and not its counterfeit
votaries, has to pay the penalty of all this hapless amia-
bility and indifference. For nothing is more certain
than that by thus clogging the avenues to eminence
with swarms of rampant, vain-glorious, elbowing pre-
tenders, the doors are effectually closed against such as
may really deserve to enter. Men of real talent disdain
to resort to unworthy devices, or to join in unbecoming
scuffles. Their mushroom competitors, on the contrary,
are none too proud to stoop to any or all species of
what may now be termed Barnumania, to attain a
sickly and an ephemeral notoriety, and to pick up those
scanty " present gains " to which Mr. Willis so candidly
alludes in the preface to his book.

But we would not be understood as meaning to
class Mr. Willis 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 literary vota-
ries, and to infect the country with daily emissions of
noisome nonsense, alike baneful to the encouragement
of merit, and to the development of national literary
resources. On the contrary, we desire to say that
whatever contempt we may entertain for Mr. Willis's
verses, we have yet seen much from his pen in a more
appropriate and dignified department, that indicated,
to our humble and imperfect judgment, talent of a very
high and enviable order. But while entertaining a very
high opinion 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 all adventurings in the way of poetry.

We shall now dismiss Mr. Willis 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

fcemplated 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 literary genius of America, he
shall 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 of Mr. Longfellow as a poet, but his
book has, unfortunately, spoiled all — has even spirited
away the partiality we had entertained for some of his
fugitive poems which chance threw in our way some
years since, and which, now that they are thrown in
company with the pithless train before us, have some-
how lost their former hold. Familiarity, 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 travelling the newspaper rounds, — we need
only to refer such, we say, to the elaborated produc-
tion now in our view ; and if he can so tax his patience
and his taste as to read through both volumes, we are
quite sure that he will doubt no longer. We know
that this is a very harsh sentence, but there is consola-
tion in knowing 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, Reed 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 induce regret
that his book of poems has fallen so very far short of
that standard which, in our judgment, must be fully
compassed, if one would attain to even passing excel-
lence in this hallowed art. It is greatly to be lament-
ed, indeed, that our land should have been, thus far,
so barren in this respect ; and the mystery is, how to
account for it ? The harvest is plentiful — themes are
not wanting — minstrelsy is challenged on all sides.
The Indian history, wandering through the checkered
fortunes of a thousand different tribes, abounds richly
in the lore of tradition. The charms of nature, whether
in the association of primeval forests, of scenery wild,
majestic, and beautiful, of lakes and rivers overflowing
with legendary interest, 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, vivifying, en-
chanting— which are linked with poetic inspirations,
and which belong more properly to verse than to prose.
Romance and reality, both, dallyingly open their storied
arms, and invite a foray on their luxuriant possessions.
The wondrous tales of the Mexican Conquest — the
lovely and touching story of Pocahontas — the landing
of the Pilgrim Fathers — the wild legends of King
Philip's heroism — the Salem witches — and many other
incidents which might be named, all afford tangible
material with which to weave a poet's chaplet. The
poetry shines in every page of the old chroniclers'
quaint books, from Bernal Diaz to Captain Smith and
Cotton Mather. No pedantry, no tasteless detail can
distort or smother the enlivening 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 genius, so far, is the thing yet lacked. So far, in-
deed* as prose is concerned, master artists have been
engaged in the work. Prescott, Irving, and Cooper
have gone over the field, and illumined the path to
poetical elicitation. Their works have clothed history
with a fascination that the sons of song, whose province
it more properly is to gather the romance of early time,
may well envy, and has thrown all attempts at min-
strelsy completely in the background. What Goethe
and Schiller have done for Germany — what Camoens
did for Portugal — what Moore has done for Ireland,
and Walter Scott for Caledonia, these illustrious
writers, though no poets, have accomplished for our
country. All human beings, of whatever clime or
tongue, long for some information about past times in
their history, and are delighted with narratives which
present pictures to the eye of the mind. To this may
be traced the origin of ballad poetry and of metrical
romance ; and the man who possesses the genius to
embellish the scanty but treasured memorials of early-
day scenes and events, will always be highly esteemed
in his own generation, and almost reverenced by a
grateful posterity. To this enviable fame, no one in
our country has yet preferred a successful suit. The
materials languish in neglect, and have nearly gone to
decay. Our rhymers are full of every other kind of
poetry save that which alone is open to them. They
are eternally inditing silly verses about every-day silly
things — are lavishing pretty words in the sickly at-
tempt to retouch and embellish Scriptural incidents —
making sonnets about flowers, and cigar-girls, and
pigeon-nests ; or else, like Mr. Longfellow, are running
a wild-goose chase to catch up insipid fragments of
German or Swedish verse, for which the reading por-

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 338

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 called poets, have
admiring 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 favor,
they may prop their petty productions by exhibiting 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, in this connec-
tion, that among the aphorisms admitted by general
consent, and inculcated by frequent repetition, there is
none more famous than that compendious monition :
Gnothi seauton — be acquainted with thyself. In gen-
eral, we are far more willing to study others than 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 blindly run counter to their des-
tiny. 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. Longfellow'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
evidences of nature's inconsistency in his condescension
to father poems which might have graced the Dunciad,
and which, for bad taste and tame composition, might
stand a comparison with the shallowest specimens of
the American school. Indeed, this gentleman, highly

334 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

accomplished though he may be in 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 minstrelsy ; that a man may become a poet
by a simple act of volition. This same hallucination
has, we suppose, given birth to the thousand and one
scrambling 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, momentarily, this selfish, elbowing
strife of frantic aspirants — each, like the hackmen who
infest hotels and depots, crying and huckstering for the
floating penny — to find out the secret of our deficiency
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 effectually unfolded
to him the dangers and the miseries of poetasting in
the absence of natural endowments, and have also con-
vinced him that Horace uttered no untruth in declaring
that a poet is born, not made. Indeed, we incline to
think that the Roman bard, when inditing the follow-
ing advice, was seeking to forewarn just such unwary
aspirants as the author of whom we are speaking :

" Ludere qui noscit, campcstribus abstinct armis,
Indoctusque pilae discivo trochive quicscit,
No spissae risura tollant impune coronas :
Qui nescit, versus tamen audit fingere ! Quidni ?
Liber et ingenuus, praesertim census equestrem
Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni.
Tu nihil invita dices faciosve MincrvA ;

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 335

Id tibi judicium est, ea meus : si quid tamen olim

Scripseris, in Metii descendat judicis aures,

Et patris, et nostras ; nonumque preraatur in annum.

Mcmbranis intus positis, delere licebit

Quod non edideris ; nescit vox raissa reverti."

If Mr. Longfellow had been less learned than he is ;
if he had been gifted with no talent more likely to lift
him to eminence ; if, longing for fame, he could have
addressed himself to nothing else as a mean of attain-
ment than reckless poetical errantries ; if, in fine, he
had not opened a pathway to literary renown through
the surer medium of classic and dignified prose, there
would be more excuse for his presumption in throwing
before a critical and discriminative public the rickety
verses of the two volumes now under review, and we,
in common with many others, might have been inclined
to exercise more amiability and charity. As it is, we
have before us the picture of an accomplished and as-
tute Professor turned topsy-turvy by a poetic mania,
and evidently laboring under the inflictions of a diseased
and morbid ambition. The least censorious would be
hard put up to find a palliative for this rhyming furor
in one from whom better things might have been ex-
pected ; for it requires no ordinary effort to suppress a
feeling of contempt that tastes, otherwise so well adapt-
ed, should thus have been perverted to idolatrous ob-
lations at the shrine 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 think, gratefully thank his stars if, after these
feeble offerings to the muse, he shah1 escape the just
vengeance which overtook this bold usurper of Jove's
functions.

The first of these volumes opens with a prelude, as
the author calls it, to a series of poems entitled " Voices

336 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

of the Night," and is not altogether unpleasant ; in-
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 following stanza is a
partial evidence :

" The green trees whispered low and mild,

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 will 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, tells of how he
wandered into the heart of a venerable forest, com-
muned with the trees and the air, received a call 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 sicklied over with the snuffling cant
of the conventicle, sometimes bordering on a sort of
versified litany or Te Deum.

The first Voice is a Hymn to the Night, consisting
of six stanzas, set to some particular metre with which
we happen not to be acquainted. As a specimen, we
quote the three last, italicizing what we consider es-
pecially 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

" 0 holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear

What man has borne before !
Thou layest fay finger on the lips of care,
And they complain no more,

" Peace ! peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer :

Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Mght!"

Next in succession comes a Psalm of Life — dull and
commonplace enough — which reminds us, as to meas-
ure, of the mystic chant of Meg Merrilies, beginning —

" Twist ye, twine ye, even so," &c. &c.

But the half-demented old gipsy indulges a strain at
once wild, striking, and rhythmical ; whereas, the Psalm
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 line is as bad as it can be — not only bad
taste, but bad grammar ; for we have two nouns nomi-
native most unmusically and incorrectly qualified with
a negative each, and then connected by a conjunction.
Poetry is not passable when, by disjointing the rhythm,
it will not make good prose ; and this being so, we
cannot see how Mr. Longfellow will ever reconcile his
two negatives.

"We cannot pause to find fault with each of this
series as they come ; but the fifth in the succession is
so strangely unique, so flimsy, and so peculiarly of the
heteroclitical species, that, in justice both to the author
and to our criticism, we feel bound to transcribe it en-
tirely; only asking the reader to notice the noncha-
lance with which 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 hetter soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight ;

" Ere the evening lamps are lighted,

And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the 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 the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life !

" They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross and suffering bore,
Folded then* pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more !

"And with them the Being Beauteous

Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

" 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-like,
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 ! "

Surely nothing more insipid, lifeless, unoriginal, was
ever put off for poetry ! What though a moiety of
soft sentiment dwells in the idea — and Mr. Longfellow
does not lack for ideas — how tantalizing it is to shroud
and smother the same in a congealed mass of stale,
shilly-shally rhymes !

The " Midnight Mass for the Dying Year," we must
candidly pronounce to be really pitiful and drivelling.
We give below the three first and the middle stanzas :

" Yes, the Year is growing old,

And his eye is pale and bleared :
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard.

Sorely — sorely I
" The leaves are falling, falling,

Solemnly and slow :
Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,

A sound of woe!
" Through woods and mountain passes

The winds, like anthems, roll ;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, ' 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 this poem ends the first series. "We come
next to the " Earlier Poems ; " and we will here ven-
ture to suggest that it is a pity the author's poetical
aspirations could not have been satisfied at this point,
and with 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 naturally expected,
some silly sentimentalizing among them, there is yet
much to admire in these youthful offerings to the Muse.
The following verses, taken from the poem of " Woods
in Winter," possess much harmony and sweetness :

" When winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn 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 summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

*****
" Alas ! how changed from the fair scene,

When birds sang out their mellow lay,

Ahd 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 life — the
bright and balmy years of youth. It is the season
when the spirit of poetry stirs within evel"p 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 in-
hales the freshening breath of early spring, words of
song float dreamingly through his untutored senses, in-
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 feeling pervades, to a much greater extent, the
inmate of the academy or the college — who, imbibing
daily the glowing imagery of the classic writers, and
feasting the young mind on choice dainties" culled from
the rich garner of ancient and treasured lore, gives
vent to inspiration by clothing opening life with the
genial garb of poesy, mingling with its real scenes the
lively impressions of excited fancy, which are only
erased when remorseless time first 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 this shining period, blotted a
lady's album or his own scrap-book with some fugitive,
heartfelt offering to the Muse, which, even in long after
years, will be found to own some sentiment allied with
purer days, and to be possessed of some merit interwo-
ven with the dawn of thought, and fresh from recesses
of the heart which then knew not the world's corrosive
blight. Most men, instinctively aware of these illusory
temptations, stop with their early effusions, well 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, unwarily se-
duced by these guileful phantasmata, and foolishly per
suading themselves that " the Land of Song " lies before
them, swim along heedlessly with the current, until, all
at once, the limpid waters of the fountain are swallowed
up in that muddy abyss where so many frail barques,
with their frailer pilots, have gone to wreck and ruin.

This, we gather from his " Prelude," has been the
case with Mr. Longfellow, who, if not already stranded
on these friendless shores, will, unless he shall take
timely warning, ultimately perish among the wild and

342 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

desert wastes of this unfathomed ocean. And if, in the
course of these further remarks, we shall draw from his
after productions such specimens as may serve to bring
him to his proper senses, or that shah1 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, will thank us for the deed, no matter how
roughly it may have been achieved.

To effect this, we must now pass on from these
early-day offerings, and pause for a while amid the soul-
less pages of his " 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 begin the labor
of translation, than we behold in the poems selected on
this occasion. But there is one, purporting to have
been rendered from the Anglo-Saxon, which evinces
such genuine devotion to crazed drivelling, that we can
scarcely credit the fact that the work is from a source
of unquestioned erudition. The piece is entitled " The
Grave," and to satisfy the reader that we have not
been unjustly harsh, we shall 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 built,
Ere thou wast born ;
For thee was a mould meant,
Ere thou of mother earnest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 343

Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be :
Now I snail measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

" Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigJi and low ;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways urittigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark,"

We think the reader will agree with us that this
can be called nothing else than gibberish — a sort of
jabbering incantation, that makes one involuntarily
couple with the most solemn of subjects a feeling of
ridicule. But turning over some few pages, we find
that such is not alone confined to the Anglo-Saxon min-
strelsy; for Mr. Longfellow has eviscerated its mate
from a relict of German poetry, attributed in the orig-
inal to Klopstock. It is to be hoped, for the memory
of Goethe and Schiller, that the American version is
not literal ; for, although the Italy of Horace and Vir-
gil produced also a Bavius and Maevius, we yet hope
that, in this enlightened age, the same soil has not pro-
duced the author of such strains along with the venera-
ted fathers of German song. The title of the poem is
" The Dead," and we quote it entire, as follows :

" How they so 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
All 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 all gladness flies !
And, by the cypresses
Softly o'ershadowed,
Until the Angel
Calls them, they slumber."

We are really no little astonished that this learned
gentleman should thus audaciously venture to trifle and
dally with the patience of partial readers. American
literature will never be reared on a dignified and solid
basis, if its votaries be too amiably indulged with such
idle flippancies, and allowed thus, with impunity, to in-
corporate as poetry the merest balderdash, having not
the faintest approach to either sense or harmony. And
while we are willing to recognize Mr. Longfellow as, in
many respects, a worthy representative of our dawning
national literature, we, at the same time, must seriously
protest against that increasing leniency which suffers
him quietly to excavate or invent nonsense only to
swell out a volume intended to be shelved as a specimen
of American poetry.

The Translations are succeeded by the Ballads.
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 in
broken and corroded armor. The author has connected
this with an antiquated Danish 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 tell otherwise than in verse. But the " Wreck of
the Hesperus," although very tame and commonplace
now and then, is yet, we think, much 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 shall 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 bear him company.

" Blue were her eyes as the 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 he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now west, now south.

" Then 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 wind,

A gale from the north-east ;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

" Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength ;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.
15*

346 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

" ' Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so ;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow.'

" He wrapped 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.

" * O father ! I hear the church-bells ring;

O say, what may it be ? '
* Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! '
And he steered for the open sea.

"'0 father ! I hear the sound of guns ;

0 say, what may it be ? '
' Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea ! '

" ' 0 father ! I see a gleaming light ;

O say, what may it be ? '
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.

" Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face turned 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 saved she might be ;

And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves
On the 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 the 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 wave's

Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side,
Like the horns of an angry bull.

" Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,

With the masts went by the board ;
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, like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.

" Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow !
Christ save us all from a wreck like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! "

A few pages further on, Mr. Longfellow favors us
with another and more distinctly marked specimen of
that outlandish metre with which his book abounds.
What earthly motive can prompt him to turn off as
poetry such miserable, prolix, drawling stuff, we cannot
imagine ; nor are we, or, we suppose, any other mortal
man, able to understand the bent of a taste which,
although highly cultivated in some respects, can coolly
go to work and disentomb from a Swedish literary
charnel-ground so despicable a production as "The
Children of the Lord's Supper." We venture the as-
sertion that no ordinary reader can extract from it the

348 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

first novel or interesting thought, the first pretty ex-
pression, the first engaging sentiment, the first approach
to any thing like poetry. It is tasteless, tedious, and
trifling, from beginning to end — leaving the mind un
impressed but with disgust, or with wonder that such
flippant jargon should ever have been revivified.

The piece purports to be translated from the Swed-
ish of some prelatical diatribist, whose mind, we should
imagine, was about as barren of poetical impulse as the
bleak hills and ungenial soil of his native land are of
aught that contributes to the sustenance of life. We
shall subjoin a few lines by way of example :

" Lo ! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher.
Father he hight 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 an moss-covered grave-stone a sunbeam.
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 numbered,
But with 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 verbality which Mr. Long-
fellow 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 silly furor which seems to
possess many who, ascribing to this author all the quali-
ties of a poet, witlessly admit as poetry that which is
not even receivable as good prose. Without pausing,
however, to dwell on the general imperfections of the
lines we have quoted from this effusion, we shall only

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 349

notice those which the reader will have remarked are
specially italicised. We should think Mr. Longfellow
might be puzzled to reconcile a similitude of the kind
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 opinion
that the sign was not very distinctly impressed ; for, of
all sheltering in the world, a thick cover of moss is the
most impenetrable. This, 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 wherewith to fill out his line, that he obligingly
acquaints us with the fact that the pews were " num-
bered," leaving it somewhat doubtful, by the way,
whether we shall infer this mere fact from the expres-
sion, or whether he intends to convey that it was only
that part of the " congregation " which sat in " num-
bered pews," that had the good manners to rise when
the pastor entered.

If Mr. Longfellow does sincerely and really set any
store by this flat portraiture of a village pastor, it is to
be lamented that his taste is so low as not to have been
frightened by the contrast with that most lovely and
inimitable picture of the same personage found in Gold-
smith's "Deserted Village." To enable the reader
readily to mark the difference betwixt poetry and its
counterfeit, we take the liberty, to save reference, of
copying a few lines from that beautiful and admired
poem :

" Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild ;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ;

350 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wished to change his place ;

Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ;

Far other aims his heart had learned 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 dull delay,

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

*******
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'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, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ;
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,
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, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

We delight, as doubtless does the reader, to glide
lingeringly along with soft, melodious cadences like
the above, and while nestling in the music of smooth-
flowing words, to float placidly down the limpid current
of these genial and inspiring sentiments. We will not
be cruel and unamvable enough to invite a too strict

• LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 351

comparison with Mr. Longfellow's unhappy attempt to
draw a like picture.

What shall we say of Mr. Longfellow's poems on
slavery ? Here, too, he is treading in the footsteps of
a most illustrious predecessor — putting forth a feeble
effort to share the laurels of Montgomery. Perhaps, if
we were mischievously inclined, we might here cite,
alongside the modest name of our author, that of quite
a noted competitor in the same race. It must not be
forgotten, especially in sunny climes, that a lately
Americanized writer, not content to rest on the achieve-
ments of his " Richelieu " and his " Gipsey," would fain
essay a rhyming tilt in the very sentimental tournament
where Montgomery had flashed his maiden sword. Mr.
Longfellow may, we think, well afford to congratulate
himself that he is thus shielded by so redoubtable an
exemplar in the lists of flimsy imitation.

The slavery poems are prefaced with a somewhat
pompous, serene-tempered note, telling us that they
were written while at sea ; and that the first verses, ad-
dressed to Dr. Charming, who had just written his book
about slavery, were no longer appropriate, since the
death of that eminent gentleman. Being thus spe-
ciously charged, we were, quite naturally, 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, down
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, this was coming at his subject in
quite a point-Wank, somewhat too unpoetical manner ;

352 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. •

though we doubt not that its benediction would have
been very encouraging to Dr. Channing, had he been
alive to see and read it. There is besides in its tone a
positiveness, an abruptness, which is always inelegant
and ungraceful in metrical composition.

We have next quite a spiteful ebullition of rhyth-
mical invective :

" Go on, untill 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 in this fierce
denunciation, to which some, who live in parts of " this
land," might quite reasonably object. Indeed, we are
not so sure but that these lines to Dr. Channing might
come within the meaning of certain laws enacted by
States of this 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. Longfellow chooses
to come among us as a votary of Apollo, we are not
therefore estopped from guarding against the bad ten-
dencies of his poetry. But we are loath to believe 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 prettily conceived, but in
view of so prolific and suggestive a subject, very indif-
ferently and tamely executed. There is, however,
much of genuine spirit in some of the stanzas, as, for
instance, the following :

LONGTPELLOW'S POEMS. 353

" Wide through the landscape of his dreams,

The lordly Niger flowed ;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain,

Once more a king he strode,
And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain road."

We cannot dwell on each poem of the series ; but
passing over much fanciful and silly jeremiading, we
pause a moment or two to notice the one called " The
Witnesses." Montgomery, in his celebrated poem of
the "West Indies," has the following eloquent and
stirring lines, 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
Shall 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 winds 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 livid plagues, by lingering tortures slain,
Or headlong plunged alive into the main,
Shall rise in judgment from their gloomy beds,
To call down vengeance on the murderers' heads."

Now for Mr. Longfellow, as he essays to attune his
lyre to similar lofty strains :

" In ocean's wide domains,

Half buried in the sands,
Lie skeletons in 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 sink nor rise.

" There the black slave-ship sioims,

Freighted with human forms,
Whose fettered, fleshless limbs,
Are not the sport of storms.

" These are the bones of slaves ;
They gleam from the abyss ;
They cry from yawning waves,
' We are the witnesses ! ' "

We shall not sport with Mr. Longfellow or his ad-
mirers by invoking 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 suck lines in the very face
of those we have quoted from Montgomery, and from
which, 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 ships can " float " in an ethe-
real element, "beyond the fall of dews," — "deeper
than plummet lies," and where they can " no more sink
nor rise." This, we think, all will conceive, is truly in-
comprehensible. It brings to mind an anecdote quite
apropos, which may, perhaps, afford Mr. Longfellow
some defence for his senseless paragraphs, on the score
of precedent.

The great Edinburgh publisher, Constable, while
reading over a manuscript poem by the " Ettrick Shep-
herd," which had been submitted to him, tartly ob-
served, on reaching some obscure sentence, " Deil's in
it ; but I canna tell what you mean by this ! " To
which Hogg artlessly replied, " Hout, tout, man, that

LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 355

is na strange, for I dinna ken, sometimes, what I mean
mysel' ! "

The poem of " Evangeline," in the second volume,
is most excessively dull, stiff, and tiresome. We can-
not say one word in its favor, and only wonder how a
reader can beat his way through its long succession of
prosing lines — lines 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
mumbling, unmeaning measure as " the Children of the
Lord's Supper," while it is, if possible, even more bar-
ren of ideality. We cannot get our consent to tran-
scribe any portion of it, lest we might by such repeated
intrusions effectually worry out the reader's patience.
ISTor can we so reconcile it with our present undertak-
ing as to dwell any longer on the second volume. It
is of like sort with the first ; perhaps, if there be any
difference at all, even less creditable to the author.

We shall close our notice of* Mr. Longfellow by re-
marking very briefly on the " Spanish Student." This,
in our opinion, is a work of much intrinsic worth, and
evinces talent of a high order. It is piquant, racy, full
of spirit and vivacity, and contains much pretty com-
position— never rising, perhaps, into the powerful, yet
never falling into the commonplace. The plot is quite
artistically conceived, and the dramatic features are
fully developed and well delineated. The character of
Preciosa is most gracefully and handsomely drawn;
and Crispa is not, in her department, less happily por-
trayed; while Victorian and his rival bring out the
full contrast of right and wrong. It is to be regretted
that our author was not content to rest his ambition
with this achievement, and that he could not have
reconciled it to himself to leave out of his book all

356 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS.

else but this single production — looking for a perma-
nent fame more to those works by which he doubt-
less sets far less store. In fine, it is quite grateful and
refreshing, after having found so much fault with Mr.
Longfellow, though justly so, as we think, that we are
enabled thus to bid him so kindly a farewell.

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE IN
THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.

DIGRESSION 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. Collateral
points even, which, in an assembly collected of wisdom,
true taste would warn us to leave to inference mainly,
fail to afford scope sufficiently ample. Matters totally
disconnected with those at issue, are tortuously intro-
duced to make up the speech. Hence, on a memorable
occasion in 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 to read the reso-
lution under discussion. Every body recollects the
beautiful and appropriate figure of the mariner tossed
about for days in the open seas without chart or com-
pass, by which he illustrated the digression. This hap-
pened more than twenty years ago, when, it may be
supposed, demagoguic influences were less common
than at this day. And, indeed, if a speaker were to
rise in his seat, now-a-days, and deliver a speech of
twenty or thirty minutes length, confined solely to the
topic of debate, without once calling to his aid irrele-

358 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.

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 in Congressional economy.

No more cogent illustration of the truth and justice
of the above general remarks may be cited, than the
history of the debates in Congress on the Wilmot Pro-
viso. A discussion of the power of Congress to pro-
hibit or regulate slavery in the Territories of the Unit-
ed States has opened, in the course of the debate, the
entire question of slavery, in all its points, and placed
it in every conceivable attitude. Prominent among
these irrelevant issues is one of very startling moment,
not because of its complexity or obscurity, but because
of the petty and contemptible jealousy which pervades
both sections of the Union concerning its permanent
adjustment. It will, 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 this point, all candid and discriminating 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 ill time and showed an im-
proper and intolerant spirit in asserting and claiming
what is doubtless just and constitutional. We cannot
think that true patriotism or devotion to right and
justice, have had any influence with the majority in the
introduction or discussion of this subject. The govern-
ing influences, in both cases, we fear, have been of a
different and far less meritorious character. On the
side of the North it seems to be an ill-timed and un-
worthy attempt to wreak its prejudices upon an institu-
tion which, to say the least, is recognized, if not by
name, at least de facto, and protected from invasion by

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 359

the federal constitution. On the part of the South it
has been an unwary and hazardous attempt to make
political capital at home of a question that embodies
elements of the most dangerous nature, as regards the
welfare of the Union, and to feed a flame, of which the
calmest and most moderate politician may stand in
dread. But it has been our pride and pleasure to ob-
serve that, in both sections of the 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 wisdom and true patriotism, the party has well sus-
tained its ancient and honorable character.

In a like spirit, it is trusted, and with a mind beset
on eliciting and expressing the truth, we now proceed
to present, in a condensed and summary shape, our
views and opinions. The true opinion, as we conceive,
may be best arrived at, by first propounding, and then
endeavoring to answer two leading questions ; which,
it is believed, embrace the entire matter of debate :

1st. Has 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 Columbia 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 f

The first of these questions we do not at all hesitate
to answer in the negative, and shall state briefly the
reason and grounds on which that answer may be
founded.

The abolition of slavery in any State, District, or
Territory, within the limits of the United States, can-
not be a matter of legislation, because it involves rights

360 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TKADE.

of persons and of property which existed previously to
the establishment of the government, and which not
only constitute a principal element in the government
of all, but are beyond the reach of legislative majori-
ties. The legislature of a State ought not to decree
the abolition of slavery. It is a body of limited pow-
ers, limited and defined, too, by an instrument which
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 establishing or
abolishing the Christian or Jewish form of worship, or
the tenures of land, or the right of self-defence, or the
right to bequeath or to inherit. These are all inherent
properties and elements of government, and belong,
under our system, to that class of powers and natural
rights which 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
Assemblies whose powers are limited and differently
intended. Slavery, as it exists in the separate States,
is equally entitled to be thus classed. The power,
therefore, abruptly to abolish such an institution, can-
not belong to a state or national legislature. It is es-
sentially a prerogative of the sovereignty of the people
themselves. It is in the province 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 instability in
property in both instances. It would be committing
the most cherished and sacred of all rights, namely,

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 361

that of modifying the fundamental relationship of man
to man, to a bare majority in Assemblies notoriously
impulsive, and fluctuating in opinion, and always af-
fected by local prejudices, and educational predilec-
tions. It would be placing individuals and entire com-
munities at the mercy of partisans and fanatics, of op-
posite opinions, looking neither to justice nor reason nor
to any thing beyond their own ambitious aims and vio-
lent purposes.

The second question must be regarded by all candid
and dispassionate persons in a widely-different sense,
inasmuch that it involves matters and issues of a very
different character, and which are totally irrelevant to
the first.

We hold that the powers of Congress, as concerns
the subject of regulating slavery in the District of Co-
lumbia, are not at all analogous to the powers of the
same body as applied to the Territories of the United
States. Conceding the power in the one case does not
and cannot necessarily embrace the other. In the first,
the power is explicitly given, and is clearly derivable
from all 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 in any or in
all its branches, (save one, perhaps,) is a matter en-
tirely of police, and belongs properly to legislative
bodies in their capacity of police conservators. Even
in 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
United States, defining the special powers of Congress,
or the deeds of cession from the States of Maryland
16

362 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TKADE.

and Virginia, can justly or successfully question the
unlimited discretion of Congress concerning all police
regulations of slavery within the District of Columbia.
The ten miles square is ceded not to the United States,
as are the territories, but to the " Congress and Gov-
ernment of the United States." Where territories
have been relinquished by any of the States, or ac-
quired by purchase, the conveyance has ever been to
the United States and for their " benefit," and, in the
first instance, a parenthesis has always been made " in-
cluding " the State which thus cedes. Territories ac-
quired by conquest are conveyed by treaty to the Gov-
ernment of the United States, and thus become the
property alike of all 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 United States " in the ownership of the
District of Columbia. Now, as all must very well
understand, the Government of the United States is
made up of three co-ordinate 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, within certain
limits, to the check of both the Executive and Judicial
departments. Yet " the Congress " is placed independ-
ent of, and as a joint and equal partner with the
" Government of the United States " in the ownership
of the District, and its majority is thus the "full and
absolute" arbiter and conservator in all legislative
functions, excepting only in so far as restrained by the
provisos and stipulations of the original cession.

This proposition may impress some persons as being
rather outre and metaphysical, if not erroneous. But
we venture to conceive, that when measured by the

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 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 inference will be in favor
of its entire correctness. To this end we deem it ad-
visable to transcribe the said deed of cession in full, as
well as the language of the Constitution, concerning
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 the 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 Government of the 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 the rights of individuals therein, otherwise than
the same shall be transferred by such individuals to the United
States."

The italics in the above are our own ; and now, we
say, let that grant be considered as it may, the close
and candid reasoner will 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
Government of the United States. The laws of Con-
gressional majorities, as has been already intimated,
are subject both to be vetoed and over-ruled by the
other two departments, but these last are motionless
until Congress shall first have acted. Being, therefore,
an independent partner, as well as a partner by virtue
of its co-ordinate connection with the Government of
the United States, and being also the active and mo-
tive branch of the Government, we safely conclude
that Congress, thus doubly interested, is on rather
more than an equality with the Government of the

364 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.

United States in the ownership of and jurisdiction over
the District of Columbia, and is, in fact, the main arbi-
ter and conservator of its destiny, civil and political.
The difference between the two propositions thus sub-
mitted, is simply this, viz. : that slavery being in ex-
istence as a domestic institution within the ten miles
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 institution without previously 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 indis-
criminate traffic in slaves, within the limits of the Dis-
trict, being essentially a matter of police and legisla-
tion, and being clothed with " full and absolute " power
in legislating for said District, Congress has the un-
doubted right to interfere so as to modify or abolish
such traffic, and that too without any appeal to the
will or wishes of the State Governments.

But, continuing our argument on the second propo-
sition, the powers of Congress within the limits of the
federal district are yet more explicitly defined than in
the deed of cession above recited. The eighth section
of the first article of the Constitution of the United
States declares : " That Congress shall have power to
exercise exclusive jurisdiction, in all cases whatsoever,
over such district (not exceeding ten miles square) as
may, by cession of particular States, and by the accept-
ance of Congress, become the seat of Government of
the United States."

It must be admitted, we think, that this, literally,
is a sweeping clause. It could not well have been

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 365

framed so as to convey larger powers. It is not even
qualified. It can be limited 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 in all
cases whatsoever." It is, indeed, a clause in which the
most biased and fastidious stickler will find little to
restrict the discretion of Congress in any matter of
legislation ; and that the slave traffic is a matter of
legislation no intelligent reader will venture to deny.
It has been claimed as such, certainly, by every gov-
ernment in which slavery has existed, ancient and
modern. That of Rome, which 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 willing to
favor such riddance. The Government, therefore,
claimed and exercised the undeniable right of all gov-
ernments to abridge and prohibit the indiscriminate
and unnatural traffic in the unfortunate beings whom
she had enslaved, but it dared not, even in that early
age, to infringe the right of property by destroying the
relation itself. Russia, although a sombre and quiet
despotism, where all legislative power is lodged with
the Czar, would not venture, perhaps, by a peremptory
ukase, to abolish serfdom within its limits ; yet the
slave traffic is entirely and most effectually 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 kindle a flame of resentment that would spread
quickly from 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
divine 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 "full and absolute," when
applied to its " exclusive jurisdiction " over the District
of Columbia. Neither Congress, nor State Legisla-
tures, have the power to abolish slavery within their
respective jurisdictions ; but neither would be tran-
scending their legitimate powers, as we humbly con-
ceive, to pass such laws as could tend to prohibit indis-
criminate traffic in slaves, without regard to number or
social relations.

It must be borne in mind that slaves, both under
the Federal and State Constitutions, as well as by the
laws of each, are considered as being something more
than mere property. That they are (de facto) prop-
erty, no one will venture to gainsay ; but they are a
peculiar species of property. They are not at all re-
garded as irrational animals, or perishable live stock,
as horses, or swine, or cattle. Some have been weak
enough to urge and advocate this fallacious point, as-
suming, with singular hardihood and pertinacity, that
which no person of ordinary information will sanction.

Slaves are regarded, both under the Constitution

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 367

and the laws, as persons also, and, in some sense, as
members of organized society, though certainly and
properly excluded from the dignity of citizenship, and
from civil privileges. They are regularly apportioned,
in accordance with the Federal Constitution, (in the
true spirit of that great American system of protection
and encouragement, which reaches and covers every
species of labor, a system long upheld, and ardently
cherished by the conservative Whig party of the Union,)
for full representation in the Congress of the United
States. They are entitled to protection, under the
law, in life and limb, and are, individually, amenable
for any infractions of the criminal code. They are
shielded, by the lasv, from all cruel and unusual pun-
ishments at the hands of bad masters. In all these is
exhibited very clearly the wide distinctions between
negroes transferable, by sale, from one master to an-
other, and all other kinds of property. This view of
the subject is very ably arid elaborately expounded by
Mr, Madison in No. 54 of the "Federalist." He there
expresses himself 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 which they live ; and it will 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 in the mixed character of persons and of
property."

This leaves a clear inference that an indiscriminate
traffic in slaves is not to be regarded as beyond the

368 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE 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 dealing in all 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 within the legitimate
province of Congress to do so, pro\dded no legislative
steps are taken to infringe the rights of resident own-
ers in the property of their slaves. Congress, however,
under the deeds of cession, is restricted, on this sub-
ject, only as regards resident owners. In the case of
transient persons and traders, an arbitrary and perverse
stretch of power might easily give a different aspect to
these relations.

We feel assured that no one will deny the power
of Congress to prohibit a banking company from New
York or Delaware from establishing a bank within the
limits of the District, either by positive enactment to
that effect, or by refusing them a corporate existence.
How, then, can it be denied that the same body has
the same sort of power to interdict a slave dealer from
Maryland or Virginia from carrying on his odious traf-
fic within the same limits ? Or how, under the Consti-
tution and law, can Congress be denied the authority
and right to interfere even so far as to regulate or re-
strict the trade as between resident owners themselves ?
It must be remembered that, unlike 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
unqualified, but " exclusive in all cases whatsoever."
There is nothing in the Federal Constitution to pro-
hibit the abolition of the institution by Congress, be-
yond the right of all citizens to claim protection for his
property. Still less is there to be found any clause or

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TEADE. 369

enactment denying the right to abridge and restrict
the traffic. Neither are such prohibitory or restrictive
clauses to be found in the deeds of cession, for in these,
except only as relates to owners of " soil," the power
of Congress is totally unlimited. It is even a question,
in view of the broad and unqualified powers thus con-
ferred on the Congress within the District limits both
by the Constitution and the deeds, whether the right
to prohibit the trade in all its features can be success-
fully confuted or denied ? But thus far we do not pre-
tend to go in this article.

But there are other views in which this subject may
be argued. The ten miles square must be considered
as belonging exclusively to the " Congress and Gov-
ernment of the United States," and not, as do the Ter-
ritories, to the United States, over which Congress
can only exercise trust powers. Against 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, in the capacity of States. We are un-
willing 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 in the French
West Indies : and wTe have about as much right to pro-
test in the last case as in the first. On the contrary,
we incline to believe that the interference by Congress
with the slave trade in the District would result bene-
ficially to the negro slave in the States. If the traffic
was prohibited there, and those loathsome and disgust-
ing depots of degraded and distressed humanity were
effectually broken up within the District limits, it would
16*

370 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.

force the Southern slaveholding States to protect them-
selves by adopting similar laws, or else their soil 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 telling what
would be the consequences, if, in the event of such law
passed by Congress, the slaveholding States should fail
to adopt similar laws. The wanton cruelties and re-
volting barbarities of the British West Indies would
speedily be re-enacted in a region where quiet, and
content, and jolly cheerfulness prevail among white
and black. The land would swarm with hordes of
sullen and desperate creatures, torn suddenly from
home and from family, 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 appalling than ever before exampled, would then
become the order of the day. But would the Southern
States fail, in such event, to pass such laws ? We haz-
ard little in 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 all. In Mississippi, especially,
opinion is even now rife for the passage of such laws ;
and had the emancipation question, lately submitted to
the people of Kentucky, prevailed, a foreign negro (by
which we mean those of other States and portions of
the confederacy) had never set foot on our soil. It is
a settled and cherished hope and desire with many in
this State, that the slave traffic shall speedily terminate
within its limits. Already has it been declared, by
resolution of the Legislature, a public nuisance for

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE. 371

traders to expose their gangs of chained human crea-
tures within view of the capitol of a sovereign State.
The negroes now owned in Mississippi are, in general,
thoroughly domesticated and happy as a race, attached
to home and their masters, and they are the most cheer-
ful and light-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, will be more than sufficient to culti-
vate all our soil in a few years. Thus situated, we have
little cause to invite or allure an influx of strangers and
traders with their living herds. We have every thing
to lose, and nothing to gain, by such a course of con-
duct. If, then, such action by Congress, within a juris-
diction exclusively its own, should induce a like action
on our part ; should influence a movement which would
lead to consequences thus beneficial to our interests
and prepossessions, and which would have the eflect of
strengthening slavery as a strictly domestic institution
in the States, and relieve it, at the same time, of its
most repulsive and unwelcome feature, we would have
little cause for complaint. 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 opinion, that while the right to emanci-
pate lies with the people in their collective body in
convention, — a right they inherit from sources of power
older than the Constitution or the laws, and conse-
quently of unassailable and impregnable integrity as
weU as of superior magnitude, — slaves, like all other
kinds of property, are subject, nevertheless, to legisla-
tion for regulation. It would be surely and strangely
anomalous if they were not, especially in that feature

372 SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TRADE.

which we have been more particularly employed in
treating 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 inhabitants are isolated
as regards their relations with the different States or
sovereign communities which 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 privileges,
and claim immunities which the people of the District
do not enjoy. The State Legislatures are not arbitrary,
irresponsible bodies. As regards the ten miles 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 denied.

But, more than all, the District of Columbia is the
neutral ground betwixt the jarring and conflicting sec-
tions of the confederacy. As applied 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 in the people. An
assembly composed of representatives from all other
portions of the country, is its sole owner and supreme
arbiter. Taxation and representation are here em-
phatically disallied. One can be imposed without the
recognition or voice of the other ; and the great princi-
ple which gave birth to American independence, and
which has built up one of the most powerful empires
under the sun, is thus signally repudiated and disre-

SLAVEEY AND THE SLAVE TKADE. 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 all grounds of exception
or offence to the opinions and prejudices of both sec-
tions should be peacefully removed. Congress can
never abolish slavery in the District without abruptly
transcending its legitimate powers. This should be
satisfaction enough to us of the South.

The indiscriminate traffic in slaves, exposing them
for sale in droves, without regard to family or attach-
ments, and under the very eye of men unaccustomed
to such sights, is odious in the extreme. It is a cus-
tom not only foreign to the tastes and prejudices of the
Northern men, but is revolting as the most disgusting
nuisance. It is a repulsive and unwelcome sight to all.
It is generally regarded as an unseemly and objection-
able spectacle on the neutral ground of a free republic,
one-half of which, in the capacity of sovereign States,
has abolished and repudiated all connection with the
institution, excepting only in so far as ^hey are consti-
tutionally bound to protect the rights, in this respect,
of the slaveholding States. It is a custom barely toler-
ated even in the States where slavery exists as a do-
mestic institution. In many of these — Mississippi
prominent among them — the introduction of slaves to
vend in 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 generally 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 SLAVE TRADE.

longing unquestionably to the " Congress and Govern-
ment of the United States," and when they shall decide
to act under that right, where will we find authority to
prevent or successfully oppose them ? We cannot call
on the States, for they would be stopped at the outset,
for want of formal and proper authority to interfere in
a matter which 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 infringed by such ac-
tion on the part of Congress, within a territory owing
allegiance to it alone. The States, then, would be left
without the shadow of complaint or aggrievance. We
could not appeal to the General Government, for, be-
sides being the offending party itself— if it be offence —
it can only move in such case by the terms of the law,
and that law will afford us no pretext for the call. The
army and navy will not be at our disposal, for we could
not make out a constitutional case of aggrievance, or
frame a proper exhibit to claim them at the hands of
the Executive. If we should attempt to bully or to
threaten, Congress might silence us at once by pro-
ducing the Constitution and deeds of cession, and by
challenging us to show any cause for questioning the
supremacy of the General Government within its proper
sphere and within its " exclusive jurisdiction." They
might also plead our favorite doctrine of " hands off,"
or the rapidly-obtaining principle of " non-intervention."
They would tell us to let them alone in their " absolute
and exclusive jurisdiction," and then they in turn will
forbear to interfere with ours. It will be time enough,
we think, to resort to all these extreme remedies, and
to others more extreme still, when Congress shall seek
to disturb the institution in the States. Even then we
are inclined to believe that remedies less harsh, less ex-

SLAVERY AND THE SLAVE TKADE. 375

treme, and less repulsive than force of arms, may be
found to allay the tumult, and afford redress. But in
a case where we can establish no right, found no pro-
test, and exhibit no authority to interfere ; where, at
the best, we would be so entirely excuseless and help-
less, reason and mature reflection will tell us to pause
and inquire before we take the final, fatal step. Other-
wise we might chance to be placed in the perplexing
situation of the 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 all the mischief had been done ; or, what is worse
still, we might be unable, when questioned by the op-
posing party, to state the grounds or the nature of our
offence.

THE TKUE ISSUE BETWEEN PARTIES IN
THE SOUTH : UNION OE DISUNION.*

A CRISIS has been reached in our national affairs
when it becomes us all, fellow-citizens, to reflect. The
crisis is not, as heretofore, illusory and unreal, or con-
fined merely within 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 public 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 Republic, is about
to be joined. That issue is, Union or Disunion. No
subtlety of argument or speech, no specious array of
words, no ingenious 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, abetting schemes

* Union or Disunion ; being a Review of the alleged causes of ag-
gression at the recent action of Congress, together with some views
concerning the proposed Southern Convention ; and an examination of
His Excellency's late Proclamation, as also of the doctrine of Secession.
Addressed to the People of Mississippi. By a Southron. Columbus,
Mississippi. 1850.

UNION OR DISUNION. 377

and movements which look, in their consequences, to
nothing 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 shall 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 succinctly the doctrines set up by those who advo-
cate resistance to the laws of Congress, recently passed,
which admit California as a State of the Union, and
which embrace the whole series of bills reported by the
Senate Committee of Thirteen, of which Henry Clay
was chairman ; better known as the Compromise or
Adjustment Bills. I purpose to review the whole
grounds of what is termed the list of Southern griev-
ances. I shall examine the various constitutional ques-
tions that have been raised, and the exposition of which
has been depended on as the reason for extreme resorts.
I shall inquire into the necessity for the proposed con-
vocation of the Legislature by Governor Quitman, and
also of the reassemblage of the Nashville Convention ;
and, lastly, I shall invite your attention to the remedies
proposed by the advocates of resistance, viz. : secession
or dissolution of the United States, and the formation
of a Southern Confederacy. .

To accomplish fully this design, it is necessary to
enter into some preliminary details of history, inti-
mately connected with the subject, and which may not,
therefore, prove unprofitable. It may serve, and is de-
signed to show, the vicious tendency of party, and the
countless evils which have flowed from the policy of the
last administration.

The dangers which now threaten the peace of the

378 UNION OR DISUNION.

Union date their origin from the dark period of the
Texan annexation. No matter what may be our obli-
gations and relations with Texas now, it is undeniable
that her introduction as a member of the United States
has brought about the present dissatisfactions and dis-
tractions. Previously to 1845, parties had been divided
mainly on internal questions, which the lapse of a few
years would have settled peaceably and with satisfac-
tion. The United States Bank had fallen 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 in hand separately. The manifold and exagger-
ated evils 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 Bill of 1833 ; and their partial revival in 1842 had
been effectually checked by the law of 1846. Mean-
while, however, a new cause of difference had been sur-
reptitiously introduced by the 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 which marked
the incipiency of the annexation project ; the depth and
consummate artifice of which, in connection with the
fabled alliance between England and Texas, seem to
have inveigled the strong perceptive powers of Mr.
Calhoun himself. At least, he was called 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 Union, an interest to which he was
devoted, and which he believed was assailable by Eng-

UNION OR DISUNION. 379

land from that exposed quarter. The name and influ-
ence of Calhoun gave, thus, very high respectability to
a project which might otherwise, under the auspices of
Houston or Tyler, have fallen into speedy and meritori-
ous disrepute. But the respectability thrown around it
by Mr. Calhoun, though probably well intended by him,
resulted most disastrously. No sooner was 'it made
known that the distinguished Carolinian had asserted
the claims of Texas, than the Democratic party, cha-
grined by their defeat in 1840, seized adroitly on the
question, wrested it from the feeble grasp of John Ty-
ler, and, under the pale and sicklied light 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 expired,
the Democratic party simultaneously introduced a fire-
brand of contention, which, it is feared, will yet prove
the entering wedge to a dissolution of the Union.
Scarcely had Texas been annexed, before, in conse-
quence, the war with Mexico ensued. It was persisted
in until California, New Mexico, and Texas were all
brought into the Union, and in despite of the warning
voice of many who had at first advocated the annexa-
tion of the latter ; not believing that it would result
in war and extensive conquest. California and New
Mexico thus becoming the property of the United
States, there was revived, as a natural consequence, the
exciting issue which had previously grown out of the
purchase of Louisiana, and which, in 1819, had well
nigh caused a disruption of the Government. This is-
sue, of course, was the extension or restriction of the
slavery interest. For weal or for woe, therefore, the
last administration is justly chargable with the dangers
and the evils which now, if not checked, so imminently

380 UNION OR DISUNION.

portend a bloody and devastating civil war. Its advo-
cates should not shrink from the responsibility ; else,
having now seen and felt the disasters of their hasty
policy, let them come forward, and aid to rescue the
Union.

It will 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 of the South. Her boundaries
were too large and extended by more than half; and
the Convention which framed her Constitution was got-
ten up with a haste and informality that argued a pre-
determined hostility to the peculiar Southern 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
having 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
principles of popular right, than any which is likely to
follow from a recognition of her claims. It is also a
very delicate point to assume that Congress has the
right to impose, under such circumstances, any other
than its solo constitutional restriction on the terms of
admission, which is a republican form of government.
Such power has ever been 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, his-

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 Ohio
made application for admission into the Union. The
application was referred to a Committee of the Senate,
of which the celebrated Mr. Giles was chairman ; and
on the fourth day of March succeeding, it was reported,
that although the requisitions of the law had not been
strictly complied with in the formation of the Constitu-
tion, and the prescribed number of inhabitants nearly
twenty thousand short, yet that it comported " with
the general interest of the confederacy " to admit said
State of Ohio into the Union, " on the same footing
with the original States, in all respects whatsoever."
(Amer. State Papers. Mis. vol. 1st, page 326.) It is
worthy of remark that the term, " general interest of
the confederacy," covers the whole ground of admis-
sion, and evinces, in a striking manner, the proclivity
of the past generation of statesmen to submerge all fac-
tional issues in the common weal of the Union.

The principle of non-intervention was more clearly
settled still at the session of 1808, on an application of
the people inhabiting the Indiana Territory to establish
a separate government west of the river Wabash. The
Committee, in this instance2 reported that, " being 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 policy to grant to every portion
of the people of the Union that form of government
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 California 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 Congressional 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 bill proposing an adjustment of
pending 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 republic, it will then be full
time, but not until such is fairly proven, for their wise
neighbors to assume their administration and direction.
It may be as well to add, that this is the view taken of
this bill by both the Texan Senators, concurred with
by the Hon. John M. Berrien, of Georgia, and the
Hon. Jere Clemens, of Alabama. Their opinions are
herewith subjoined :

" Nothing more has been done than to submit a proposition to
Texas to settle a question of boundary, admitted on all hands to be
lull of difficulty. It is at her option to accept or reject the offer.
ft will not do to argue that the amount of money will bias unfairly the
action of her Legislature. Put the question to any Alabamian — ask
him if he thinks our State would sell her poorest county for all the
treasures of the Union, and he would treat it as an insult. Are we to
assume that we are better than others, or that Texas will accept what
we would spurn ? I was willing to trust Texas with the care of her
own honor. I was willing also to trust to her own knowledge of hetr
rights" — Clemen's letter of August 20th.

" My reasons for voting for the bill to adjust the Texas boundary
sire as follows :

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 in our (the Georgia) cession of 1802, I should have
considered it an intrusion.

3d. Because the territory to he ceded would hecome part of New
Mexico, and free from the Proviso.

4th. Principally because relieving Texas from her debt, it would
develop her energies ; and I consider a strong slaveholding State in
that quarter as of incalculable importance, in itself, and necessarily
leading to the formation of others." — Berrien's Macon letter.

The third in the series of what is called the aggres-
sive or anti-Southern measures of Congress, is the bill
erecting Territorial Governments for the Territories of
New Mexico and Utah. These bills, respectively, con-
tain the following section :

"Be it further enacted, That when admitted as a
State, the said territory, or any portion of the same,
shall be received into the Union 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 doctrine of secession, or its equivalent, the prin-
ciple of sedition, would, it might reasonably be inferred,
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 establishment by Congress in
those Territories. If the influence of Texas shall be
what Judge Berrien, in the latter clause above quoted,
predicts it may be, there is almost a certainty that new
slaveholding States may yet be formed out of this iden-
tical Territory. It is the mere cant of disunion to
stickle on the point 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 OR DISUNION.

stitution of slavery ; but it has been left for the local
authorities always to regulate the municipal and police
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 bill most objected to by factious sectionalists
in connection with the late Congressional measures of
harmony and pacification, is that which abolishes the
indiscriminate 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 shown that this bill is con-
formable to the terms of the Maryland deed of cession
and to the Constitution of the United States, the last
objection of course falls to the ground, and, as a neces-
sary consequence, the first is removed ; for it cannot be
rationally 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 political situation of the District, in view of the
strong popular features of our government, is certainly
anomalous. As applied within its limits, the nature of
the government undergoes an entire change, and pre-
sents a new face. Sovereign power, unchecked and
undefined in the original compacts, is lodged elsewhere
than in the people. An assembly, composed of persons

UNION OR DISUNION. 385

from all other portions of the Confederacy, is its sole
owner and supreme arbiter. Taxation and representa-
tion are here emphatically disallied. One can be im-
posed without the recognition or voice of the other ;
and the great principle which gave birth to American
Independence, and which has built up one of the most
powerful empires under the sun, is thus signally repu-
diated and disregarded in a neutral territory set apart,
in the very heart of the nation, for the residence of the
supreme powers. Before progressing with this branch
of the subject, however, I have thought it would be
better, my fellow-citizens, to place before you the
Maryland deed of cession, conveying this District to
Congress, and which, now that the portion of its origi-
nal limits belonging to Virginia has been retroceded to
that State, is the only deed to which it becomes neces-
sary to refer. Side by side with this deed, I shall place
that clause of the Federal Constitution which accepts
the same, and prescribes the powers of Congress over
the District limits :

" Be it enacted by the General Assembly of the State of Maryland,
That all that part of the said territory called Columbia, which lies
within the limits of this State, shall be, and the same is hereby ac-
knowledged to "be, for ever ceded and relinquished to the Congress and
Government of the United States, in full and conclusive right and ex-
clusive jurisdiction, as well of soil as of persons residing, or to reside
thereon." — Deed from Maryland.

" Congress shall have power to exercise exclusive jurisdiction in all
cases whatsoever, over such district (not exceeding ten miles square) as
may, by cession of particular States, and by the acceptance of Con-
gress, become the seat of government of the United States." — Const.,
art. 1st, section 8th.

The only proviso affixed to this deed is, " that no

right shall be vested in the United States as to soil

owned by individuals otherwise than the same might

be transferred by such individuals." The deed, any

17

386 UNION OR DISUNION.

candid reasoner must admit, is full and absolute, while
the language of the Constitution is so explicit as to
amount, literally, 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 " in the Consti-
tution carries along with it, as the most biased and fas-
tidious stickler will concede, " exclusive jurisdiction in
all cases whatsoever."

It will be seen, moreover, that the Congress is a
party to this deed in more ways than one. It is a party
independently, because the cession is made to the Con-
gress and Government of the United States. It is also
a party by virtue 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, which no cession
could transfer, and no Constitution, or acceptance of
such cession, wrest from the people. I pause to say
that among the pre-existing rights is that to hold slaves,
and that Congress can have no power, consequently, to
abolish slavery in the District, without the previously
expressed assent of the people thereof. The power to
abolish is not the function of a legislative body, deriv-
ing its power from instruments less ancient than the
institution proposed to be abolished. It is a power
which can belong only to those who own slaves,
wherever found living under our present Federal Con-
stitution.

But Congress being clothed with absolute power,
and with exclusive jurisdiction over the District, must
needs possess supreme legislative powers, from which
there can be no appeal to the States, and with which

UNION OR DISUNION. 387

the last have no right to interfere. It cannot be denied
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 assailed by the law
than could the right to bequeath or inherit, or the right
of self-defence, or the freedom of conscience; all 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 police
features of slavery. It has been so considered by every
government, ancient and modern, under which slavery
has existed. That of Rome, which gave to the master
even the power of life and limb 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 willing to, such riddance. The gov-
ernment, therefore, claimed only the right of all gov-
ernments, to abridge, and finally to prohibit the indis-
criminate traffic in the beings who were enslaved ; but
it dared not, even in that early age, to infringe the
right of property by abruptly destroying 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 within its imperial limits ; yet
the slave traffic is not only effectually 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 soil. The rash and unwarranted abolition of
serfdom, even by the sceptred Autocrat of all 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-
ishing 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 government of sovereign States and
limited powers, this power is not dormant. All power,
of whatever description, must reside somewhere. There
are powers which belong to the body of the people, to
the States in their separate capacity and in constitu-
tional convention, and to Congress. We have assumed
that the will of the people is alone the arbiter of slavery
as an institution, and they alone may abolish slavery,
whether in the States or in the District. The regula-
tion of the slave trade is a matter of legislation, both in
the States and in the District. As to the States, their
own Legislatures may and do exercise this power.
Within the District, the Congress is absolute, and un-
questionably possesses a similar 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 this power re-
cently by breaking up slave depots and markets within
the District, by prohibiting the introduction of slaves
within the District for purposes of traffic or sale, and
by declaring such slaves to be free in all such cases.
How shall we go about resisting, in a constitutional
and peaceful way I mean, the exercise of an unquestion-
ably existing power by a body " absolute " by the deed
of cession within the ceded limits, 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 government of the United States ? " The
evil, if evil there be, must be traced to the terms of

UNION OR 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, fellow-citizens of the State of Missis-
sippi, gone through with a brief but concise summary
of all those measures of Congress which have been de-
nounced as intending mischief on the Southern institu-
tion, and against which it is proposed, in some quarters,
to direct the artillery of public indignation, if not of
Southern chivalry. I have said nothing about the fu-
gitive slave bill, because it seems to be generally satis-
factory. But I purpose, in this number, to call your
attention to the remedies intended, or by some agitated,
to cure these alleged evils, and the modes of resistance
so boldly promulged by the disaffected. This was
the more immediate object of this essay, than discussion
of the merits of the bills, at which I have but glanced.

These remedies are, I regret to say, all of a violent
character ; the resistance proposed looks alone to dis-
organization and dismemberment of the Union. The
ultra doctrines of the South Carolina Ordinance, so sig-
nally buried in 1833 by the Proclamation of General
Jackson, have been disentombed, and are held forth as
the nucleus around which discontent and sedition may
rally. There is, I fear, this great difference between
the period of their inglorious sepulture, and their resur-
rection in this day. Then, their pernicious influences
were mainly confined to South Carolina; now, their
baneful exhalations are far more widely disseminated.
The day may be near at hand when an Andrew Jack-
son might prove a blessing to the integrity of the Re-
public.

390 UNION OR DISUNION.

It is proposed to call a Convention of the Southern
States ; and to aid this project, doubtless, our belliger-
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 Excellency and the Governor of Georgia,
the only authentic evidences of a design to resist the
Government, so far given to the world. If the objects
of the Convention be peaceful, I, for one, see no use in
its assemblage. It is, under any circumstances, a ques-
tionable resort, and certainly a dangerous mode of col-
lecting public sentiment. It is not only a dangerous,
but very unreliable mode, where such wide and fun-
damental differences of opinion exist, as surely do exist
among the Southern people at this time. A conven-
tion can only answer a good purpose when there is a
great coincidence of opinion and unity of sentiment as
to the aggressions of the General Government. When
I go into the advocacy of a convention which is to de-
liberate concerning alleged 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 Southern rights, but a palpable and dan-
gerous violation of the Constitution. If I feel that
there has been nothing of either of these, I prefer to
seek a remedy through the ballot-box, or by remon-
strance, or in some way authorized by the 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
believe, to deliberate concerning prospective or antici-
pated grievances, concerning the mere " shadow of
coming events," or for adopting an ultimatum against

UNION OR DISUNION. 391

merely fancied wrongs, supposed to be intended by the
North, I must still say I cannot concur in the policy.
" Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," especially
when that evil is only suspected ; when it exists only
in the imaginations of those who seem to delight in dis-
cord, and who hold pertinaciously 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 shah1 advocate
preparation against mere phantom encroachments. I
am not haunted by any distempered visions. I see no
" grinning horrors " in the unrobed future of the Re-
public, as it stands. If my fancy ever wanders into the
dreamy future, I am always greeted by smiling visions
of the brightness, and glory, and greatness of the Union
— beaming with the mild radiance of its original purity,
and gathering 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-like agitators, such as emanate from Tammany
Hall or Nashville Conventions ; but ere long the bright-
ness reappears — familiar faces, like those of Washington
and Franklin, peer forth from the transient obscurity,
and the " black spirits," frowned into nothingness, van-
ish as mists from before the rising sun.

A convention, fellow-citizens, whose members are
composed of citizens of particular States only, elected
without the " consent of Congress," and which looks to
the formation of any agreement or compact among
themselves, is an unconstitutional and a seditious assem-
blage. The late Nashville Convention assembled with-
out the consent of Congress, expressly to form some
agreement among the Southern States. Its address

302 UNION OR DISUNION.

was directed alone to the people of the Southern States,
and its action was submitted alone to Southern States.
It is now proposed to sanction a re-assemblage of this
Convention, or to call into being another looking to the
same objects. It is useless for the advocates of a Con-
vention to attempt a disguise of their objects. If their
object was peaceful deliberation merely, they would re-
sort to a peaceful, constitutional method of deliberation.
Their design is to attempt to unite the South in some
scheme .of resistance against the recent laws of Con-
gress. The pretext to deliberate with a view to future
aggressions, is too senseless and too shallow to dupe
even the least sagacious.

Now, fellow-citizens, if we are a law-abiding people,
let us look well 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 State shall enter into
any treaty, alliance, or confederation." This language
is clearly unmistakable, and asserts a prohibition on the
separate States against uniting in any confederation.
But there is still a more direct inhibition against assem-
blages convened for the purposes above stated. The
following clause declares explicitly, 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 meaning, fellow-citizens, that
meaning is apparent in 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
Nashville Convention, or which may be convened, at
any time, without the consent of Congress, for any pur-

UNION OE DISUNION. 393

pose of resistance or deliberation hostile 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 which advises a course
of action on the part of those States inimical to the
Government, or hostile to the laws of the land, comes
within the prohibition of the Constitution. For these
reasons I have said that when I shall advocate a Con-
vention to be thus formed, and that shall be intended
to band the South against 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 fails of its intents and purposes,
and when all constitutional remedies shall have been
exhausted in attempting to obtain proper redress against
palpable aggressions, no one will deny that then will be
the time to choose between evils, and to count the
value of the Union. But when the ship springs a leak,
it is faint-hearted and treacherous to desert until all
the pumps have been thoroughly tried and exhausted.
Let me say, by way of illustration, that if, in defiance
of alllthat has occurred, and of law and justice, Con-
gress should assume to abolish the institution of slavery
in the District, and shall pass a law to abolish the slave
'trade within, or as between the slaveholding States,
the infraction will then be sufficiently palpable and vio-
lent, in my judgment, to warrant violent 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 evils,
as I shall presently demonstrate. We let slip the ad-
17*

#94 UNION OR 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, being recognized 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 falls, the Government is de-
stroyed, our enemies are released from all obligations,
while we are thus cast loose from the only bond that
links us with the civilized and enlightened 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 collision, 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 if the body of the North upholds
and endorses the violation and aggression. Let us see
if their constituents sanction their treachery. This, 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-interest. Their principal wealth,
and the greatness of their two mammoth emporiums,
are derived from traffic with the South. The New
England States are worth nothing to them in compari-
son with the Southern States. Cut them off from the
Southern trade, and they are well aware that they
must diminish ruinously. The severance of the Union,
and the consequent anarchy and disruption of trade,
would bankrupt the cities of New York and Philadel-
phia, and every cotton merchant would become insol-
vent. Three months of hostilities between the States

UNION OR DISUNION. 395

would shock their business in a manner that ten years
of peace could not repair. The body of the people,
therefore, knowing these things — and they are too sa-
gacious not to know them — would be far from counte-
nancing a course of action by Congress that would lead
to disunion. They would make common cause with
the South ; the offending Congress would be displaced
at the term's end, these two States will have been
gained on the side of the Union, and the Constitution
and Government 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 rashly and unnecessarily jeopard
the dearest of causes by closing the doors to all other
States ? We lose every thing without even attempting
to gain any thing. We lose the protecting influence
of the great bond of Union, without even opening a
door for its salvation.

Such, fellow-citizens, is the course of conduct, and
its consequences, advised 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 doctrine, and abjure all such tutelage. I
desire to matriculate at some other than the fountain
of South Carolina Rhett-oric.

But can a Convention of Southern States be gotten
up which will fairly and truly reflect and represent
public sentiment at the South ? I think not. In the
first place, the party distinctions of Whig and Demo-
crat are by no means obliterated. It is true that a
slight 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 of the great

396 UNION OR 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 in the vain attempt to form a par excellence
Southern party ; but the body of the 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 Southern question.
They are, it is true, more equally divided on the Union
and Disunion question, than are the Whigs ; and, per-
haps, as some of their leaders claim, the majority is for
resistance. But the issue has not been fairly joined
and put ; and, as yet, they manifest every desire to co-
here as a party, on the ancient and popular principle,
that " a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."
When their hot-headed leaders approach them on the
subject of coalition, 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 will
join you. At the same time, the body of the Whigs,
in every instance where a coalition has been attempted,
have protested against their 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 which, relying on the cheerful
support of its friends in both sections, is endeavoring to
impress conservative and national Whig principles on
the Government, and to illustrate their beautiful influ-
ence— the Whigs seem unwilling to surrender their
tried friends, ere yet they have offended. Nor do they
seem at all inclined to the belief that they will offend.
Millard Fillmore and Daniel Webster were never so
popular at the South as now, and their friends evince
every reliance in their administration.

UNION OR DISUNION. 397

Parties, then, are still jealous, still disunited, and
there is little 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 whichever 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
Southern friends. This, my fellow-citizens, is of itself a
sufficient argument with me to oppose all attempts at
the Southern Convention.

But this is not all. I fear that, after assembling,
such Convention would rather be found lending itself
to the manufacture of public sentiment, than conform-
ing to the will of those they would be said to represent.
That will could not now be ascertained. The advocates
of the Convention are either unwilling or afraid to avow
their objects, or to meet the issue of Union or Disunion
— of resistance or obedience to the laws of the country.
They could not sustain, before the people, an effort to
call a Convention merely to deliberate, or to adopt an
ultimatum against aggressions not yet committed. The
people will claim the privilege of deliberating, and then
send delegates from their midst to act. You cannot
get the Conventionists to join the issue of war or peace,
resistance or non-resistance, by their proposed Conven-
tion. Their addresses, their resolutions, even their
speeches in primary assemblies, all point to resistance,
and cover a settled purpose of dissolution. But they
disclaim violence and repudiate disunion, where the
naked issue is made. A Convention, therefore, is im-
practicable, and would not reflect truly and entirely
public sentiment. The question of a Convention may
then be thus resolved : If intended only to deliberate,

398 UNION OB DISUNION.

it is not their province ; if to adopt an ultimatum
against airy aggressions, it is unnecessary ; if to decide
the issue of resistance or obedience, or of Union or
Disunion, no such issue will 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, believing you to
be fully capable of filling up the detail of argument, and
of following the same to its just and legitimate conclu-
sion. My only remaining task now is to examine,
briefly but minutely, the other proposed remedy of se-
cession— a remedy which I shall 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 this course is suggested by very
few — is disavowed by many even of the most disaffect-
ed, and is dreaded by nearly all.

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 shall argue it in a somewhat novel point of
view, and invoke your unbiased attention. It will be
for you to say, after going 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 of the State Govern-
ments, or the people of the States united? Is it an
agreement merely, a league between the different
States, a copartnership of separate and distinct Gov-
ernments, or a regularly "ordained and established
Constitution," the declared supreme law of the entire
confederacy ? If I understand history, fellow-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 point of fact. The old con-
federation was, indeed, 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 collect taxes and
duties, nor form treaties, nor declare war, nor make
peace, without the consent of the State Governments.
It was imbecile and inefficient, a mockery and a nullity,
and was soon found to be so. A Convention was
called to revise and re-adapt its deficiencies. That
Convention met in 1787, in Philadelphia, 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-
ernment was framed and sent out for ratification, not
by the States or the State Legislatures, but by the
people of the States in convention assembled. It de-
pended for adoption on consent and agreement / but
the moment that it was adopted, its declarations were
fairly confirmed. These declarations are not of a league
or compact between the States, but of a " Constitution
of the people of the United States." The language of
the preamble is not to agree or stipulate, but to " or-
dain and establish." 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 notwithstanding." (Art. 6th.) This Consti-
tution can lay and collect 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 tells them they " shall not " make treaties,
form alliances or confederations, coin money, pass any
bill 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, maintain any navies.
(Art. 1st, section 10th.) This surely is not the lan-
guage of a creature, a mere agent of the various State
Governments ! Washington tells us " that it is utterly
impracticable, in the Federal Government of these
States, to secure all 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 constituting
the people thereof one people for certain purposes," and
as an instrument which cannot be altered or annulled
at the will of the States individually. The fifteenth
number of the Federalist, the acknowledged authorita-
tive commentary on and exposition of the Constitution,
penned by Mr. Madison, speaks of " sovereignty in the
Union, and complete independence in the States, as ut-
terly repugnant and irreconcilable." But I have a
more pertinent, if not a higher authority still. Mr.
Calhoun, in his celebrated letter to Governor Hamilton,
uses this significant language : " In the execution of the

UNION OE 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, fellow-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 truthfully. If they are unwelcome, they are none
the less true ; and I cannot be held responsible for tak-
ing the Constitution for that which I know it to be.
And I may here add, en passant, such being the history
and interpretation of the Constitution, the doctrine of
secession finds but little constitutional sustenance.

But I may be pointed to the Virginia Resolutions
of 1798, passed to denounce the odious Alien and Sedi-
tion laAvs of the Adams administration. Being penned
by Mr. Madison, I cheerfully defer to their authority
as he interprets them — not as Nullifiers and Secession-
ists interpret them. They are held by these last to
assert the complete independence of the States of the
General Government, and as covering the right of se-
cession by the States at their own option. If this be
their meaning, I reject them as dangerous and Jacobin-
ical. But do they really look to the right of secession,
or to the resistance of the laws of Congress by hostile
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 inferences. Mr. Madison,
in the letter above referred to, speaking of the interpre-

402

UNION OR DISUNION.

tation thus put on his resolution, says : " It may often
happen that erroneous constructions, not anticipated,
may not be sufficiently guarded against in the language
used." And again he says: "That the Legislature
could not have intended to sanction such doctrine (viz.,
nullification and secession), is to be inferred from the
debate in the House of Delegates, and from the address
of the two Houses to their constituents." Mr. Monroe,
then Governor of Virginia, in his message relating to
these resolutions, and referring to the action of the
Legislature on passing them, says, " they looked to a
change in public opinion, which ought to be free ; not
to measures of violence, discord, and disunion, which
they (the people and Legislature) abhor." The mover
of the resolutions himself declares, " The appeal is to
public opinion ; if that is against us, we must yield."
And in later years, a distinguished disciple of the Vir-
ginia school of politics declared in the United States
Senate, when alluding to these resolutions, " The whole
object of the proceedings was, by the peaceful force of
public opinion, to obtain a speedy repeal of the acts in
question, not to oppose or arrest their execution while
they remained unrepealed." (Speech of Hon. Wm. C.
Rives, in 1833.) And as evidence in support of this
interpretation, I may here add, that even while the
resolutions were yet before the people of Virginia, de-
nouncing the laws of Congress as "unconstitutional
and dangerous," the Sedition Act was cruelly enforced
against a popular favorite and protege of Mr. Jefferson,
in their very capital, and by one of the 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 high authority.

UNION OR DISUNION. 403

But I propose to examine this principle of secession
still more minutely, and to measure it by the terms of
the Constitution. I must say, in all sincerity, that it
seems to me to be an absurd proposition to contend
that a solemn bond of government and of union, delib-
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-
lishment, could have been formed by none but madmen
or Utopians, and could never have received the solemn
adoption of an intelligent and sagacious people. Sup-
pose a State could secede from the Union at its own
time, and by its own option ! To what would it subject
the rest of the States, but to the despotism of a frac-
tion, more intolerable 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 inadmissibility of such a doctrine,
than that it puts it in 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
existed 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-
ginia, New York, and Rhode Island, claimed and re-
served the right of seceding, at their own pleasure, in
their 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 disorganizing 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 Ghibellines. Such a gov-
ernment, fellow-citizens, as secessionists would force on
you, was never designed by a Convention over which
Washington presided, and in which Madison, and Jay,
and Hamilton were principal actors.

But did these States make any such reservation ?
Let us go to the record, and take it by its plain, com-
mon-sense, usually received meaning. I find in the
\ irgima ibrm of ratification, that the delegates decided
that they " do, in the name, and on behalf of the people
of Virginia, declare and make known that the powers
granted under the Constitution, being derived from the
people of the United States, may be resumed by them
whensoever the same shall be perverted to their in-
jury or oppression." There is no sophisticating this
declaration. The "people of Virginia" declare that
" the powers granted under the Constitution are de-
rived from the people of the United States." That is
clear. Virginia, then, does not claim supremacy, or
even individuality, except in so far as her people assent
to the Constitution. These powers, " when perverted,"
may be " resumed," not by the people of Virginia 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 hope 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. (Elliott's Deb., vol. 2, p. 476.)
But New York presents a more direct refutation of
this doctrine. I find their 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 includes secession. Indeed,
on the day following, a delegate moved to strike out
the words " upon condition," and insert, " in full confi-
dence / " and the motion prevailed. But, as if to clinch
the whole, a Mr. Lansing 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 Union, after a certain number of
years, unless the amendments proposed should be pre-
viously submitted to a general Convention." The mo-
tion was promptly and largely defeated. This, fellow-
citizens, would not seem to contemplate secession. (El-
liott'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 think, fairly debatable.
In reflecting on the subject, and investigating its mer-
its, I was arrested by the following language, found in
the latter clause of the tenth section of the first article
of the Constitution : " No State shall, without the con-
sent of Congress, lay any duty of tonnage, keep troops
or ships of war in time of peace, enter into 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 OR DISUNION.

of the clause. Indeed, Mr. Justice Story, in his admi-
rable Commentaries on the Constitution, 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 like 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. This, fellow-
citizens, is the only cloak which I can find in the Con-
stitution to cover the doctrine of secession. 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 Union. 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 will of the great aggrieving power, which
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 overshadowing empire like
that of the United States — admitting, that is, that a
State may peaceably secede ? Why, in the first place,
such State would be an alien, a foreign power, having
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 allowed
to exercise a single attribute or privilege of sovereignty,
when we chose to interfere ? And would we not inter-

UNION OR DISUNION. 407

fere if she formed any alliance with a foreign power,
prejudicial to our interests, or that might be dangerous
to our liberties ? She would, in fact, be a mere miser-
able dependency, constantly watched and suspected by
an all-powerful neighbor, liable, at any time, to be over-
run and subdued, or blockaded and invested on all
sides, so that she could not move. An interior State,
like Arkansas, for instance, which has not even an out-
let or seaport of her own, would be especially ruined in
case of secession. If the seceding State, as is more
likely, was South Carolina, a squadron of United 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 being searched by a
man-of-war boat. The very thought of such disruption
is repulsive — the picture absolutely humiliating. But
a State being once severed from the protection of the
Constitution must look out against unpleasing conse-
quences. She is then under that law only which makes
the weaker power the very creature of the greater.
May such spectacle never disgrace our shores !

This brings me to the close of my task. I have
thought that I see enough of danger in the dissemina-
tion of certain doctrines from high and influential
sources, to authorize this intrusion. This, at least, is
my apology, if I shall encounter uncharitable criticism
or rebuke. The good and wholesome doctrine of true
State rights has, in my opinion, been perverted to sub-
serve unlawful ends. I have been raised to venerate
the true State rights doctrine, but not those which lead
to disruption, and unconstitutional resistance of the
laws of the General Government. It is still my pride
to claim affinity with that enlightened school of politi-
cians ; but when they so torture the teachings of the
early fathers as to ally with disunionists and secession-

408 UNION OR DISUNION.

ists, under a counterfeit of their ancient sacred banner,
I part company with them. I believe that it is right to
inculcate the doctrine of State sovereignty as assumed
by Madison, and to guard against the tendencies to
consolidation. 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 of the Government.
In conclusion, fellow-citizens, I am unable to see
any thing so ominous in the present aspect of our na-
tional affairs as will authorize us to go about banding
and marshalling the States for a crusade against the
action of the General Government — especially under
the lead of such 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
which can bind mortal man to his native clime ; and I
shall abide the destinies of the South. But I venerate
the Federal Constitution. I love the Union. I love
the first for its beneficent protecting influence and
power ; I love the last for its proud and glorious asso-
ciation with all that is dear to an American heart.

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