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them with that unconscious ease which is the test of true worth.

His moral and personal qualities formed the proper complement of his public and scientific character. Unaffected' plainness of manners stamped him with its authentic seal, the real great man. The virtues and charities of domestic life, softening and shading down the energy of his intellect, while they derived from it their own consistency and force, united to render him an object of equal affection, admiration, and reverence.

To such a life, career, and fame, one thing only was wanting the death of the Christian philosopher. It seems scarcely possible to conceive of the close of a life more in harmony with the character displayed in its progress, or better calculated to put his principles to the test. Nothing but such a death could add lustre to such a life.

For a month, at least, before his departure, he was steadily sinking under the advances of a painful and mortal disease. He was called for days and weeks to behold the king of terrors face to face; but he beheld the dreadful spectacle unmoved. Not a murmur nor a sigh escaped him. As far as physical weakness would permit, he continued his official duties, and even his scientific studies, without a word or a look which evinced surprise or dismay. Never has it been my fortune to witness a brighter display of Christian patience, resignation, and fortitude. About ten days before his death, I enjoyed the privilege of an interview with him of considerable duration. The memory of this interview will never be effaced from my mind. I saw one of the brightest intellects that ever adorned humanity, sinking without a cloud, like the glorious luminary whose laws and influences it had been accustomed to explore. He was sitting in his library, the field of his labors and his fame. As I took my seat by his side, he said, "You see me near my journey's end. It would be pleasant to me to stay longer. I have enjoyed life, I have enjoyed my friends; but I am prepared to go. I have made all my arrangements for my departure, and now wait for my summons."

Having thus spoken of himself with a composure which must be learned, not in the schools of human science, but in that of Christian hope, with greater composure than I was able then or am able now to command, he minutely described the nature of his disease. He then spoke, in an animated strain, on subjects of interest and importance, on his great work, of which he had that morning corrected part of a proof sheet, on the general course of his life, and on several important topics of public concern. Among other subjects, I cannot deny myself the melancholy gratification of stating, that he spoke in terms of the warmest approbation of an act of painful official duty, which, by the advice of the executive council of the commonwealth, I had recently been called to perform. He deemed it to be imperatively required for the vindication of the violated majesty of the law, and for the protection of the public order and peace. He assured me it was an act which my conscience would approve to the latest hour of my life. Evidently drawing near the close of his own, in a condition in which the prejudices and passions of the day were less likely than ever to cloud his pure and lofty judgment, I own that I could not receive this testimony of approbation from that voice of wisdom, which I was to hear no more on earth, without emotions of sorrowful satisfaction, mingled with reverence and awe.

But I crave your indulgence, Mr Chairman, for the length to which my remarks have extended. I rose, not to express any feelings personal to myself, but to give utterance to those which I share with every member of the Academy. Allow me, in taking my seat, to send to the Chair the draft of certain resolutions appropriate to the occasion, which I submit to the disposal of the Academy.

FOURTH OF JULY, 1838.*

MR EVERETT made his acknowledgments for a complimentary toast as follows: I rise, Mr Mayor, to thank you for the kind notice you have been pleased to take of me in the toast just offered. To that portion of it which rendered a just tribute to the renown of our ancient commonwealth, I may be permitted myself to respond; and for that part which conveyed a personal compliment, greatly indebted for it as I am to your kindness, I cannot but express my heartfelt thanks.

You have observed, sir, that this is the first occasion in which the city, in its corporate capacity, has, in this manner, celebrated the fourth of July. I agree with you, that it is an occasion worthy of such a celebration. It was foretold by him whose name we behold on yonder wall, (John Adams,) and who was declared by his compatriot, the author of the Declaration of Independence, (Mr Jefferson,) to have been "the colossus who sustained it on the floor of Congress," it was foretold by him, that this day would be celebrated, with every demonstration of joy, to the end of time. It ought to be so celebrated. It has been sometimes said, that the interest of the occasion has expired, and that it is time the celebration were discontinued. I think not so. If, indeed, the celebration were to begin and end, as I am sorry to say it has sometimes done, in mere empty merrymaking, in barren acclamations, in festive excess, and, still worse, in exciting base party passion, I agree that it could not be too soon discontinued. But when, in this old New England fashion, it is observed, under the sanction of our respected

* Made at the municipal celebration in Faneuil Hall.

municipal fathers, with fervent prayers to the Most High, with sound addresses and earnest appeals to the understanding and the heart, and with rational and temperate festivity, I trust the celebration will never cease while Americans remember what they owe to their ancestors.

Who has forgotten the patriotic feeling which was diffused through the whole country, twelve years ago, when the two most prominent agents in proclaiming our independence were gathered to their fathers, upon this anniversary? Who did not feel that, by that solemn circumstance, Providence had, as it were, stamped the day with a sacred character? It would be well to celebrate it, if it were only to perpetuate that serious and salutary feeling, and to transmit to posterity their names, with those of their associates emblazoned on these walls, and which seem almost at this moment to send down a benediction upon us. We must depend on this anniversary to keep up the recollection of the days and deeds of the revolution, of the times that tried men's souls, and of the men whose souls were tried. Far different, sir, were those times from ours. The genius of American Liberty had not then, as in the symbolical figure before you, put on her bravery and her beauty, with stars upon her garments, and garlands upon her head. Her path was known by the blood-stained footmarks of her retreating armies over wintry snows. This hall was not, as we now behold it, decorated with rose-buds and banners, echoing with cheerful voices and strains of joyous music. Alas! no. In yonder galleries were seen the stern and darkening countenances of our fathers, whose all of right and liberty was at stake, and whose voices, firm and resolute, echoed from all its arches. Were it but to perpetuate their memory, the celebration of the fourth of July ought not to be abandoned.

The day would be well spent, did it produce no other effect than that of furnishing us public occasion, once in the year, to contemplate the character of Washington, the great champion of our independence, whose principles and example are a precious legacy, not merely to Americans, but to the world. For one, sir, I am desirous, on the highest public grounds, to

perpetuate the tradition of his personal influence that influence which was the salvation of his country, in peace and in war, in its darkest hours. This tradition, with the lapse of time, must necessarily grow fainter and fainter. The bond which unites him, in his earliest labors and sacrifices for the country, to the generations of the living, is almost severed. It happened (by what afterwards proved to be an extraordinary coincidence) that Washington, then a colonel in the British provincial service, was compelled, on the fourth of July, 1754, after a painful capitulation to a superior force of French and Indians, to march his troops out of Fort Necessity, a little work which he had thrown up in the valley of the Monongahela. This was Washington's first inauspicious observance of the fourth of July. It may be doubted whether there now lives a man who shared the sufferings of that day, which Providence so richly repaid by its after glories. In the following year, 1755, and in the month of July, Washington was present, as the aid of the ill-starred Braddock, in the fatal battle which bears his name; and there is living, in the state of Massachusetts, an individual who was also in the battle. He remembers the appearance of the COLONEL, as he calls him. He saw him as he rode, for three long hours, through the storm of fire and steel which beat on that disastrous plain; leaping from horse to horse, as two were successively shot under him, the constant mark of the Indian warriors, as they afterwards told him, but preserved like the pious children of Israel, "on whose bodies the fire had no power." Not like them, indeed, in all respects; for it is recorded, that "neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them." The garments of Washington were pierced with bullets in four places; but he was preserved through the fiery trial, to be the savior of his country. The aged person to whom I have alluded, living, as I believe, in Manchester, in the county of Essex, is probably the sole surviving eye-witness of the scene.

Even of the Washington of the revolution, how few are now the surviving associates! I would yet, awhile, at least, celebrate the fourth of July as the day which brings them

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