At this time Fanny Fern was the great literary sensation of the day. She had just published her "Ruth Hall," which had attracted universal attention, and had given rise to a sharp discussion in the public press as to whether she was the sister of N.P. Willis or not. Mr. Bonner resolved to profit by her sudden notoriety, and requested her to write a story for the "Ledger," for which he offered to pay her twenty-five dollars per column. She declined the proposition. He then offered her fifty dollars a column, and, upon a second refusal, increased his offer to seventy-five dollars a column. She was pleased with the energy exhibited by Mr. Bonner, and flattered by his eagerness to secure her services, but declared that she would write no more for the newspapers. A little later Mr. Bonner was offered a story from her, about ten columns long. He at once accepted her proposition, and upon the receipt of the manuscript sent her a check for one thousand dollars.

With this story began that wonderful career of the "Ledger" which seems more like a dream than hard reality. The story was double-leaded, and made to fill twenty columns of the paper. The "Ledger" itself was changed from its old style to its present form, and made a purely literary journal. The price paid for the story was unparalleled in the history of American journalism, and Mr. Bonner spread the announcement far and wide that he was publishing a serial for which he had given one hundred dollars a column. His advertisements were to be seen in almost every newspaper of respectable circulation throughout the Union. In form they were different from any that had preceded them. "Fanny Fern writes for the 'Ledger.'" "Buy the 'New York Ledger,'" etc., appeared, dozens of times repeated, until men were absolutely tired of seeing the announcement. Nothing had ever been brought to the public notice so prominently before. For awhile people were astonished at the audacious boldness of "the 'Ledger' man." Then they began to buy the paper. Since then the demand for it has steadily increased.

The venture was successful. Fanny Fern's reputation and Mr. Bonner's energy and boldness made a demand for the "Ledger," at once, and out of the profits of the story for which he had paid such an unheard-of price Mr. Bonner purchased a handsome residence in New York City.

There was as much originality as boldness in the peculiar style in which Mr. Bonner advertised his paper. As before stated, nothing of the kind had ever been seen before, and the novelty of the announcements at once attracted attention. It was seen that they were expensive also, and people naturally felt some curiosity to see for themselves the paper for which a man was willing to assume such risk and expense. These announcements sometimes covered a whole page of a daily paper; sometimes the page would be almost entirely blank, with only a few lines in each column containing the announcement. Again the advertisement would be the opening chapters of a story, which would be sure to excite the curiosity of the reader, and induce him to purchase the remaining chapters in the "Ledger" itself. It is to the credit of the "Ledger" that it rarely loses a subscriber. It has become a family paper.

A recent writer thus refers to Mr. Bonner's early experience advertising:—

"His mode of advertising was new, and it excited both astonishment and ridicule. His ruin was predicted over and over again. But as he paid as he went along, he alone would be the sufferer. He was assailed in various ways. Men sneered at his writers, as well as at the method in which he made them known. He had no competition. Just then it was announced that the Harpers were to put a first-class weekly into the field. The announcement was hailed with delight by many classes. Men who had been predicting Bonner's ruin from the start were anxious to see it accomplished. He had agents in all the leading cities in the land. These held a monopoly of the 'Ledger.' The book men and newspaper men, who were left out, were quite willing to have the 'Ledger' go under. The respectability and wealth of the house, its enterprise, with the class of writers it could secure, made the new paper a dangerous rival. Mr. Bonner concluded to make the first issue serviceable to himself. His paragraph advertising was considered sensational, and smacking of the charlatan. He resolved to make it respectable. He wrote half a column in sensational style: 'Buy Harper's Weekly!'—'Buy Harper's Weekly!'—'Buy Harper's Weekly!'—'Buy Harper's Weekly!'—and so on through the half column. Through his advertising agent he sent this advertisement to the 'Herald,' 'Tribune,' and 'Times,' and paid for its insertion. Among the astonished readers of this 'Ledger' style of advertising were the quiet gentlemen who do business on Franklin Square. The community were astonished. 'The Harpers are waking up!' 'This is the Bonner style!' 'This is the way the Ledger man does it!' were heard on all sides. The young Harpers were congratulated by the book men every-where on the enterprise with which they were pushing the new publication. They said nothing, and took the joke in good part. But it settled the respectability of the 'Ledger' style of advertising. It is now imitated by the leading publishers, insurance men, and most eminent dry goods men in the country. The sums spent by Mr. Bonner in advertising are perfectly marvelous. He never advertises unless he has something new to present to the public. He pays from five to twenty-five thousand dollars a week when he advertises."

Mr. Bonner well knew that all his advertising would be worth nothing in the end unless he made the "Ledger" worthy of the public patronage, and he exerted himself from the first to secure the services of a corps of able and popular writers. In his arrangements with his contributors, he inaugurated a system of liberality and justness which might well put his rivals to shame.

When Mr. Everett was engaged in his noble effort to assist the ladies of the Mount Vernon Association in purchasing the home and tomb of Washington, Mr. Bonner proposed to him to write a series of papers for the "Ledger," for which he offered him ten thousand dollars, the money to be appropriated to the purchase of Mount Vernon. Mr. Everett accepted the offer, and the celebrated Mount Vernon Papers were the result. This was a far-sighted move on the part of Robert Bonner. Under ordinary circumstances Mr. Everett would probably have declined to "write for the 'Ledger;'" but in a cause so worthy he could not refuse. The association of his name with the journal was of incalculable service to it, and the Mount Vernon Papers were to its proprietor his very best advertisement. (We are viewing the matter commercially.) The sale of the paper was wonderfully increased, and a golden harvest was reaped.

This connection of Mr. Everett with the "Ledger" led to a warm personal friendship between himself and its proprietor, which was broken only by the statesman's death—a circumstance which speaks volumes for the private worth of the younger man. Mr. Everett continued to write for the paper after his Mount Vernon articles were finished, and is said to have earned over fifty thousand dollars by his able contributions to it.

Soon after the completion of the Mount Vernon Papers, Mr. Bonner secured the services of George Bancroft, the historian, who contributed a series of admirable articles. Mr. Everett's connection with the "Ledger" had settled the question that it was not beneath the dignity of the most eminent literateur in the land to write for it. Fanny Fern's husband, Mr. James Parton, Alice and Phoebe Carey, Mrs. Southworth, and a host of others have helped, and still help, to fill its columns.

But perhaps its most profitable contributor, next to Mr. Everett, is Henry Ward Beecher. That wonderful gift of the great preacher which enables him to touch so constantly upon subjects nearest to the hearts of most men, would make him invaluable to any paper. Mr. Bonner was struck with this after hearing him preach several times, and resolved to secure his services for the "Ledger." He proposed, to the parson's utter astonishment, that Mr. Beecher should write a story for the paper, and coupled it with the offer of a sum which many persons would consider a fortune. The field was utterly new to Mr. Beecher. Novel-writing was something he had never even thought of; but after some hesitation he accepted the offer. Soon after this, the publication of "Norwood" was begun in the columns of the "Ledger." The story was longer than was at first agreed upon, and Mr. Bonner paid its author a handsome sum in addition to the amount originally offered. The reward was princely, but not out of proportion to the service rendered by Mr. Beecher, who has won thousands of readers for the paper. Mr. Beecher still writes for the "Ledger," and there is no present prospect of his genial and useful contributions coming to a close.

Mr. Bonner has made his paper useful to young people as well as those of maturer years. Each number contains articles, briefly and pointedly written, upon some popular and useful topic, so that thousands find not only amusement, but valuable hints and profitable instruction in the "Ledger."

It was for a long time the custom of the newspaper press to indulge in sneers at the "Ledger," and, at the least, to treat it with a species of mild contempt. In order to stop this, its proprietor secured and published a series of articles from James Gordon Bennett of "The Herald," Henry J. Raymond of "The Times," and Horace Greeley of "The Tribune." By thus identifying the leading journalists of the country with his enterprise, he effectually silenced the scoffers, and with them the "lesser lights" of the press.

It was said by some over-careful persons that the "Ledger" was not a proper paper for young persons to read. Mr. Bonner at once secured the services of the Presidents of the twelve principal colleges of the Union, and articles from each of these gentlemen appeared in his paper. After this it was not to be presumed that a journal which had among its contributors twelve such distinguished guides of youth could be unfit for any one to read.

In order to make still less room for doubt on this subject, a series of articles by twelve distinguished clergymen soon after appeared in the "Ledger."

Indeed, the greatest care is exercised to exclude from the columns of the paper any thing savoring in the least of impurity. It is the proprietor's aim to make it a help as well as an amusement to its readers, and his object is to elevate, not to degrade them.

The "Ledger" now circulates over three hundred thousand copies per week, and is growing in the public favor. From the profits of his business Mr. Bonner has built a splendid marble publishing-house at the corner of William and Spruce Streets, in New York, from which the "Ledger" is now issued. It is one of the most complete establishments in the world, and is fitted up with every convenience necessary to the performance of the work upon the paper in the most perfect and expeditious manner. Mr. Bonner has created all this by his own energy and business talent, and richly deserves the success he enjoys. He resides in an elegant mansion in New York, and has also a handsome country seat at Morrisania, in Westchester County. He is married, and has a family.

Mr. Bonner's great wealth has enabled him to achieve a distinction of another kind. He is famous as the owner of the finest horses in America. His stables are located in Twenty-seventh Street, and are the most perfect of their kind in this country. They contain every thing needed for the comfort and care of the horses, and the men employed in them are thoroughly skilled in their business. The horses are seven in number. First on the list is "Dexter," who has made his mile in the unprecedented time of 2:17-1/4 in harness, and 2:18 under the saddle. He is the fastest horse in the world. "Lantern," a splendid bay, fifteen and a half hands high, has made his mile in 2:20. "Pocahontas," the most perfectly formed horse in existence, has made her mile in 2:23; while "Peerless," a fine gray mare, has followed close on to her in 2:23-1/4. "Lady Palmer" has made two miles with a three hundred and fifty pound wagon and driver in 4:59, while her companion, "Flatbush Mare," has made a two-mile heat to a road wagon in 5:01-1/4. The "Auburn Horse," a large sorrel, sixteen and a half hands high, with four white feet and a white face, was declared by Hiram Woodruff to be the fastest horse he ever drove. These horses cost their owner over two hundred thousand dollars, and he would not part with them for double that sum. He does not race them for money, but drives them for his own use, and holds the reins himself.



VI.

LAWYERS.



CHAPTER XXV.

JOHN MARSHALL.

To the writer's mind the most perfect specimen of the American lawyer known to our history was JOHN MARSHALL, of Virginia, Chief Justice of the United States. Profoundly learned in the law, irresistible in argument, and possessed of an eloquence which drew men in throngs to listen to him, he was also the soul of honor. Neither in his private nor professional life could the most malicious find an action open to reproach. Simple and earnest as a child, he was yet a tower of strength to the cause of justice. Occupying the highest place in our judiciary system, he was never unduly elated by his honors, and while gaining and awarding fortunes in the discharge of his professional duties, he was himself so true a man that the most brazen suitor would not have dared to offer him a bribe. He was in all things the simple, honest gentleman, the fearless advocate, the just judge, and the meek and earnest follower of his Saviour. Although belonging to a past generation, his story is presented here because I wish to offer to those who seek to follow him in his noble calling the purest and highest model our history affords.

John Marshall was born in Fauquier County, Virginia, on the 24th of September, 1755. He was the oldest of a family of fifteen children, and was the son of Colonel Thomas Marshall, a planter of moderate fortune. During the Revolution, Colonel Marshall commanded a regiment of Virginia troops, and won considerable distinction at the battles of the Great Bridge, Germantown, Brandywine, and Monmouth. At the Brandywine the regiment bore the brunt of the attack of the British army, led by Cornwallis in person.

John Marshall was born in a region so thinly settled as to be almost cut off from civilization. The people were plain and even rough in their habits, and the mode of life which prevailed in his native county doubtless did much to lay the foundation of those habits of simplicity for which he was noted in after life. Schools were almost unknown in this region, and such as were in operation were so rude in character that Colonel Marshall, who was a man of education and culture, decided not to attempt to train his children in them. Being unable to raise the means of sending them to better schools in other parts of the Colony, he determined to become their teacher himself, and applied himself to his task with a devotion which was signally rewarded by the brilliant career of his eldest son. He laid especial weight upon their acquiring a thorough knowledge of the English language and of history, and sought to cultivate in them a love for the poetry of their native tongue. Referring in after life to his father's devoted labors, Judge Marshall once said, with great feeling, "To him I owe the solid foundation of all my success in life." John Marshall did ample justice to his father's labors, and when only fourteen years old was thoroughly familiar with the writings of Shakespeare, Dryden, Milton, and Pope, and could repeat by heart nearly the whole of the "Essay on Man." These poets were always his favorites, and in mature life he would quote them with readiness and the keenest relish.

He showed such marked talent that his father determined to make an effort to secure him a better education than his private labors could impart to him, and accordingly sent him for a year to the school of the Rev. Mr. Campbell, in Westmoreland County, where he received a good drilling in English and Latin. At this school began his acquaintance with James Monroe, who was then one of Mr. Campbell's pupils. Returning home at the end of the year, he continued his studies under the Rev. Mr. Thompson.

He studied hard and was an industrious reader. Poetry and romance were his favorites, but he read history with the deepest interest. He was quiet and thoughtful in manner, and full of a dreamy, poetic enthusiasm. He loved to wander in the thick woods, and would pass many of his leisure hours in gazing at the beauties of nature. His constitution was a sound and vigorous one, and he was not only fond of manly and athletic sports, but excelled in them. He had no inclination toward dissipation, and the simple, healthful life of his home was calculated to develop his physical powers to the utmost. Colonel Marshall did not neglect the moral training of his children, but always impressed upon them the importance of Christianity as the basis of their characters, rearing them in that simple code of true gentility which was so dear to our fathers, but of which we of to-day are fast losing sight.

Being destined for the bar, young Marshall began his legal studies at the age of eighteen, but in two years they were interrupted by the troubles with Great Britain, which terminated in open hostilities. A volunteer company was raised in the neighborhood, and John Marshall promptly attached himself to it. He took a prominent part in the questions of the day, and expressed himself boldly in favor of resistance. In 1775 Patrick Henry made his memorable appeal for volunteers to drive the Loyalist Governor, Lord Dunmore, out of Virginia. Three companies were immediately organized in Marshall's neighborhood. Among these were the famous "Culpepper Minute Men." Marshall's father was elected major of the regiment, and he himself was chosen a lieutenant in the Minute Men. The force at once hastened to the lower counties, and bore a conspicuous part in the battle of Great Bridge. In July, 1776, Marshall's company was assigned to the Eleventh Virginia Regiment of the Continental Army, and sent North. In May, 1777, he was made captain of his company. He participated in the fight at Iron Hill, and in the battles of Germantown, Brandywine, and Monmouth, and shared the sufferings of the army at the memorable encampment of Valley Forge. Until the close of 1779 he was constantly in active service. He was always patient, cheerful, and hopeful. In the severest hardships to which the army was exposed his spirits never sank. One of his comrades said that he did more than any other man to keep alive the hopes of the army during the terrible winter at Valley Forge, and another has declared that "the officers of the Virginia line appeared to idolize him." His conduct attracted the attention of Washington, who conceived a warm friendship for him, and Marshall, on his part, returned the friendship of his chief with a feeling almost of worship. Washington frequently appointed him deputy judge advocate during the winter.

At the close of 1779 he went to Virginia to take command of a new corps which the Legislature was about to raise. The project remaining under discussion for some months, he passed the time in attendance upon a course of lectures on law, delivered by George Wythe, and a course of lectures on natural philosophy, delivered by the Rev. Dr. Madison, afterward Bishop of Virginia, at William and Mary College, in Williamsburg. The next summer he received his license to practice law. Meanwhile, the project for raising troops had taken the shape of a definite failure, and he now set out to rejoin the army. Too poor to pay his passage to the North, he walked the entire distance from Williamsburg, Virginia, to Philadelphia, upon reaching which city he was so travel-worn and shabby in appearance, that the landlord of the hotel at which he wished to stop refused him admittance. He joined the army in due time, and remained with it until the spring of 1781, when he resigned his commission, a few months before the close of the war.

With the return of peace the courts were again thrown open, and Marshall began that brilliant legal career which has made him one of the most famous men in our history. His success was marked from the first, as his professional talents were such as to make themselves felt anywhere, and his personal popularity aided him greatly in overcoming the difficulties which lie in the path of a young aspirant to legal honors. In 1782, the people of Fauquier elected him to the House of Delegates in the General Assembly of the Commonwealth, and in the fall of that year he was appointed one of the Council of State. In January, 1783, he was married to Miss Mary Willis Ambler, with whom he lived in the most perfect happiness for over fifty years. His bride was a woman of great personal beauty, and in every respect a fitting helpmate for such a man—than which no higher tribute could be paid her. About this time, Mr. Marshall decided not to return to Fauquier, but to locate himself permanently in Richmond, where he could enjoy many more professional advantages. In spite of this, however, his old friends in Fauquier re-elected him to the Legislature, and in 1787 he sat in that body as representative from the county of Henrico.

He was very plain and even careless in his personal attire, and this often led to amusing occurrences. Soon after he began the practice of his profession in Richmond, he was strolling through the streets one morning, dressed in a plain linen suit and a straw hat. The hat was held under his arm, and was filled with cherries, of which he ate as he walked. In passing the Eagle Hotel, he stopped to exchange salutations with the landlord, and then continued his walk. Sitting near the landlord, on the hotel porch, was a Mr. P——, an elderly gentleman from the country, who had come to the city to engage counsel in an important case which was to be tried in a day or two. The landlord referred him to Marshall as the best lawyer in the city; but the old gentleman was so much prejudiced against the young advocate, by his careless appearance, that he refused to engage him. On entering court, Mr. P—— was a second time referred to Marshall by the clerk of the court, and a second time he refused to employ him. At this moment entered Mr. V——, a venerable-looking legal gentleman, in a powdered wig and black coat, whose dignified appearance produced such an impression on Mr. P—— that he engaged him at once. In the first case which came on, Marshall and Mr. V—— each addressed the court. "The vast inferiority of his advocate was so apparent that at the close of the case Mr. P—— introduced himself to young Marshall, frankly stated the prejudice which had caused him, in opposition to advice, to employ Mr. V——; that he extremely regretted the error, but knew not how to remedy it. He had come to the city with one hundred dollars as his lawyer's fee, which he had paid, and had but five left, which, if Marshall chose, he would cheerfully give him for assisting in the case. Marshall, pleased with the incident, accepted the offer, not, however, without passing a sly joke at the omnipotence of a powdered wig and black coat."

In 1788, Mr. Marshall was elected to the Virginia Convention which met in June of that year for the purpose of considering the question of the adoption or rejection of the Federal Constitution. The debates in this body were among the most brilliant in history. Marshall took a decided stand in favor of the Constitution, and is believed to have done more than any other man, save Mr. Madison, to secure its adoption. He added greatly to his reputation by his labors in this body, and the close of the session found his practice very much enlarged. He was anxious to devote himself entirely to his professional duties; but he was urged so vehemently to accept a seat in the Legislature from the city of Richmond, that he was forced to consent. He sat in that body from 1789 to 1791, and in those sessions which were marked by the brilliant contests between the Federalists and Republicans took a decided stand with the former, and sustained his position by an array of arguments against which his opponents were powerless. The struggle was one of great bitterness, but Marshall, although victorious in it, made no enemies among his antagonists.

For the next three years he devoted himself industriously to his profession, appearing in public only to defend with masterly eloquence the course of President Washington with reference to the insolent conduct of Citizen Genet, the French Agent. In 1795, he was again elected to the Legislature, "not only without his approbation, but against his known wishes;" but yielding to the desires of his friends he took his seat in that body. The great question of the day was the adoption of "Jay's Treaty" with Great Britain. In Virginia, a bitter opposition assailed the treaty, and the entire State rang with denunciations of it. Even the influence of Washington was powerless to stay the tide of popular passion excited against the treaty and those who upheld it. Meetings were held in Richmond, and the treaty was fiercely denounced. Marshall now came to the rescue, and before a meeting of the citizens of that place made such an unanswerable argument in favor of the treaty, that the men who had been foremost in assailing it now united in the adoption of resolutions indorsing the policy of the Administration. In the Legislature his efforts were equally successful, and the opponents of the Administration were forced to abandon their constitutional objections to the treaty, and to content themselves with a simple denial of the expediency of the measure at that time. President Washington attached so much importance to these services that he offered to his old friend and comrade the position of Attorney-General of the United States, but Marshall declined the offer, as he wished to devote himself to his practice, which had now become very lucrative. He continued to sit in the Legislature, which did not interfere with his private business, and remained the constant and vigilant friend of Washington's Administration. In 1796, he was offered the post of Minister to France, as Mr. Monroe's successor, but he declined it for the same reason which had made him refuse the Attorney-Generalship. In 1797, when the offer was repeated, this time by President Adams, Marshall yielded to the entreaties of Washington, and went to France with Pinckney and Gerry, as Envoy Extraordinary. The object of the mission was to remove the obstructions placed by France in the way of American commerce. The Envoys were unsuccessful, but a correspondence took place between Marshall and Talleyrand, which was a source of great satisfaction to American publicists, and raised Marshall still higher in their esteem and confidence. Upon his return home in 1798, he was given a public reception in New York by the citizens, and a public dinner by the two Houses of Congress, "as an evidence of affection for his person, and of their grateful approbation of the patriotic firmness with which he had sustained the dignity of his country during his important mission." He subsequently took a prominent part in support of the measures of retaliation directed against France by the Administration, which were sharply assailed by the opposition. He resumed his practice in Richmond, but was again drawn from it by a message from Washington, who requested him to visit him at Mt. Vernon. He did so, and the result was that he yielded to the solicitations of his old chieftain, and consented to accept a seat in Congress. He was elected to the Lower House of that body in 1799. During the canvass, President Adams offered him a seat in the Supreme Court of the United States, but he declined it.

His career in Congress was brief, but brilliant. The Federalist party was hard pressed by the Republicans, and he promptly arrayed himself on the side of the former, as the champion of the Administration of John Adams. The excitement over the "Alien and Sedition Laws" was intense, but he boldly and triumphantly defended the course of the Administration. Mr. Binney says of him that, in the debates on the great constitutional questions, "he was confessedly the first man in the House. When he discussed them, he exhausted them; nothing more remained to be said; and the impression of his argument effaced that of every one else."

His great triumph was his speech in the Jonathan Robbins affair. Robbins had committed a murder on board an English ship-of-war, and had sought refuge from punishment in the United States. In accordance with one of the provisions of Jay's Treaty, his surrender had been demanded by the British Minister, on the ground that he was a British subject, and he had been surrendered by President Adams. The opposition in Congress made this act a pretext for a famous assault upon the Administration, and a resolution was introduced into the House of Representatives by Mr. Livingston, censuring the President for his course in the matter. This resolution produced an extended debate in the House, in the course of which Marshall defended the President in a speech of great force and eloquence. Judge Story has said of this speech, that "it was reponse sans replique—an answer so irresistible that it admitted of no reply. It silenced opposition, and settled then and forever the points of national law upon which the controversy hinged."

In May, 1800, Mr. Adams offered Marshall a seat in his Cabinet as Secretary of War, but before he could enter upon the duties of that office he was made Secretary of State, in which capacity he acted for a short while, conducting several important negotiations during that time, and leaving behind him several of the most magnificent state papers to be found in our archives. During his occupancy of this position, it became necessary to appoint a Chief Justice of the United States, and Marshall took advantage of the occasion to urge upon the President the propriety of tendering the place to a distinguished gentleman who had been a faithful friend to the Administration; but Mr. Adams quietly informed him that he had made up his mind to confer the honor upon the man best suited to it, and that he had sent to the Senate the name of John Marshall, of Virginia. This appointment, which came to him entirely unsolicited, was made on the 31st of January, 1801, and was unanimously confirmed by the Senate.

He held the position of Chief Justice for more than thirty-four years, and this period is justly regarded as the most brilliant portion of the history of our highest court, a court of which a famous judge has said:

"The decisions of the Supreme Court of the United States have raised the renown of the country not less than they have confirmed the Constitution. In all parts of the world its judgments are spoken of with respect. Its adjudications of prize law are a code for all future time. Upon commercial law it has brought us nearly to one system, befitting the probity of a great commercial nation. Over its whole path, learning and intelligence and integrity have shed their combined luster."

Although holding so high a post in the General Government, he continued to take a warm interest in the affairs of his native State, and in 1828 was a delegate to the Charlottesville Convention, which met for the purpose of recommending to the Legislature a system of internal improvements best suited to the needs of the State. In 1829, he was a member of the Convention which met in Richmond for the purpose of revising the Constitution of the State. Though now quite old and feeble, he took an active part in the debates of the Convention, and was mainly instrumental in effecting the settlement of the disputes between the eastern and western sections of the State.

In 1805, Judge Marshall published, in five volumes, his "Life of Washington." The first volume was devoted to the history of the Colonies, from their settlement to the commencement of the Revolution. This work has always held the first position in our Revolutionary annals, and won for its author a place in the front rank of American writers. It is, all in all, the best biography of Washington in existence.

Sterling honesty was exemplified in Judge Marshall's whole career. His word was indeed as good as his bond. He would never argue in behalf of a cause which he had reason to think unjust, and he scorned to take a legal advantage at the expense of moral honesty. He once indorsed a bond to the amount of several thousand dollars. The drawer failed, and Marshall paid it, although he knew he could avoid it, as the holder had forfeited his claim in law by requiring more than legal interest.

He was generous to a fault. Once, as he passed through Culpepper County, he met with Captain S——, one of his old comrades in the Revolution. In the course of the conversation which ensued, S—— told him that his estate was burdened with a mortgage for $3,000, which was about to fall due, and that, as he was unable to pay it, he saw nothing but ruin in store for him. At his departure, Marshall handed a note to the servant who brought his horse to the door, and told him to give it to his master. This was done as Marshall was riding away, and upon opening the note Mr. S—- found that it contained a check for the amount of the mortgage. Mounting his horse, he soon overtook Marshall, and, though he thanked him warmly for his generosity, refused to accept it. Marshall strenuously urged its acceptance, but the other persistently refused. Finally, the former suggested a compromise. Marshall took up the mortgage, and thus satisfied the first claim, but as his friend was never prosperous, he never asked for the payment of the debt.

William Wirt has left us the following description of his personal appearance: "He is tall, meager, emaciated; his muscles relaxed, and his joints so loosely connected as not only to disqualify him apparently for any vigorous exertion of body, but to destroy every thing like harmony in his air or movements. Indeed, in his whole appearance and demeanor,—dress, attitudes, gesture, sitting, standing, or walking,—he is as far removed from the idolized graces of Lord Chesterfield as any other gentleman on earth."

"In spite, however, of this ungainly person," says a writer, "no one was a greater social favorite than the Chief Justice. The people of Richmond regarded his eccentric figure with strong personal affection as well as respect. The black eyes, under their bushy gray brows, beamed with good nature, and the lips were habitually smiling. The courtesy of the Judge was one of his most beautiful traits. It was the spontaneous exhibition of the simple and kindly emotions of his heart. Pure benevolence and philanthropy displayed itself in every word which he uttered. He gave his hand to the plain yeoman clad in homespun as courteously and sincerely as to the greatest personage in the country. He had the same simple smile and good-humored jest for both, and seemed to recognize no difference between them. It was instructive to estimate in the good Chief Justice the basis and character of true politeness. John Randolph, one of the most fastidious and aristocratic of men, left his opinion that Marshall's manner was perfect good breeding. In dress and bearing, it would be difficult to imagine any one more simple than Judge Marshall. He presented the appearance of a plain countryman, rather than a Chief Justice of the United States. He had a farm in Fauquier County, and another near Richmond, and he would often return from the latter to take his seat on the bench with burrs sticking to his clothes. His great passion was the game of quoits, and he was a member of the club which met, as it still meets, at Buchanan's Spring, near the city, to play at this game. Here the Governor of Virginia, the Chief Justice, and the most eminent lawyers of the Court of Appeals, were found by a French gentleman, Baron Quinet, with their coats off, gayly pitching quoits, with the ardor of a party of urchins. In these simple amusements passed the hours of leisure which Judge Marshall could steal from his exhausting judicial toil. At such times he seemed to become a boy again, and to forget the ermine. His fondness for other social enjoyments was great. He was the center of a brilliant circle of men, many of whom were famous, and the tradition of their dinner parties, and the jests which they circulated, is still preserved."

It was his custom always to provide for his table himself when at home, and he might be seen every morning at the Shockoe Hill Market, with his basket on his arm, engaged in making his purchases. Upon one of these occasions he noticed a fashionably-dressed young man, swearing violently because he could not find any one willing to carry home for him a turkey which he had just purchased, and which his foolish pride would not permit him to carry himself. Approaching him quietly, the Judge asked where he lived, and upon being told, said, "I am going that way, and will carry it for you." Taking the turkey, he set out and soon reached the young man's door. Upon receiving his turkey, the young man thanked him for his trouble, and asked, "How much shall I pay you?" "Oh, nothing," replied the Judge, smiling, "you are welcome. It was on my way, and no trouble." So saying, the Judge departed, and the young man, with a faint suspicion of the truth, turned to a bystander, and asked, in some confusion, "Who is that polite old gentleman who brought home my turkey for me?" "That is John Marshall, the Chief Justice of the United States," was the reply. "Why, then, did he bring home my turkey?" stammered the fop. "To give you a deserved rebuke," said the gentleman, "and to teach you to conquer your silly pride."

Reference has been made to his carelessness in regard to his personal appearance. A wager was once laid among his friends in Richmond that he could not dress himself without leaving about his clothing some mark of his carelessness. The Judge good-humoredly accepted the wager. A supper was to be given to him upon these conditions. If his dress was found faultless upon that occasion, the other parties were to pay for the entertainment; but if any carelessness could be detected about his dress or in his appearance, the expense was to fall upon him. Upon the appointed evening the gentlemen and the Judge met at the place agreed upon, and to the surprise of all, the Judge's dress seemed faultless. He appeared the very perfection of neatness and taste. The supper followed, the Judge being in high glee over his victory. Near the close of the repast, however, one of the guests, who sat next to Judge Marshall, chanced to drop his napkin, and stooping down to pick it up, discovered that the Judge had put on one of his stockings with the wrong side out. Of course the condition of affairs was immediately reversed, and, amid roars of laughter, the Chief Justice acknowledged his defeat.

The means of locomotion in the Southern States being limited in the days of Judge Marshall, it was his custom to travel about the country, when holding his circuit courts, in an old-fashioned and very much dilapidated gig. His plain and even rusty appearance often led him into ludicrous adventures, which he related to his friends with keen enjoyment. At other times people to whom he was personally unknown were astonished to find that this shabbily-dressed old man was the famous Chief-Justice Marshall. One of his adventures is thus related by an eye-witness:

"It is not long since a gentleman was traveling in one of the counties of Virginia, and about the close of the day stopped at a public-house to obtain refreshment and spend the night. He had been there but a short time when an old man alighted from his gig, with the apparent intention of becoming his fellow-guest at the same house. As the old man drove up, he observed that both the shafts of his gig were broken, and that they were held together by withes formed from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our traveler observed, further, that he was plainly clad, that his knee-buckles were loosened, and that something like negligence pervaded his dress. Conceiving him to be one of the honest yeomanry of our land, the courtesies of strangers passed between them, and they entered the tavern. It was about the same time that an addition of three or four young gentlemen was made to their number—most of them, if not all, of the legal profession. As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, the conversation was turned by the latter upon an eloquent harangue which had that day been delivered at the bar. The other replied that he had witnessed the same day a degree of eloquence no doubt equal, but that it was from the pulpit. Something like a sarcastic rejoinder was made to the eloquence of the pulpit, and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the merits of the Christian religion became the subject of discussion. From six o'clock until eleven the young champions wielded the sword of argument, adducing with ingenuity and ability every thing that could be said pro and con. During this protracted period, the old gentleman listened with all the meekness and modesty of a child, as if he was adding new information to the stores of his own mind; or perhaps he was observing, with philosophic eye, the faculties of the youthful mind, and how new energies are evolved by repeated action; or, perhaps, with patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon the future destinies of his country, and on the rising generation upon whom these future destinies must devolve; or, most probably, with a sentiment of moral and religious feeling, he was collecting an argument which—characteristic of himself—no art would be 'able to elude and no force resist.' Our traveler remained a spectator, and took no part in what was said."



"At last one of the young men, remarking that it was impossible to combat with long-established prejudices, wheeled around, and, with some familiarity, exclaimed, 'Well, my old gentleman, what think you of these things?' If, said the traveler, a streak of vivid lightning had at that moment crossed the room, their amazement could not have been greater than it was with what followed. The most eloquent and unanswerable appeal was made, for nearly an hour, by the old gentleman, that he ever heard or read. So perfect was his recollection, that every argument used against the Christian religion was met in the order in which it was advanced. Hume's sophistry on the subject of miracles was, if possible, more perfectly answered than it had already been done by Campbell. And in the whole lecture there was so much simplicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that not another word was uttered. An attempt to describe it, said the traveler, would be an attempt to paint the sunbeams. It was now a matter of curiosity and inquiry who the old gentleman was. The traveler concluded it was the preacher from whom the pulpit eloquence was heard; but no—it was the Chief Justice of the United States."

Judge Marshall was a simple and earnest Christian, and held in the deepest abhorrence the fashionable skepticism of his day. His conduct was consistent with his profession, and to the last this good and great man repeated night and morning the simple prayer he had learned at his mother's knee.

For many years he suffered from an affection of the bladder, and was at length compelled to resort to a surgical operation for relief. This had the desired effect, but he was soon after taken with an attack of "liver complaint." He repaired to Philadelphia for medical treatment, but failed to derive any benefit from it, and died in that city on the 6th of July, 1835.

His body was conveyed to Richmond for interment, and he now sleeps by the side of his wife in the Shockoe Hill Cemetery in that city. The spot is marked by a plain slab of marble, over which the weeds and the rank grass are growing, and on which may be read the following inscription, dictated (saving the last date) by himself:

"John Marshall, son of Thomas and Mary Marshall, was born 24th of September, 1755; intermarried with Mary Willis Ambler, the 3d of January, 1783; departed this life the 6th day of July, 1835."



CHAPTER XXVI.

JAMES T. BRADY.

The father of James T. Brady was born in Ireland, and came to this country during the second war with England, and just after his marriage. Mr. Brady opened a school for boys, in New York, soon after his arrival, and it was in that city, on the 9th of April, 1815, that his eldest son, JAMES TOPHAM BRADY, was born. Other children followed, there being seven in all, two boys (James T., and Judge John R. Brady) and five girls. Mr. Brady, senior, was a man of rare abilities, and his wife was a woman of great personal beauty and high character, "one of those mothers," says a distinguished gentleman, who knew her, "whose quiet virtues shed their blessed influence over families, and are felt so long in their durable effect upon children."

James T. Brady grew up with a sound, vigorous constitution, and at an early age was put at his studies in his father's school. He was only seven years old when he began, and though so young, he worked hard, storing his "big head"—which seemed too big for the little feet below it—with knowledge. He endeared himself very greatly to his school-fellows, and formed with several of them friendships which continued through life. "He was so noted," says one of his former school-fellows, "for his loving kindliness as a boy, that it almost obliterates every other recollection." His amiable traits developed with his years. He always delighted in acts of kindness, and could never bear to give pain, even to the most insignificant animal or insect. He detested hunting and fishing, which he regarded as a needless sacrifice of life. Yet while so tender and gentle in his disposition, he was brave and fearless, unusually independent, and, above all, as mirthful and fond of a jest at fifty as at sixteen.

Before he had completed his education, his father abandoned the profession of teaching for that of a lawyer, and young Brady entered his office as office-boy and student, it being his desire to become an advocate. He was bright, quick-witted, and remarkably apt in his studies. His buoyant spirits and ready repartee often led him into encounters with his elders, who were generally forced to confess that his tongue was too much for them. His father encouraged him to form his own opinions, and to hold them tenaciously until convinced of his error. He made rapid progress in his legal studies, and soon acquired such proficiency in the management of the details of the office business that every thing which did not absolutely need his father's personal attention was left to him.

Although fond of social enjoyment, and full of the fire and joyfulness of youth, he knew how to seclude himself from the pleasures he relished so much. He was a hard and faithful student, allowing nothing to draw him from his books when he meant to devote himself to them. He read not only law, but history, poetry, biography, romance, in short, every thing that could store his mind with useful knowledge or add to its natural graces. He slept at the office, and often sat up the entire night engaged in study. Abbott speaks as follows of the early studies of Napoleon II., and it requires no straining of language or ideas to apply his remarks to this portion of the life of James T. Brady: "So great was his ardor for intellectual improvement that he considered every day as lost in which he had not made perceptible progress in knowledge. By this rigid mental discipline he acquired that wonderful power of concentration by which he was ever enabled to simplify subjects the most difficult and complicated." Mr. Brady, senior, was very proud of the energy and talent displayed by his son, and when the latter was nineteen years old the father said to a friend who had been speaking to him of the promise of the boy: "Yes, sir; he is a boy of great promise, a boy of splendid intellect and noble character. Young as he is, I regard him as a walking encyclopoedia; his mind seems to gild every subject it touches."

In the year 1835, when but twenty years old, Mr. Brady was admitted to the bar. "There were giants in those days" at the New York bar, and the young man was now entering an arena in which his powers were to be tested to the utmost. His native eloquence was well known to his friends, and naturally he was not ignorant of it; but he did not, like so many young men in his calling, trust entirely to his powers of pleading. He had long since recognized the truth of Lord Erskine's declaration that "no man can be a great advocate who is no lawyer," and had stored his mind with a knowledge of the theories of his profession which few men in coming to the bar have ever equaled.

In his first important case he was opposed to Charles O'Conor, and was unsuccessful. He was engaged in a suit to recover a certain sum of money from an insurance company, which his client claimed was due him for certain goods which had been destroyed by fire. As Brady himself saw, he had a very weak case, and Mr. O'Conor had no trouble in demolishing it; yet the young counsel conducted it with a skill and an eloquence which made him from that hour a marked man in his profession. Yet he had to contend against that obstacle which meets most public men at the outset of their careers—the feeling which actors call "stage fright." He said that on this occasion every thing around him grew suddenly black, and he could not even see the jury. By steadying himself against his table, and keeping his eyes in the direction of the jury, he continued to speak until he had recovered his self-control.

The case which brought him most prominently before the public, and which may be said to have established his fame as a lawyer, was a peculiar one. Some newsboys had been arrested for selling the "Sunday Morning News" on the morning of the Sabbath day. It was claimed that the selling of the paper on the streets on Sunday was contrary to law, and that the boys disturbed the congregations in the churches by their cries. One of these boys had been arrested at the instance of Mr. Gerard, and this brought on a suit to determine the rights of the lads, in which Mr. Brady appeared for the newsboys. Considerable feeling was manifested on the subject, and when the trial came on the court-room was crowded. The verdict of the jury was against him, but Mr. Brady won a remarkable triumph by his management of the case, and the whole city rang with his eloquence. So great was the effect of his speech upon the audience, that many of them who were total strangers to him crowded around him as he left the court-house to congratulate him. Though defeated in the verdict of the jury, this case was a great triumph for Mr. Brady. It established his fame as an advocate, and advanced him at once to a foremost place at the bar. Business flowed in upon him more rapidly than he could attend to it, and from this time to the close of his labors he was always in the possession of a large and lucrative practice.

Mr. McKeon has said of him: "We may refer to the period of his introduction to the bar of this city as an epoch in its history. In looking back at the past, we see rising before us George Wood, treading with no uncertain step through the labyrinth of the law of real property; Daniel Lord, following, with his legal eye, commerce over the long and dreary waste of waters; David Graham, the younger, and Ogden Hoffman, standing in full panoply of intellectual power before our criminal tribunals. Into the lists where stood these proud knights young Brady sprang, ready to contend with the mightiest of them. How well he contended many of you well remember, and the honors paid to his memory are justified by the triumphs he has won."

He grew rapidly in popularity, and in the esteem and confidence of his fellow-citizens, and was intrusted with numerous cases of a class which had rarely until then been seen in the hands of a young lawyer. His practice soon extended into the Supreme Court of the State, which at that time met quarterly, at New York, Albany, Utica, and Rochester. The practice of this court was entirely in the hands of men of high standing in their profession,—the great lawyers of the State,—and it was no slight honor to our young lawyer to hold a place, and a proud place, too, among them.

He won additional honors in the famous India-rubber suits, which have been mentioned elsewhere in this volume, acting as one of the counsel of Charles Goodyear, and being associated with Daniel Webster. Brady applied himself with intense energy to master the case, and when the trial came off at Trenton, in the United States Circuit Court, before Justices Grier and Dickerson, he opened the case in a speech which lasted two days, and which Daniel Webster said in the beginning of his remarks had so exhausted it as to leave him nothing to say.

Turning to Mr. Brady, Mr. Webster said, "You have cut a highway through this case, and if it is won, it will be because of the manner in which you have brought it before the court." The suit was won by Goodyear.

"In connection with the India-rubber cases is a fact which testifies to his character. A salary of twenty-live thousand dollars a year for life was offered to be settled on him by the rubber company, if he would advise a certain course; but not deeming it right, he rejected the offer. When in France, in 1851, the rubber cases coming in controversy there, Mr. Brady substantially gave in French, to Etienne Blanc, the French advocate, the materials for his brief."

Mr. Brady practiced law for thirty-four years, and during the major part of that time there was scarcely a case of great importance, in either the civil or criminal courts, in which he did not figure. He was compelled to refuse case after case from lack of time to give to it; and yet he frequently found time to respond to the appeals of the courts to defend men indicted for capital offenses who were unable to procure counsel. In some of these cases he had scarcely any chance of preparation, but he always managed to secure the acquittal of his client, in spite of this drawback. The spirit of kindliness which had so endeared him to his boyhood's friends pervaded every action of his maturer life, and he never displayed more energy, more unceasing vigilance, more irresistible eloquence, than when pleading the cause of some poor wretch who could only reward him with his thanks.

His readiness in mastering a case was remarkable, and was greatly assisted by his profound knowledge of the law. As a rule, in the ordinary run of cases, it was merely necessary for him to comprehend the particular case under consideration, since he was already familiar with the law bearing upon it.

This readiness is admirably illustrated in the following reminiscence related of him by the Hon. Luther R. Marsh. Mr. Marsh was engaged in a case of great importance, in which he desired Mr. Brady's assistance in the trial. Marsh had thoroughly and patiently studied the case, but Brady was totally ignorant of it. Nevertheless, he told Mr. Marsh he would do his best, and that he (Marsh) must open the case as fully and exhaustively as he could, without reference to him. Mr. Marsh did so, and says that when he sat down he thought he had exhausted the case, and was wondering what Brady could find to say in addition to it. To his astonishment and delight, Brady rose, and in his argument presented seven new and telling points.

In the examination of a witness, he could be severe and decisive when he had occasion to suspect that the person was trying to evade the truth; but in general his manner was kind and considerate, and he succeeded in eliciting evidence by his forbearance which others could not have extorted by bullying. Upon one occasion, he was convinced that a witness was about to relate a "made-up" story, and he at once fixed upon the man a look so piercing that the fellow was overwhelmed with confusion and could not go on with his evidence. Brady promptly changed his tactics, sent for a glass of water for the witness, and soothed him so effectually that the heart of the man was won, and, abandoning his false tale, he made a simple statement of the truth.

The independence of character exhibited by Mr. Brady has already been adverted to. Having once traced out the line of duty, nothing could make him swerve from it, and he was as bold in the defense of the rights of his clients as of his own. Mr. Edwards Clarke, from whose excellent memoir is gleaned much of the information upon which this sketch is based, relates the following incidents in illustration of this quality of the man:

"The trial of Baker for the murder of Poole furnished a notable instance of Mr. Brady's intrepidity in behalf of a client. It was at the height of the 'Know-Nothing' excitement, and Poole, after receiving the fatal bullet, having exclaimed, 'I die an American,' succeeded in causing himself to be regarded as a martyr to the cause. Lingering for days with—as the post-mortem proved—a bullet deeply imbedded in his heart, the interest and excitement became intense; and on the day of his funeral twenty thousand men walked in solemn procession behind the coffin of the martyred 'rough.' In such a state of public feeling, Baker was put on trial for his life. At the opening of the charge by the judge, aroused by its tenor, Mr. Brady seized a pen and commenced writing rapidly, indignation showing itself in his set lips and frowning brow. The moment the judge ceased he was on his feet, and began: 'You have charged the jury thus and thus. I protest against your so stating it.' The judge said he would listen to the objections after the jury had retired. 'No!' exclaimed the indignant orator, 'I choose that the jury should hear those objections;' and, defying interference, he poured forth impetuously forty-five separate and formal objections, couching them all emphatically in words of personal protest to the judge. The force of the judge's charge on that jury was pretty effectually broken. The indignation of the advocate at this time was real, not simulated; and he, at least, of the New York bar dared to defy and to denounce injustice, even when clad in ermine.

"Another instance of his intrepidity before a judge was in the Busteed case. The judge had threatened to convict him for contempt. Busteed had apologized, and Brady also, with his matchless grace and courtesy, had tendered Busteed's apology; but the judge still said that he should send him to prison. 'You will, will you?' said Brady; 'I say you will not.' And, citing authority after authority against his power to do so, he dared him to thus stretch his prerogative. The judge thought best to excuse Mr. Busteed."

Perhaps one of the best instances of his moral courage to be found was his conduct with reference to the late Edwin M. Stanton. He was associated with Mr. Stan ton in the Sickles trial, and conceived a warm personal attachment to him. Mr. Brady remained a Democrat to the last, and was an active member of Tammany Hall. Upon one occasion, during a meeting of the Tammany Committee, when the name of Stanton was received with hisses and yells of objurgation, Brady rose, and facing the crowd told them "that he knew they hated Edwin M. Stanton, but he, a Democrat, knew him, and held him in his heart of hearts." It was a bold declaration, considering the time and place, even for one so highly esteemed as James T. Brady.

As before remarked, Mr. Brady never relied upon his eloquence alone for success at the bar. He had a profound respect for his profession, and scorned its trickeries. He worked faithfully over the cases intrusted to him, studied them carefully, and never brought them to trial till he was thorough master of the law bearing upon them. This enabled him frequently to present issues which a less learned man would not have dreamed of. When he was retained as counsel for Huntington the forger, he conceived the idea that the man was morally unaccountable for his deed, and his theory of moral insanity, as developed by him in this case, is one of the most powerful arguments upon the subject to be found in any language. He read every thing he could find on the subject of insanity, and when he went into court there was not a physician in the land better informed with respect to it than he. The cases in which he was frequently engaged required an unusual acquaintance with medical jurisprudence, and he was regarded as one of the best authorities on the subject in the country.

His power over a jury was remarkable. He never lost sight of the "twelve peers," and by his dexterous management soon had them so thoroughly under the influence of his magnetic mind that they hung upon his words, followed his every act, laughed or cried as he willed, and seemed capable of thinking only as he permitted them. He defended fifty-one men for their lives in the course of his practice, and brought them all off in safety.



Mr. Clarke, from whose memoir I have already quoted, relates the following incidents in his career:

"The case of a young man charged with murder, in what was claimed to be an accidental fracas, attracted a good deal of interest. He was a Mason, and that society applied to Mr. Brady to defend him, tendering twenty-five hundred dollars as a fee; but for some cause he declined the case. Not long after, one afternoon, a neatly-dressed, modest young girl came to the office and asked for Mr. Brady. Told to walk into his private office, she timidly approached his desk, and saying, 'Mr. Brady, they are going to hang my brother, and you can save him. I've brought you this money; please don't let my brother die,' she burst into tears. It was a roll of two hundred and fifty dollars, which the poor girl had begged in sums of five and ten dollars. The kind-hearted man heard her story. 'They shall not hang your brother, my child,' said he, and putting the roll of bills in an envelope, told her to take it to her mother, and he would ask for it when he wanted it. The boy was cleared. In Mr. Brady's parlor hangs an exquisite picture, by Durand, with a letter on the back asking him to accept it as a mark of appreciation for his generous kindness in defending this poor boy. Mr. Brady prized that picture....

"Once when, in the height of his appeal to the jury, a dog began barking vigorously, he whirled around, shook his finger at the dog and said, gravely, with the quickness of thought, 'I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'

"An Irishman once came to his office: 'And are yez Misther Brady?' 'I am; come in, Patrick. What is it you wish?' 'I ax yer pardon; I oughtn't to intrude upon yez,' 'But what is it, Patrick?' 'Well, yer honor, it isn't for the likes o' me to be comin' troublin' yer honor.' 'But tell me what you want, Pat.' 'Well, yer honor, I came to see ye about a friend of mine as met wid an accident.' 'An accident?' said Mr. Brady; 'then why don't you go for a doctor?' 'Arrah, sure, you're the docther for my friend; he had an accident which wants yer honor.' 'Well, what was it?' 'Well, yer honor, he was arristed for a thrifle of a burglary, shure.' Quick as Mr. Brady was, with the readiness of his race, for repartee, he sometimes met his match among his own countrymen. He was once examining an unwilling witness who persistently called him Mr. O'Brady. At length, even his proverbial good nature being a little ruffled, he said to the witness: 'You need not call me Mr. O'Brady. I've mended my name since I came here and dropped the O.' 'Have ye, now? 'Pon my sowl it's a pity ye didn't mend yer manners at the same time.'"

In politics Mr. Brady was a Democrat of the States-Rights school, yet he always maintained that it was the duty of the citizen to render the promptest obedience to the General Government. At the outset of the late war he gave his support to the Government in its war measures, though he did not separate himself from the Democratic party. He was frequently solicited by his friends to accept political honors, but he steadily refused, saying that he wanted no honors outside of his profession.

In person Mr. Brady was slender and delicate in appearance. What attracted the gazer at once was his massive head—a head which measured in its circumference twenty-four and three-eighths inches. Age seemed to have no effect upon his face. Severe mental labor in the course of years took away some of the rosy hues of youth, but otherwise it continued as fresh and as winning as when a boy.

Mr. Brady never married, but no one was more widely removed from the typical old bachelor than he. If he had no family of his own, he was the head of a family of devoted relatives, who gave him ample scope for the exercise of the domestic affections which were so strong in him. Very soon after entering upon the practice of his profession his parents died, leaving his brother and five sisters, all much younger than himself, helpless. The young lawyer at once declared that the care of these dear ones should be his first thought, and he devoted himself to his practice with redoubled energy, in order to provide for them. He brought his personal expenses down to a low figure, and resolutely kept them there, yet all the while he was lavish in his generosity to those whom he loved. He once said to a friend who asked him why he had never married: "When my father died he left five daughters, who looked to me for support. All the affection which I could have had for a wife went out to those sisters, and I have never desired to recall it." He transferred a share of this affection to the children of those sisters and of his brother, and was never so happy as when in their company. In his will he mentions one of his nieces as his "dearly beloved Toot."

He was very fond of literature, especially of poetry, and devoted a considerable portion of his time to literary efforts of his own. His great fame as a lawyer so overshadowed the success he won in literature that few besides himself knew how much pleasure the popularity of his writings gave him.

In the exercise of his profession Mr. Brady won a large fortune. His income was princely during the greater part of his life, but he saved comparatively little. He delighted in giving to others. His relatives were the constant recipients of substantial evidences of his affection for them, and his charities to the poor were in keeping with his generous nature. He could not look upon suffering unmoved, and "never turned his face from any poor man."

His last appearance in public was at the Gerard dinner, where he was as brilliant and genial as ever. He seemed to have a foreboding of his approaching end, however, for the next day he said to one of his family: "I feel that it is the last time I shall ever appear on a like public occasion." His fears were prophetic. He was seized with an attack of paralysis on the morning of the 9th of February, 1869, and breathed his last at five o'clock in the afternoon of the same day. He died in the communion of the Catholic Church, and was buried from St. Patrick's Cathedral, in the city of New York. His death drew forth expressions of sympathy and respect from all parts of the Union and from men of all shades of opinion. All felt that a good and useful man, a great advocate, and an incorruptible citizen had been taken away.

His was a happy fate. He died in the fullness of his fame, before age had weakened his faculties or chilled his heart, and dying thus, it may be said of him, as he once said of another, that he was "a man who had no guile in his nature, and who died leaving no living creature to rejoice at his death."



VII.

ARTISTS.



CHAPTER XXVII.

BENJAMIN WEST.

At a time when America was regarded in Europe as a savage region, and when Americans were looked upon as little better than barbarians by the people of the mother country, it was no slight achievement for an American artist to rise by the force of his genius to the proud position of President of the Royal Academy of Great Britain.

The man who won this triumph was BENJAMIN WEST. He was born in Springfield, Pennsylvania, on the 10th of October, 1738. His parents were Quakers, plain, simple people, who feared God, lived a just life, and desired above all other things that their children should become pious and useful men and women. The old mansion-house where the future artist was born was situated in Chester County, and is still standing. It is not far from Philadelphia, and the place is now called Westdale. His father's family emigrated from England to America with William Penn, at his second visit, in 1699. John West married the daughter of Thomas Pearson, by whom he had ten children. Of these, Benjamin was the youngest son. His mother was a woman of great piety, and, being once in attendance upon a memorable religious revival, at which she was terribly agitated by the preaching of one Edward Peckover, an itinerant Quaker minister, was taken with premature labor, of which Benjamin West was born.

It was predicted that a child who had been brought into the world under such circumstances would be a man of more than ordinary fame, and the good mother treasured these prophecies in her heart, and watched the career of her boy with the keenest interest.

When he was but seven years old, he was left one day to watch beside the cradle of the infant child of his eldest sister, who, though married, was still living at home. Being unusually silent for a long time, his mother concluded that she would go and see what he was doing. Upon entering the room where he had been left with his charge, she saw him kneeling by a chair which he had placed close up to the cradle, gazing at the infant, and making what she supposed to be marks on a paper which lay on the chair. Stealing up behind him softly, she saw to her astonishment that this boy, only seven years old, had executed, with black and red ink and a pen, an accurate though rude likeness of the sleeping babe. This was the first evidence he had ever given of his predilection for art, and was indeed a most surprising performance for so young a child.



The next summer a party of Indians came to Springfield to pay their annual visit, and to please them little Benjamin showed them some sketches of birds and flowers which he had executed with pen and ink. The savages were delighted with them, and presented him with the red and yellow pigments with which they colored their ornaments. In addition to this gift, they taught him how to prepare these colors, to which he added another, namely, indigo, which his mother gave him from her laundry. His colors were rude enough, but his pencils were ruder. They were made of the hairs which he had pulled from a cat's back and fastened in the end of a goose-quill. Soon after this, a relative from Philadelphia, chancing to visit the old homestead, was struck with the talent of the little fellow, and upon his return to the city sent him a box of colors, with pencils and canvas and a few prints. He was only nine years old, but he was a born artist. He had never seen any painting of merit, and the few prints which his relative gave him were the most finished productions he had ever seen. The box of colors was his most precious possession, and it opened to him new fields of enjoyment. The day of its arrival he gave himself up entirely to the pleasure of examining it. "Even after going to sleep," says his biographer, "he awoke more than once during the night, and anxiously put out his hand to the box, which he had placed by his bedside, half afraid that he might find his riches only a dream. Next morning he rose at break of day, and, carrying his colors and canvas to the garret, proceeded to work. Every thing else was now unheeded; even his attendance at school was given up. As soon as he got out of the sight of his father and mother, he stole to his garret, and there passed the hours in a world of his own. At last, after he had been absent from school some days, the master called at his father's house to inquire what had become of him. This led to the discovery of his secret occupation. His mother, proceeding to the garret, found the truant; but so much was she astonished and delighted by the creation of his pencil, which also met her view when she entered the apartment, that, instead of rebuking him, she could only take him in her arms and kiss him with transports of affection. He made a new composition of his own out of two of the engravings, which he had colored from his own feeling of the proper tints; and so perfect did the appearance already appear to his mother, that, although half the canvas yet remained uncovered, she would not suffer him to add another touch to what he had done. Mr. Gait, West's biographer, saw the picture in the state in which it had thus been left sixty-seven years afterward; and the artist himself used to acknowledge that in none of his subsequent efforts had he been able to excel some of the touches of invention in this his first essay."

His next effort was a landscape, which comprehended a view of a river, with vessels in the stream and cattle browsing on the banks. He could not have been much over ten years of age at this time, and the picture, though insignificant in itself, is remarkable as the work of a child. He subsequently presented it to his friend, Mr. William Henry, of Lancaster, whose family still retain possession of it. He visited Philadelphia soon after, and received a few simple instructions in the practical portion of his art, after which he went about through the towns of the vicinity of his home, painting portraits of his friends. At length he was sent for by Mrs. Ross, of Lancaster, a lady famed for her great beauty, to paint the portraits of herself and her family—a great honor for a lad of twelve.

It was in Lancaster, in the year 1750, that he made the acquaintance of Mr. William Henry. That gentleman became deeply interested in the precocious boy, and frequently came to watch him at his portrait-painting. One day he said to Benjamin, that if he (Henry) could paint equally well he would not waste his time upon portraits, but would devote himself to historical subjects. In the course of the conversation to which this remark gave rise, Mr. Henry proposed to him to make an attempt in this direction, and suggested to him "The Death of Socrates" as his first subject. The little artist frankly avowed that he had never heard of the great philosopher, and Mr. Henry at once went to his library and brought out a volume of Plutarch, from which he read to the boy the beautiful story of the wise man's death. West listened with the deepest interest, and expressed his perfect readiness to undertake the task, but feared he would have difficulty in painting the figure of the slave who presented the poison, and which he thought ought to be naked, since he had hitherto painted only men with their clothes on. Mr. Henry had in his employ a young man of fine appearance, and upon hearing West's objection at once sent for him. As the workman entered the room Henry pointed to him, and said to West, "There's your model." West took the hint, painted the picture, which was purchased by Mr. Henry, and thenceforth determined that in his art he would look only into nature for his models.

At the age of sixteen he returned to Springfield. He was anxious to continue his career as an artist, and as his parents were satisfied that he was now old enough to enter upon some permanent occupation, they agreed that his wishes should be submitted to a public meeting of the Society of Friends. The meeting was called, and the matter was laid before them, the boy himself being present. His relatives and friends were all very proud of his talents, but as the profession of an artist was so entirely at variance with all Quaker habits and ideas, they felt that the subject was one which ought not to be rashly decided. Silence prevailed for a long time after the opening of the meeting, but at length John Williamson, moved by the Spirit, rose and addressed the assemblage, declaring his belief that as the youth had not derived his fondness for art from any of his associations or surroundings, and since it was so manifestly a special gift from the Creator, it was their plain duty to bid him go forward in the path that had been marked out for him, and to wish him God-speed in his efforts. At the close of his remarks silence again fell upon the assembly. Then the women rose, and approaching the lad, one by one, kissed him on the cheek, and the men, laying their hands on his head, prayed that the Lord might verify in his life the value of the gift which had induced them, in spite of their religious tenets on the subject, to allow him to enter upon the permanent exercises of the profession so dear to his heart.

Thus was he dedicated to his art, and at the same time separated to a certain degree from his Quaker brethren. Not long after this he violated every principle of the Quaker dispensation by volunteering under Major Sir Peter Halket to go in search of the remains of Braddock's army.

In 1756, at the age of eighteen, he established himself in Philadelphia as a portrait painter, and soon after removed to New York, where he painted portraits at five guineas a head, occasionally attempting an historical piece. When he was twenty years old he made a visit to Europe—a visit which decided his destiny. A famine in the south of Europe induced a Philadelphia merchant to dispatch a vessel laden with flour to Leghorn, and his son, who was to take passage in the ship, proposed to West to accompany him, and thus secure an opportunity of seeing the art-treasures of the Old World. West promptly accepted the invitation, and some of his friends in New York provided him with an outfit for the voyage. Upon arriving at Gibraltar, the vessel was boarded by a British officer, who proved to be a kinsman of the son of the owner of the ship, and he not only passed them without molestation, but enabled them to secure unusual facilities in the voyage up the Mediterranean. West arrived in Rome in July, 1759, and was kindly received by the English Lord Grantham, to whom he bore letters of introduction.

"Among the distinguished persons whom Mr. West found in Rome, was the celebrated Cardinal Albani. At an evening party, the Cardinal became curious to witness the effect which the works of art in the Belvidere and Vatican would produce on the young artist. The whole company, which consisted of the principal Roman nobility and strangers of distinction then in Rome, were interested in the event, and it was arranged, in the course of the evening, that, on the following morning, they should accompany West to the palaces. At the hour appointed, the company assembled, and a procession consisting of upwards of thirty of the most magnificent equipages in the capital of Christendom, and filled with some of the most erudite characters in Europe, conducted the young Quaker to view the masterpieces of art. It was agreed that the 'Apollo' should be first submitted to his view, because it was the most perfect work among all the ornaments of Rome, and, consequently, the best calculated to produce that effect which the company were anxious to witness. The statue then stood in a case, inclosed with doors, which could be so opened as to disclose it at once to full view. West was placed in the situation where it was seen to the most advantage, and the spectators arranged themselves on each side. When the keeper threw open the doors, the artist felt himself surprised with a sudden recollection altogether different from the gratification which he had expected, and without being aware of the force of what he said, exclaimed, 'My God! how like it is to a young Mohawk warrior.' The Italians, observing his surprise and hearing the exclamation, were excessively mortified to find that the god of their idolatry was compared to a savage. They mentioned their chagrin, and asked West to give some more distinct explanation, by informing them what sort of people the Mohawk Indians were. He described to them their education, their dexterity with the bow and arrow, the admirable elasticity of their limbs, and how much their active life expands the chest, while the quick breathing of their speed in the chase dilates the nostrils with that apparent consciousness of vigor which is so nobly depicted in the 'Apollo.' 'I have seen them often,' added he, 'standing in that very attitude, and pursuing with an intense eye the arrow which they had just discharged from the bow,' The Italians were delighted with this descriptive explanation, and allowed that a better criticism had never been pronounced on the merits of the statue."

Soon after his arrival in Rome, West painted a portrait of Lord Grantham, which won him considerable reputation. It was at first attributed to Raphael Meugs, but when the true artist was announced, and the circumstances of his history became known, West found himself suddenly famous, with orders enough to place him at once in comfortable circumstances. Cardinal Albani and Lord Grantham were very kind to him during his stay in Rome, and Raphael Meugs advised him to make a careful tour of study through the Italian art capitals. While in Rome he painted two pictures, "Cimon and Iphigenia," and "Angelica and Medora," which were well received, and during this period he was elected a member by the Academies of Florence, Bologna, and Parma. He made the tour advised by Meugs, remaining in Italy several years. Thence he proceeded to France, where he passed a short time in studying the French masters, after which he went to England, intending to sail from that country for America, where he had left his heart behind him in the keeping of a young Quakeress of Philadelphia.

He reached London in 1763, and while continuing his studies here, whither his reputation had preceded him from Italy, undertook some commissions for Archbishop Drummond and several other church dignitaries. These attracted general admiration, and his countrymen residing in London were prompt to recognize and proclaim his genius. He had relatives living in England, so that he was not an entire stranger there. His success was marked from the first, and his friends urged him to profit by so favorable a beginning, give up his idea of returning to America, and make his permanent home in England. This he at length decided to do, and devoted himself with increased ardor to his labors. In two years he considered himself sufficiently well established to send to Philadelphia for his betrothed. This lady, Miss Elizabeth Shewell, came out to England under the care of his father, and in the same year, 1765, West was married to her in London. She was a lady of great amiability of character, and by the English was often spoken of as the Philadelphia beauty.

Soon after his arrival in England he produced a large painting on a subject from Tacitus, "Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus." It was a decided success. George the Third was deeply impressed with it, and congratulated West warmly upon its merits. At the same time the king gave him a commission for a painting,—the subject to be "The Death of Regulus,"—and thus began the friendship between the monarch and the artist, which lasted for nearly forty years. He was a hard worker, and during his long life his pictures followed each other in rapid succession. They are estimated by a writer in Blackwood's Magazine at three thousand in number. Mr. Dunlap says that they would cover a wall ten feet high and a quarter of a mile long if arranged side by side on a flat surface. The most famous are his "Death of Wolfe;" "Regulus, a Prisoner to the Carthaginians;" "The Battle of La Hogue;" "The Death of Bayard;" "Hamilcar Swearing the Infant Hannibal at the Altar;" "The Departure of Regulus;" "Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus;" "Christ Healing the Sick;" "Death on the Pale Horse;" "The Descent of the Holy Ghost on the Saviour in the Jordan;" "The Crucifixion;" and "Christ Rejected."

The picture which brought him most prominently before the public, and which placed his popularity beyond dispute, was "The Death of Wolfe at Quebec." It was fashionable at this time to treat nothing but subjects from ancient history, and when West announced his intention of painting a picture of contemporary history his friends warned him that he was incurring a serious risk. Nevertheless he finished his "Death of Wolfe," and it was exhibited in the National Gallery. The public "acknowledged its excellence at once, but the lovers of old art—called classical—complained of the barbarism of boots, buttons, and blunderbusses, and cried out for naked warriors, with bows, bucklers, and battering rams." Lord Grosvenor was much pleased with the picture, and finally purchased it, though he did so with hesitation, daunted to some extent by the fierce storm of opposition with which the critics received it. Sir Joshua Reynolds, then the President of the Royal Academy, and the Archbishop of York, called on West and protested against his barbarous innovation, but he declared to them that "the event to be commemorated happened in the year 1759, in a region of the world unknown to Greeks and Romans, and at a period of the world when no warrior who wore classic costume existed. The same rule which gives law to the historian should rule the painter." When the king saw the picture he was delighted both with it and West's originality, and declared that he was sorry Lord Grosvenor had been before him in purchasing it. This was the inauguration of a new era in British art, and Sir Joshua Reynolds was obliged to declare, "West has conquered. I foresee that this picture will not only become one of the most popular, but will occasion a revolution in art." This frank avowal was as honorable to Sir Joshua as to West.

West painted for George the Third a number of subjects taken from the early history of England, and received from the same monarch a commission for a series of paintings illustrating the progress of revealed religion, with which the king designed to ornament the chapel at Windsor Castle. Of these twenty-eight were finished when the Prince of Wales, afterward George the Fourth, came into power as Prince Regent, and the commission was withdrawn. The artist then began a series of grand religious subjects, upon which he was still engaged when death called him to rest from all his labors. Of those which were completed, "Death on the Pale Horse" and "Christ Healing the Sick" are the best known in this country.

In 1792, upon the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, West was made President of the Royal Academy. The king wished to confer upon him the honor of knighthood, but he declined it, alleging that he was not wealthy enough to support the dignity of the position. In consequence of dissensions in the Academy, West resigned his presidency in 1802. The post was filled for a year by James Wyatt, the architect, and at the close of that time West was re-elected by every ballot but one—that of Fuseli, who voted for Mrs. Lloyd, a member of the Academy, declaring that he considered "one old woman as good as another." West continued in this office until his death.

The close of his life was blessed with ample means, and, as he was in the full possession of all his faculties and covered with art's supremest honors, it may be regarded as the happiest portion of his career. His house was always open to Americans visiting England, and few things pleased him more than to listen to news from his native village. He was a kind and judicious friend to young artists, especially to those of his own country studying in England, and took a lively pleasure in their success. Leigh Hunt, whose mother was a relative of West, has left us the following description of him:

"The appearance of West was so gentlemanly that the moment he changed his gown for a coat he seemed to be full dressed. The simplicity and self-possession of the young Quaker, not having time enough to grow stiff—for he went early to Rome—took up, I suppose, with more ease than most would have done, the urbanities of his new position. Yet this man, so well bred, and so indisputably clever in his art, whatever might be the amount of his genius, had received a homely or careless education, and pronounced some of his words with a puritanical barbarism; he would talk of his art all day. There were strong suspicions of his leaning to his native side in politics, and he could not restrain his enthusiasm for Bonaparte. How he managed these matters with the higher powers in England I can not say."

Possessed originally of a sound and vigorous constitution, which he had not weakened by any species of dissipation, West lived to a good old age, and died in London on the 11th of March, 1820, in his eighty-second year. He was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral, by the side of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and under the same great dome which covers the tombs of Nelson and Wellington.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

JOHN ROGERS.

There is scarcely a family of means and taste in the country but is the possessor of one or more of Rogers's groups in plaster. You see them in every art or book-store window, and they are constantly finding new admirers, and rendering the name of the talented sculptor more and more a household word.

JOHN ROGERS, to whom the world is indebted for this new branch of art, was born at Salem, Massachusetts, on the 30th of October, 1829. His ancestors were among the original settlers of the colony, and have resided in Salem for generations. His father, a merchant of moderate means and good reputation, was anxious to train his son to some regular and profitable business. As the basis of this, he gave the boy a good education in the common schools of the town, and in 1845, when he was sixteen years old, placed him in a dry-goods store in Boston to learn the business. He remained there for two years.