Even the justly great and
overshadowing
fame of Mr.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v27 - Wat to Zor
A pass where a calm traveler would go
quietly picking his steps, thankful if each hour counted him a
safe mile.
Terrible riding! Madness to go as we went! Horse and man
any moment either might shatter every limb. But man and
horse — neither can know what he can do, until he has dared and
done. On we went, with the old frenzy growing tenser. Heart
almost broken with eagerness.
No whipping or spurring. Our horses were a part of our-
selves. While we could go, they would go. Since the water, they
were full of leap again. Down in the shady Alley, too, evening
had come before its time. Noon's packing of hot air had been
dislodged by a mountain breeze drawing through. Horses and
men were braced and cheered to their work; and in such rid-
ing as that, the man and the horse must think together and move
together,-eye and hand of the rider must choose and command,
as bravely as the horse executes.
The blue sky was overhead, the red sun upon the castellated
walls a thousand feet above us, the purpling chasm opened be-
fore. It was late; these were the last moments. But we should
save the lady yet.
“Yes,” our hearts shouted to us, we shall save her yet. ”
An arroyo, the channel of a dry torrent, followed the pass.
It had made its way as water does, not straightway, but by that
potent feminine method of passing under the frowning front of
an obstacle, and leaving the dull rock staring there, while the
wild creature it would have held is gliding away down the valley.
This zigzag channel baffled us; we must leap it without check
wherever it crossed our path. Every second now was worth a
century. Here was the sign of horses, passed but now. We
## p. 16087 (#433) ##########################################
THEODORE WINTHROP
16087
-
could not choose ground. We must take our leaps on that cruel
rock wherever they offered.
Poor Pumps!
He had carried his master so nobly! There were so few miles
to do! He had chased so well; he merited to be in at the death.
Brent lifted him at a leap across the arroyo.
Poor Pumps!
His hind feet slipped on the time-smoothed rock. He fell
short. He plunged down a dozen feet among the rough bowlders
of the torrent bed. Brent was out of the saddle almost before
he struck, raising him.
No, he would never rise again. Both his fore legs were
broken at the knee. He rested there, kneeling on the rocks
where he fell.
Brent groaned. The horse screamed horribly, horribly,— there
is no more agonized sound,- and the scream went echoing high
up the cliffs where the red sunlight rested.
It costs a loving master much to butcher his brave and trusty
horse, the half of his knightly self; but it costs him more to
hear him shriek in such misery. Brent drew his pistol to put
poor Pumps out of pain.
Armstrong sprang down and caught his hand.
“Stop! ” he said in his hoarse whisper.
He had hardly spoken since we started. My nerves were so
strained that this mere ghost of a sound rang through me like a
death yell, a grisly cry of merciless and exultant vengeance. I
seemed to hear its echoes, rising up and swelling in a flood of
thick uproar, until they burst over the summit of the pass and
were wasted in the crannies of the towering mountain flanks
above.
“Stop! ” whispered Armstrong. «No shooting! They'll hear.
The knife ! )
He held out his knife to my friend.
Brent hesitated one heart-beat. Could he stain his hand with
his faithful servant's blood ?
Pumps screamed again.
Armstrong snatched the knife and drew it across the throat of
the crippled horse.
Poor Pumps! He sank and died without a
Noble
martyr in the old, heroic cause!
(
>>
I
moan.
## p. 16088 (#434) ##########################################
16088
THEODORE WINTHROP
man.
I caught the knife from Armstrong. I cut the thong of my
girth. The heavy California saddle, with its macheers and roll
of blankets, fell to the ground. I cut off my spurs.
They had
never yet touched Fulano's flanks. He stood beside me quiet,
but trembling to be off.
"Now, Brent! up behind me! " I whispered, - for the awe of
death was upon us.
I mounted. Brent sprang up behind. I ride light for a tall
Brent is the slightest body of an athlete I ever saw.
Fulano stood steady till we were firm in our seats.
Then he tore down the defile.
Here was that vast reserve of power; here the tireless spirit;
here the hoof striking true as a thunderbolt, where the brave eye
saw footing; here that writhing agony of speed; here the great
promise fulfilled, the great heart thrilling to mine, the grand
body living to the beating heart. Noble Fulano!
I rode with a snaffle. I left it hanging loose. I did not check
or guide him. He saw all. He knew all. All was his doing.
We sat firm, clinging as we could, as we must.
. Fulano
dashed along the resounding pass.
Armstrong pressed after; the gaunt white horse struggled to
emulate his leader. Presently we lost them behind the curves of
the Alley. No other horse that ever lived could have held with
the black in that headlong gallop to save.
Over the slippery rocks, over the sheeny pavement, plunging
through the loose stones, staggering over the barricades, leaping
the arroyo, down, up, on, always on,- on went the horse, we
clinging as we might.
It seemed one beat of time, it seemed an eternity, when be-
tween the ring of the hoofs I heard Brent whisper in my ear.
« We are there. ”
The crags flung apart, right and left. I saw a sylvan glade.
I saw the gleam of gushing water.
Fulano dashed on, uncontrollable!
There they were,—the Murderers.
Arrived but one moment!
The lady still bound to that pack-mule branded A. & A.
Murker just beginning to unsaddle.
Larrap not dismounted, in chase of the other animals as they
strayed to graze.
## p. 16089 (#435) ##########################################
THEODORE WINTHROP
16089
The men heard the tramp and saw us, as we sprang into the
glade.
Both my hands were at the bridle.
Brent, grasping my waist with one arm, was awkward with
his pistol.
Murker saw us first. He snatched his six-shooter and fired.
Brent shook with a spasm. His pistol arm dropped.
Before the murderer could cock again, Fulano was upon him!
He was ridden down. He was beaten, trampled down upon
the grass,-crushed, abolished.
We disentangled ourselves from the mêlée.
Where was the other?
The coward, without firing a shot, was spurring Armstrong's
Flathead horse blindly up the cañon, whence we had issued.
We turned to Murker.
Fulano was up again, and stood there shuddering. But the
man ?
A hoof had battered in the top of his skull; blood was gush-
ing from his mouth; his ribs were broken; all his body was a
trodden, massacred carcass.
He breathed once, as we lifted him.
Then a tranquil, childlike look stole over his face,- that well-
known look of the weary body, thankful that the turbulent soul
has gone.
Murker was dead.
Fulano, and not we, had been executioner. His was the stain
of blood.
1
## p. 16090 (#436) ##########################################
16090
WILLIAM WIRT
(1772-1834)
a
Billiam WIRT, LL. D. , distinguished in his day as lawyer, states-
man, and author, left speeches which are a part of American
forensic eloquence. He wrote the best biography of Patrick
Henry, and in his prosecution of Aaron Burr gave a noble example
of old-fashioned classical oratory.
Although his life and chief labor are associated with Virginia,
Wirt was born at Bladensburg, Maryland, November 8th, 1772. He
was of Swiss-German extraction. He was left an orphan at eight
years of age, and was brought up by an
uncle. His education was received at
local grammar-school; some tutoring in a
private family followed, and then he studied
law, and began its practice in 1792. Three
years later he inarried and settled at Pen
Park, near Charlottesville, Virginia, remov-
ing to Richmond in 1799. For three years
he was clerk of the House of Delegates,
and afterwards chancellor of the Eastern
District of Virginia. He made his home
in Norfolk in 1803. His popular Letters of
the British Spy' appeared in the Virginia
WILLIAM Wirt Argus during that year: they purported to
be addressed to a British M. P. by a trav-
eler of the same country, and contained interesting portraitures. In
the Richmond Enquirer was first published the series of papers col-
lected into book form under the title (The Rainbow. '
Wirt returned to Richmond in 1806; and the next year took part
in the prosecution of Aaron Burr for treason, — regarding his scheme
for a Southwestern Empire,— being retained as assistant counsel to
the Attorney-General, and making a very strong impression by his
impassioned pleading. He was in the House of Delegates 1807-8,
United States Attorney for the District of Virginia in 1816, and for
three terms (1817–29) Attorney-General of the United States. His
essays entitled “The Old Bachelor) were printed in the Enquirer
in 1812. Most of his essay-writing thus had newspaper birth. Wirt
settled in Baltimore in 1830; and in 1832 he was the Anti-Masonic
## p. 16091 (#437) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16091
candidate for the Presidency. He died while actively engaged in his
profession, at Washington, February 18th, 1834.
Dr. Wirt's life was one of varied usefulness and importance. He
was a courtly Southern gentleman of the old school; and his writings
have a pleasing flavor of good breeding and easy elegance, with
something of the formality and sententiousness of his time.
As an
author he is lucid and polished, rising on occasion to real eloquence.
His works make an impression of candor and integrity; qualities
which seem to have been reflected in his character. A man of much
local reputation and influence, his written words, both for thought
and style, are worthy of an audience not confined to his locality and
period.
PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF HENRY
From (Sketches of the Life and Character of Patrick Henry)
M*
(
R. Henry's conversation was remarkably pure and chaste.
He never swore. He was never heard to take the name
of his Maker in vain. He was a sincere Christian, though
after a form of his own; for he was never attached to any par-
ticular religious society, and never, it is believed, communed with
any church. A friend who visited him not long before his death,
found him engaged in reading the Bible. Here,” said he, hold-
ing it up, “is a book worth more than all the other books that
were ever printed; yet it is my misfortune never to have found
time to read it, with the proper attention and feeling, till lately.
I trust in the mercy of Heaven that it is not yet too late. ”
He was much pleased with Soame Jenyns's view of the internal
evidences of the Christian religion; so much so, that about the
year 1790 he had an impression of it struck at his own expense,
and distributed among the people. His other favorite works
on the subject were Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion
in the Soul, and Butler's Analogy of Religion, Natural and
Revealed. This latter work he used at one period of his life to
style, by way of pre-eminence, his “Bible. ” The selection proves
not only the piety of his temper, but the correctness of his taste,
and his relish for profound and vigorous disquisition.
His morals were strict. As a husband, a father, a master, he
had no superior. He was kind and hospitable to the stranger,
## p. 16092 (#438) ##########################################
16092
WILLIAM WIRT
as
and most friendly and accommodating to his neighbors. In his
dealings with the world he was faithful to his promise, and
punctual in his contracts, to the utmost of his power.
Yet we do not claim for him a total exemption from the fail-
ures of humanity. Moral perfection is not the property of man.
The love of money is said to have been one of Mr. Henry's
strongest passions. In his desire for accumulation, he was
charged with wringing from the hands of his clients, and more
particularly those of the criminals whom he defended, fees rather
too exorbitant. He was censured too for an attempt to locate
the shores of the Chesapeake, which had heretofore been used
public common; although there was at that time no law
of the State which protected them from location. In one of his
earlier purchases of land, he was blamed also for having availed
himself of the existing laws of the State, in paying for it in the
depreciated paper currency of the country; nor was he free from
censure on account of some participation which he is said to have
had in the profits of the Yazoo trade. He was accused too of
having been rather more vain of his wealth, toward the close of
his life, than became
so great in other respects.
Let
these things be admitted, and let the man who is without fault
cast the first stone. ” In mitigation of these charges, if they be
true, it ought to be considered that Mr. Henry had been, during
the greater part of his life, intolerably oppressed by poverty and
all its distressing train of consequences; that the family for which
he had to provide was very large; and that the bar, although it
has been called the road to honor, was not in those days the
road to wealth. With these considerations in view, charity may
easily pardon him for having considered only the legality of the
means which he used to acquire an independence; and she can
easily excuse him, too, for having felt the success of his endeav-
ors a little more sensibly than might have been becoming. He
was certainly neither proud, nor hard-hearted, nor penurious: if
he was either, there can be no reliance on human testimony;
which represents him as being, in his general intercourse with
the world, not only rigidly honest, but one of the kindest, gen-
tlest, and most indulgent of human beings.
While we are on this ungrateful subject of moral imperfec-
tion, the fidelity of history requires us to notice another charge
against Mr. Henry. His passion for fame is said to have been
a man
## p. 16093 (#439) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16093
too strong: he was accused of a wish to monopolize the public
favor; and under the influence of this desire, to have felt no
gratification in the rising fame of certain conspicuous characters;
to have indulged himself in invidious and unmerited remarks
upon them, and to have been at the bottom of a cabal against
one of the most eminent. If these things were so — alas, poor
human nature! It is certain that these charges are very incon-
sistent with his general character. So far from being naturally
envious, and disposed to keep back modest merit, one of the
finest traits in his character was the parental tenderness with
which he took by the hand every young man of merit, covered
him with his ægis in the Legislature, and led him forward at the
bar. In relation to his first great rival in eloquence, Richard
Henry Lee, he not only did ample justice to him on every occas-
ion in public, but defended his fame in private with all the zeal
of a brother; as is demonstrated by an original correspondence
between those two eminent men, now in the hands of the
author. Of Colonel Innis, his next great rival, he entertained
and uniformly expressed the most exalted opinion; and in the
convention of 1788, as will be remembered, paid a compliment
to his eloquence, at once so splendid, so happy, and so just, that
it will live forever. The debates of that convention abound with
the most unequivocal and ardent declarations of his respect for
the talents and virtues of the other eminent gentlemen who were
arrayed against him, - Mr. Madison, Mr. Pendleton, Mr. Ran-
dolph.
Even the justly great and overshadowing fame of Mr.
Jefferson never extorted from him, in public at least, one invidi-
ous remark; on the contrary, the name of that gentleman, who
was then in France, having been introduced into the debates of
the convention for the purpose of borrowing the weight of his
opinion, Mr. Henry spoke of him in the strongest and warmest
terms, not only of admiration but of affection, - styling him "our
illustrious fellow-citizen," "our enlightened and worthy country-
our common friend. ”
The inordinate love of money and of fame are certainly base
and degrading passions. They have sometimes tarnished char-
acters otherwise the most bright; but they will find no advocate
or apologist in any virtuous bosom. In relation to Mr. Henry,
however, we may be permitted to doubt whether the facts on
which these censures (so inconsistent with his general character)
man, » «
## p. 16094 (#440) ##########################################
16094
WILLIAM WIRT
1
are grounded, have not been misconceived; and whether so much
of them as is really true may not be fairly charged to the com-
mon account of human imperfection.
Mr. Henry's great intellectual defect was his indolence. To
this it was owing that he never possessed that admirable alert-
ness and vigorous versatility of mind which turns promptly to
everything, attends to everything, arranges everything, and by
systematizing its operations, dispatches each in its proper time
and place and manner. To the same cause it is to be ascribed
that he never possessed that patient drudgery, and that ready,
neat, copious, and masterly command of details, which forms so
essential a part of the duties both of the statesman and the law-
yer. Hence too he did not avail himself of the progress of science
and literature in his age. He had not, as he might have done,
amassed those ample stores of various, useful, and curious knowl-
edge which are so naturally expected to be found in a great
man. His library (of which an inventory has been furnished to
the author) was extremely small; composed not only of a very
few books, but those, too, commonly odd volumes. Of science
and literature he knew little or nothing more than was occasion-
ally gleaned from conversation. It is not easy to conceive what
a mind like his might have achieved in either or both of these
walks, had it been properly trained at first, or industriously occu-
pied in those long intervals of leisure which he threw away.
One thing however may be safely pronounced: that had that
mind of Herculean strength been either so trained or so occupied,
he would have left behind him some written monument, compared
with which even statues and pillars would have been but the
ephemeræ of a day. But he seems to have been of Hobbes's
opinion, who is reported to have said of himself, that if he had
read as much as other men, he should have been as ignorant as
they were. ” Mr. Henry's book was the great volume of human
nature. In this he was more deeply read than any of his coun-
trymen. He knew men thoroughly; and hence arose his great
power of persuasion. His preference of this study is manifested
by the following incident: He met once, in a bookstore, with the
late Mr. Ralph Wormley, who, although a great bookworm, was
infinitely more remarkable for his ignorance of men than Mr.
Henry was for that of books. — “What! Mr. Wormley,” said he,
"still buying books ? » “Yes,” said Mr. Wormley, “I have just
I
1
## p. 16095 (#441) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16095
>>
heard of a new work, which I am extremely anxious to peruse.
« Take my word for it,” said he, “Mr. Wormley, we are too old
to read books: read men,- they are the only volume that we can
peruse to advantage. ” But Mr. Henry might have perused both,
with infinite advantage not only to himself but to his country
and to the world; and that he did not do it, may, it is believed,
be fairly ascribed rather to the indolence of his temper than the
deliberate decision of his judgment.
PATRICK HENRY'S FIRST CASE
From (Sketches of the Life and Character of Patrick Henry)
Soo
over-
Oon after the opening of the court, the cause was called. It
stood on
a writ of inquiry of damages, no plea having
been entered by the defendants since the judgment on the
demurrer. The array before Mr. Henry's eyes was now most
fearful. On the bench sat more than twenty clergymen, the
most learned men in the colony, and the most capable as well as
the severest critics before whom it was possible for him to have
made his début. The court-house was crowded with an
whelming multitude, and surrounded with an immense and anx-
ious throng; who, not finding room to enter, were endeavoring
to listen without, in the deepest attention. But there was some-
thing still more awfully disconcerting than all this; for in the
chair of the presiding magistrate sat no other person than his
own father. Mr. Lyons opened the cause very briefly: in the
way of argument he did nothing more than explain to the jury
that the decision upon the demurrer had put the act of 1758
entirely out of the way, and left the law of 1748 as the only
standard of their damages; he then concluded with a highly
wrought eulogium on the benevolence of the clergy.
And now
came on the first trial of Patrick Henry's strength. No one had
ever heard him speak, and curiosity was on tiptoe. He rose very
awkwardly, and faltered much in his exordium. The people hung
their heads at so unpromising a commencement; the clergy were
observed to exchange sly looks with each other; and his father
is described as having almost sunk with confusion from his seat.
But these feelings were of short duration, and soon gave place
## p. 16096 (#442) ##########################################
16096
WILLIAM WIRT
to others of a very different character.
For now
were those
wonderful faculties which he possessed, for the first time devel-
oped; and now was first witnessed that mysterious and almost
supernatural transformation of appearance, which the fire of his
own eloquence never failed to work in him. For as his mind
rolled along, and began to glow from its own action, all the exu-
viæ of the clown seemed to shed themselves spontaneously. His
attitude, by degrees, became erect and lofty. The spirit of his
genius awakened all his features. His countenance shone with
a nobleness and grandeur which it had never before exhibited.
There was lightning in his eyes which seemed to rive the spec-
tator. His action became graceful, bold, and commanding; and
in the tones of his voice, but more especially in his emphasis,
there was a peculiar charm, a magic, of which any one who ever
heard him will speak as soon as he is named, but of which no
one can give any adequate description. They can only say that
it struck upon the ear and upon the heart in a manner which
language cannot tell. Add to all these, his wonder-working fancy,
and the peculiar phraseology in which he clothed its images; for
he painted to the heart with a force that almost petrified it. In
the language of those who heard him on this occasion, "he made
their blood run cold, and their hair to rise on end. ”
It will not be difficult for any one who ever heard this most
extraordinary man, to believe the whole account of this trans-
action, which is given by his surviving hearers; and from their
account, the court-house of Hanover County must have exhibited,
on this occasion, a scene as picturesque as has been ever wit-
nessed in real life. They say that the people, whose countenance
had fallen as he arose, had heard but a very few sentences before
they began to look up; then to look at each other with surprise,
as if doubting the evidence of their own senses; then, attracted
by some strong gesture, struck by some majestic attitude, fasci-
nated by the spell of his eye, the charm of his emphasis, and the
varied and commanding expression of his countenance, they could
look away no more. In less than twenty minutes, they might be
seen in every part of the house, on every bench, in every win-
dow, stooping forward from their stands, in deathlike silence;
their features fixed in amazement and awe; all their senses lis-
tening and riveted upon the speaker, as if to catch the last strain
of some heavenly visitant. The mockery of the clergy was soon
## p. 16097 (#443) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16097
turned into alarm; their triumph into confusion and despair: and
at one burst of his rapid and overwhelming invective, they fled
from the bench in precipitation and terror. As for the father,
such was his surprise, such his amazement, such his rapture, that
forgetting where he was, and the character which he was filling,
tears of ecstasy streamed down his cheeks, without the power or
inclination to repress them.
The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered that
they lost sight not only of the act of 1748, but that of 1758
also; for, thoughtless even of the admitted right of the plaintiff,
they had scarcely left the bar when they returned with a verdict
of one penny damages. A motion was made for a new trial; but
the court too had now lost the equipoise of their judgment, and
overruled the motion by a unanimous vote. The verdict and
judgment overruling the motion were followed by redoubled
acclamations, from within and without the house. The people,
who had with difficulty kept their hands off their champion, from
the moment of closing his harangue, no sooner saw the fate of
the cause finally sealed than they seized him at the bar, and in
spite of his own exertions, and the continued cry of order” from
the sheriffs and the court, they bore him out of the court-house,
and raising him on their shoulders, carried him about the yard
in a kind of electioneering triumph.
Oh, what a scene was this for a father's heart! so sudden; so
unlooked-for; so delightfully overwhelming! At the time he was
not able to give utterance to any sentiment; but a few days
after, when speaking of it to Mr. Winston, he said with the most
engaging modesty, and with a tremor of voice which showed
how much more he felt than he expressed, «Patrick spoke in
this cause near an hour, and in a manner that surprised me!
and showed himself well informed on a subject of which I did not
think he had any knowledge! ”
I have tried much to procure a sketch of this celebrated
speech. But those of Mr. Henry's hearers who survive seem
to have been bereft of their senses. They can only tell you,
in general, that they were taken captive, and so delighted with
their captivity that they followed implicitly whithersoever he led
them; that at his bidding their tears flowed from pity, and their
cheeks flushed with indignation; that when it was over they felt
as if they had just awakened from some ecstatic dream, of which
XXVII-1007
## p. 16098 (#444) ##########################################
16098
WILLIAM WIRT
they were unable to recall or connect the particulars. It wa
such a speech as they believe had never before fallen from the
lips of man; and to this day the old people of that country can-
not conceive that a higher compliment can be paid to a speaker
than to say of him, in their own homely phrase, “He is almost
equal to Patrick when he plead against the parsons. "
(
BURR AND BLENNERHASSETT
ARGUMENT IN THE TRIAL OF AARON BURR
W".
ho is Blennerhassett? A native of Ireland, a man of let-
ters, who fled from the storms of his own country to
find quiet in ours. His history shows that war is not
the natural element of his mind. If it had been, he never would
have exchanged Ireland for America. So far is an army from
furnishing the society natural and proper to Mr. Blennerhassett's
character, that on his arrival in America he retired even from
the population of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and soli-
tude in the bosom of our western forests. But he carried with
him taste and science and wealth; and lo, the desert smiled!
Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears
upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellish-
ment of fancy. A shrubbery that Shenstone might have envied
blooms around him. Music that might have charmed Calypso
and her nymphs is his. An extensive library spreads its treas-
ures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all
the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and inno-
cence, shed their mingled delights around him. And to crown
the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely
even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that
can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love, and made
him the father of several children. The evidence would con-
vince you that this is but a faint picture of the real life.
In the midst of all this peace, this innocent simplicity, and
this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the
heart, the destroyer comes: he comes to change this paradise
into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach.
No monitory shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate
## p. 16099 (#445) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16099
possessor warns him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A
stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities by the
high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon
finds his way to their hearts by the dignity and elegance of
his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the
seductive and fascinating power of his address. The conquest
was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple and credulous. Con-
scious of no design itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no
guard before its breast. Every door, and portal, and avenue of
the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was
the state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. The pris-
oner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the open
and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found
but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart
and the objects of its affection. He breathes into it the fire of
his own courage; a daring and desperate thirst for glory; an
ardor panting for great enterprises, for all the storm and bustle
and hurricane of life. In a short time the whole man is changed,
and every object of his former delight is relinquished. No more
he enjoys the tranquil scene: it has become flat and insipid to
his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are
thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance
upon the air in vain; he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks
the rich melody of music: it longs for the trumpet's clangor and
the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet,
no longer affects him; and the angel smile of his wife, which
hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now
unseen and unfelt. Greater objects have taken possession of his
soul. His imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems,
of stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught
to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes
and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse
into a wilderness; and in a few months we find the beautiful
and tender partner of his bosom, - whom he lately permitted
not the winds of » summer "to visit too roughly," -- we find
her shivering at midnight, on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and
mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell.
Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his
happiness, thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace,
thus confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for
(
»
## p. 16100 (#446) ##########################################
16100
WILLIAM WIRT
him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of
another - this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a
subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason — this
man is to be called the principal offender, while he by whom he
was thus plunged in misery is comparatively innocent -a mere
accessary! Is this reason ? Is it law? Is it humanity ? Sir,
neither the human heart nor the human understanding will bear
a perversion so monstrous and absurd! so shocking to the soul!
so revolting to reason! Let Aaron Burr, then, not shrink from
the high destination which he has courted; and having already
ruined Blennerhassett in fortune, character, and happiness, forever,
let him not attempt to finish the tragedy by thrusting that ill-
fated man between himself and punishment.
## p. 16101 (#447) ##########################################
16101
OWEN WISTER
(1860-)
-
He short stories of Owen Wister are an addition to the Amer-
ican fiction which is helping the world to realize the infinitely
Po varied and interesting characters and scenes in widely sepa-
rated sections of the United States. These stories are illustrations
from the author's own text: “Many sorts of Americans live in Amer-
ica. ” A part of the drama of primitive humanity is displayed in Mr.
Wister's pages: the part which is enacted on the great sandy plains
of the Southwest, with mountains for stage setting, and Indians, sol-
diers, and cowboys as persons of the play.
Mr. Wister, although he knows the West
so well, and writes of it with such sympa-
thetic insight, is an Eastern man,- a Phila-
delphian of good family,- and was born in
that city in 1860. When he was ten years
of age he was taken to Europe, where he
remained three years.
Returning to his
native land, he prepared for college at St.
Paul's School in Concord, New Hampshire,
and was graduated from Harvard in 1882.
At the University he developed a taste for
literature and music. He wrote the libretto
for a Hasty Pudding Club opera bouffe; and OWEN WISTER
at that time music seemed to be his first
choice: indeed, after graduation he went abroad to devote himself to
that art; on the advice of Liszt going to Paris for the study of com-
position. But family affairs brought him home the next year, and
poor health sent him hunting big game in Wyoming and Arizona.
This first Western trip was a turning-point in Mr. Wister's career.
The country and its inhabitants - so new, strange, and spectacular,
compared with his former experiences — took strong hold of him, and
stimulated his dormant literary instincts.
On his return East, he decided for the legal profession, and was
graduated from the Harvard Law School in 1887, settling down in
Philadelphia to practice. But the West continued to lure him: again
and again he tasted the excitement of wild life, and drank in impres-
sions which were to bear fruit in fiction. Within ten years he made
## p. 16102 (#448) ##########################################
16102
OWEN WISTER
no less than fifteen of these Western tours. He began to make use of
the material thus gathered in 1891, and gradually came to give all
his energies to literature.
His sketches and tales were gathered into book form in Red Men
and White,' which appeared in 1896,-eight stories which previously
had been widely read in the magazines and recognized as individual,
vital work.
The real Indian is drawn by this writer: not the idealized, fancy-
sketch representation sometimes offered. Soldiers and settlers too, as
he limns them, are felt to be authentic. The dialogue is eminently
natural; the descriptions of nature those of the keen-eyed observer
who is also a poet.
The spirit of comradeship and humorous exag-
geration typical of the West is admirably caught, while the underly-
ing tone is that of tragedy,- naturally enough, for Mr. Wister deals
truthfully with the stern, albeit picturesque, conditions of a new
civilization where the elemental passions are at work with little con-
cealment. The main impression of such masterpieces as (Specimen
Jones,' with its lighter incidents leading up to an intense dénouement,
or La Tinaja Bonita,' fairly Dantesque in its shadows, is that of
strenuous drama. But humor is never lacking to supply the lights for
the chiaroscuro.
Mr. Wister's tentative book, “The Dragon of Wantley' (1892), writ-
ten before he had found his true métier, proved, with its delicate,
playful satire on the days of chivalry, that the author had a fund
of quiet fun. Further Western sketches of compelling interest may
be expected from one who in 'Red Men and White) has made a dis-
tinct contribution to the fiction of locality in the United States.
E
SPECIMEN JONES
From Red Men and White. Copyright 1895, by Harper & Brothers
PHRAIM, the proprietor of Twenty Mile, had wasted his day
in burying a man. He did not know the man. He had
found him, or what the Apaches had left of him, sprawled
among some charred sticks just outside the Cañon del Oro. It
was a useful discovery in its way; for otherwise Ephraim might
have gone on hunting his strayed horses near the cañon, and
ended among charred sticks himself. Very likely the Indians
were far away by this time; but he returned to Twenty Mile
with the man tied to his saddle, and his pony nervously snorting.
And now the day was done, and the man lay in the earth, and
they had even built a fence round him; for the hole was pretty
## p. 16103 (#449) ##########################################
OWEN WISTER
16103
shallow, and coyotes have a way of smelling this sort of thing a
long way off when they are hungry, and the man was not in a
coffin. They were always short of coffins in Arizona.
Day was done at Twenty Mile, and the customary activity
prevailed inside that flat-roofed cube of mud. Sounds of sing-
ing, shooting, dancing, and Mexican tunes on the concertina came
out of the windows hand in hand, to widen and die among the
hills. A limber, pretty boy, who might be nineteen, was dancing
energetically; while a grave old gentleman, with tobacco running
down his beard, pointed a pistol at the boy's heels, and shot a
hole in the earth now and then to show that the weapon was
really loaded. Everybody was quite used to all of this-except-
ing the boy. He was an Eastern new-comer, passing his first
evening at a place of entertainment.
Night in and night out every guest at Twenty Mile was
either happy and full of whisky, or else his friends were mak-
ing arrangements for his funeral. There was water at Twenty
Mile — the only water for twoscore of miles. Consequently it
was an important station on the road between the southern coun-
try and Old Camp Grant, and the new mines north of the Mes.
cal Range. The stunt, liquor-perfumed adobe cabin lay on the
gray floor of the desert like an isolated slab of chocolate. A
corral, two desolate stable sheds, and the slowly turning windmill,
were all else. Here Ephraim and one or two helpers abode,
armed against Indians and selling whisky. Variety in their
vocation of drinking and killing was brought them by the trav-
elers. These passed and passed through the glaring vacant
months: some days only one ragged fortune-hunter, riding a
pony; again by twos and threes, with high-loaded burros; and
sometimes they came in companies, walking beside their clank-
ing freight wagons. Some were young, and some were old; and
all drank whisky, and wore knives and guns to keep each other
civil. Most of them were bound for the mines, and some of
them sometimes returned. No man trusted the next man; and
their names, when they had any, would be O'Rafferty, Angus,
Schwartzmeyer, José Maria, and Smith. All stopped for one
night; some longer - remaining drunk and profitable to Ephraim;
now and then one stayed permanently, and had a fence built
round him. Whoever came, and whatever befell them, Twenty
Mile was chronically hilarious after sundown,-a dot of riot in
the dumb Arizona night.
## p. 16104 (#450) ##########################################
16104
OWEN WISTER
an
»
On this particular evening they had a tenderfoot.
The boy,
being new in Arizona, still trusted his neighbor. Such people
turned up occasionally. This one had paid for everybody's drink
several times, because he felt friendly, and never noticed that no-
body ever paid for his. They had played cards with him, stolen
his spurs, and now they were making him dance.
It was
ancient pastime; yet two or three were glad to stand round and
watch it, because it was some time since they had been to the
opera. Now the tenderfoot had misunderstood these friends at
the beginning, supposing himself to be among good fellows; and
they naturally set him down as a fool. But even while dancing
you may learn much, and suddenly.
quietly picking his steps, thankful if each hour counted him a
safe mile.
Terrible riding! Madness to go as we went! Horse and man
any moment either might shatter every limb. But man and
horse — neither can know what he can do, until he has dared and
done. On we went, with the old frenzy growing tenser. Heart
almost broken with eagerness.
No whipping or spurring. Our horses were a part of our-
selves. While we could go, they would go. Since the water, they
were full of leap again. Down in the shady Alley, too, evening
had come before its time. Noon's packing of hot air had been
dislodged by a mountain breeze drawing through. Horses and
men were braced and cheered to their work; and in such rid-
ing as that, the man and the horse must think together and move
together,-eye and hand of the rider must choose and command,
as bravely as the horse executes.
The blue sky was overhead, the red sun upon the castellated
walls a thousand feet above us, the purpling chasm opened be-
fore. It was late; these were the last moments. But we should
save the lady yet.
“Yes,” our hearts shouted to us, we shall save her yet. ”
An arroyo, the channel of a dry torrent, followed the pass.
It had made its way as water does, not straightway, but by that
potent feminine method of passing under the frowning front of
an obstacle, and leaving the dull rock staring there, while the
wild creature it would have held is gliding away down the valley.
This zigzag channel baffled us; we must leap it without check
wherever it crossed our path. Every second now was worth a
century. Here was the sign of horses, passed but now. We
## p. 16087 (#433) ##########################################
THEODORE WINTHROP
16087
-
could not choose ground. We must take our leaps on that cruel
rock wherever they offered.
Poor Pumps!
He had carried his master so nobly! There were so few miles
to do! He had chased so well; he merited to be in at the death.
Brent lifted him at a leap across the arroyo.
Poor Pumps!
His hind feet slipped on the time-smoothed rock. He fell
short. He plunged down a dozen feet among the rough bowlders
of the torrent bed. Brent was out of the saddle almost before
he struck, raising him.
No, he would never rise again. Both his fore legs were
broken at the knee. He rested there, kneeling on the rocks
where he fell.
Brent groaned. The horse screamed horribly, horribly,— there
is no more agonized sound,- and the scream went echoing high
up the cliffs where the red sunlight rested.
It costs a loving master much to butcher his brave and trusty
horse, the half of his knightly self; but it costs him more to
hear him shriek in such misery. Brent drew his pistol to put
poor Pumps out of pain.
Armstrong sprang down and caught his hand.
“Stop! ” he said in his hoarse whisper.
He had hardly spoken since we started. My nerves were so
strained that this mere ghost of a sound rang through me like a
death yell, a grisly cry of merciless and exultant vengeance. I
seemed to hear its echoes, rising up and swelling in a flood of
thick uproar, until they burst over the summit of the pass and
were wasted in the crannies of the towering mountain flanks
above.
“Stop! ” whispered Armstrong. «No shooting! They'll hear.
The knife ! )
He held out his knife to my friend.
Brent hesitated one heart-beat. Could he stain his hand with
his faithful servant's blood ?
Pumps screamed again.
Armstrong snatched the knife and drew it across the throat of
the crippled horse.
Poor Pumps! He sank and died without a
Noble
martyr in the old, heroic cause!
(
>>
I
moan.
## p. 16088 (#434) ##########################################
16088
THEODORE WINTHROP
man.
I caught the knife from Armstrong. I cut the thong of my
girth. The heavy California saddle, with its macheers and roll
of blankets, fell to the ground. I cut off my spurs.
They had
never yet touched Fulano's flanks. He stood beside me quiet,
but trembling to be off.
"Now, Brent! up behind me! " I whispered, - for the awe of
death was upon us.
I mounted. Brent sprang up behind. I ride light for a tall
Brent is the slightest body of an athlete I ever saw.
Fulano stood steady till we were firm in our seats.
Then he tore down the defile.
Here was that vast reserve of power; here the tireless spirit;
here the hoof striking true as a thunderbolt, where the brave eye
saw footing; here that writhing agony of speed; here the great
promise fulfilled, the great heart thrilling to mine, the grand
body living to the beating heart. Noble Fulano!
I rode with a snaffle. I left it hanging loose. I did not check
or guide him. He saw all. He knew all. All was his doing.
We sat firm, clinging as we could, as we must.
. Fulano
dashed along the resounding pass.
Armstrong pressed after; the gaunt white horse struggled to
emulate his leader. Presently we lost them behind the curves of
the Alley. No other horse that ever lived could have held with
the black in that headlong gallop to save.
Over the slippery rocks, over the sheeny pavement, plunging
through the loose stones, staggering over the barricades, leaping
the arroyo, down, up, on, always on,- on went the horse, we
clinging as we might.
It seemed one beat of time, it seemed an eternity, when be-
tween the ring of the hoofs I heard Brent whisper in my ear.
« We are there. ”
The crags flung apart, right and left. I saw a sylvan glade.
I saw the gleam of gushing water.
Fulano dashed on, uncontrollable!
There they were,—the Murderers.
Arrived but one moment!
The lady still bound to that pack-mule branded A. & A.
Murker just beginning to unsaddle.
Larrap not dismounted, in chase of the other animals as they
strayed to graze.
## p. 16089 (#435) ##########################################
THEODORE WINTHROP
16089
The men heard the tramp and saw us, as we sprang into the
glade.
Both my hands were at the bridle.
Brent, grasping my waist with one arm, was awkward with
his pistol.
Murker saw us first. He snatched his six-shooter and fired.
Brent shook with a spasm. His pistol arm dropped.
Before the murderer could cock again, Fulano was upon him!
He was ridden down. He was beaten, trampled down upon
the grass,-crushed, abolished.
We disentangled ourselves from the mêlée.
Where was the other?
The coward, without firing a shot, was spurring Armstrong's
Flathead horse blindly up the cañon, whence we had issued.
We turned to Murker.
Fulano was up again, and stood there shuddering. But the
man ?
A hoof had battered in the top of his skull; blood was gush-
ing from his mouth; his ribs were broken; all his body was a
trodden, massacred carcass.
He breathed once, as we lifted him.
Then a tranquil, childlike look stole over his face,- that well-
known look of the weary body, thankful that the turbulent soul
has gone.
Murker was dead.
Fulano, and not we, had been executioner. His was the stain
of blood.
1
## p. 16090 (#436) ##########################################
16090
WILLIAM WIRT
(1772-1834)
a
Billiam WIRT, LL. D. , distinguished in his day as lawyer, states-
man, and author, left speeches which are a part of American
forensic eloquence. He wrote the best biography of Patrick
Henry, and in his prosecution of Aaron Burr gave a noble example
of old-fashioned classical oratory.
Although his life and chief labor are associated with Virginia,
Wirt was born at Bladensburg, Maryland, November 8th, 1772. He
was of Swiss-German extraction. He was left an orphan at eight
years of age, and was brought up by an
uncle. His education was received at
local grammar-school; some tutoring in a
private family followed, and then he studied
law, and began its practice in 1792. Three
years later he inarried and settled at Pen
Park, near Charlottesville, Virginia, remov-
ing to Richmond in 1799. For three years
he was clerk of the House of Delegates,
and afterwards chancellor of the Eastern
District of Virginia. He made his home
in Norfolk in 1803. His popular Letters of
the British Spy' appeared in the Virginia
WILLIAM Wirt Argus during that year: they purported to
be addressed to a British M. P. by a trav-
eler of the same country, and contained interesting portraitures. In
the Richmond Enquirer was first published the series of papers col-
lected into book form under the title (The Rainbow. '
Wirt returned to Richmond in 1806; and the next year took part
in the prosecution of Aaron Burr for treason, — regarding his scheme
for a Southwestern Empire,— being retained as assistant counsel to
the Attorney-General, and making a very strong impression by his
impassioned pleading. He was in the House of Delegates 1807-8,
United States Attorney for the District of Virginia in 1816, and for
three terms (1817–29) Attorney-General of the United States. His
essays entitled “The Old Bachelor) were printed in the Enquirer
in 1812. Most of his essay-writing thus had newspaper birth. Wirt
settled in Baltimore in 1830; and in 1832 he was the Anti-Masonic
## p. 16091 (#437) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16091
candidate for the Presidency. He died while actively engaged in his
profession, at Washington, February 18th, 1834.
Dr. Wirt's life was one of varied usefulness and importance. He
was a courtly Southern gentleman of the old school; and his writings
have a pleasing flavor of good breeding and easy elegance, with
something of the formality and sententiousness of his time.
As an
author he is lucid and polished, rising on occasion to real eloquence.
His works make an impression of candor and integrity; qualities
which seem to have been reflected in his character. A man of much
local reputation and influence, his written words, both for thought
and style, are worthy of an audience not confined to his locality and
period.
PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF HENRY
From (Sketches of the Life and Character of Patrick Henry)
M*
(
R. Henry's conversation was remarkably pure and chaste.
He never swore. He was never heard to take the name
of his Maker in vain. He was a sincere Christian, though
after a form of his own; for he was never attached to any par-
ticular religious society, and never, it is believed, communed with
any church. A friend who visited him not long before his death,
found him engaged in reading the Bible. Here,” said he, hold-
ing it up, “is a book worth more than all the other books that
were ever printed; yet it is my misfortune never to have found
time to read it, with the proper attention and feeling, till lately.
I trust in the mercy of Heaven that it is not yet too late. ”
He was much pleased with Soame Jenyns's view of the internal
evidences of the Christian religion; so much so, that about the
year 1790 he had an impression of it struck at his own expense,
and distributed among the people. His other favorite works
on the subject were Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion
in the Soul, and Butler's Analogy of Religion, Natural and
Revealed. This latter work he used at one period of his life to
style, by way of pre-eminence, his “Bible. ” The selection proves
not only the piety of his temper, but the correctness of his taste,
and his relish for profound and vigorous disquisition.
His morals were strict. As a husband, a father, a master, he
had no superior. He was kind and hospitable to the stranger,
## p. 16092 (#438) ##########################################
16092
WILLIAM WIRT
as
and most friendly and accommodating to his neighbors. In his
dealings with the world he was faithful to his promise, and
punctual in his contracts, to the utmost of his power.
Yet we do not claim for him a total exemption from the fail-
ures of humanity. Moral perfection is not the property of man.
The love of money is said to have been one of Mr. Henry's
strongest passions. In his desire for accumulation, he was
charged with wringing from the hands of his clients, and more
particularly those of the criminals whom he defended, fees rather
too exorbitant. He was censured too for an attempt to locate
the shores of the Chesapeake, which had heretofore been used
public common; although there was at that time no law
of the State which protected them from location. In one of his
earlier purchases of land, he was blamed also for having availed
himself of the existing laws of the State, in paying for it in the
depreciated paper currency of the country; nor was he free from
censure on account of some participation which he is said to have
had in the profits of the Yazoo trade. He was accused too of
having been rather more vain of his wealth, toward the close of
his life, than became
so great in other respects.
Let
these things be admitted, and let the man who is without fault
cast the first stone. ” In mitigation of these charges, if they be
true, it ought to be considered that Mr. Henry had been, during
the greater part of his life, intolerably oppressed by poverty and
all its distressing train of consequences; that the family for which
he had to provide was very large; and that the bar, although it
has been called the road to honor, was not in those days the
road to wealth. With these considerations in view, charity may
easily pardon him for having considered only the legality of the
means which he used to acquire an independence; and she can
easily excuse him, too, for having felt the success of his endeav-
ors a little more sensibly than might have been becoming. He
was certainly neither proud, nor hard-hearted, nor penurious: if
he was either, there can be no reliance on human testimony;
which represents him as being, in his general intercourse with
the world, not only rigidly honest, but one of the kindest, gen-
tlest, and most indulgent of human beings.
While we are on this ungrateful subject of moral imperfec-
tion, the fidelity of history requires us to notice another charge
against Mr. Henry. His passion for fame is said to have been
a man
## p. 16093 (#439) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16093
too strong: he was accused of a wish to monopolize the public
favor; and under the influence of this desire, to have felt no
gratification in the rising fame of certain conspicuous characters;
to have indulged himself in invidious and unmerited remarks
upon them, and to have been at the bottom of a cabal against
one of the most eminent. If these things were so — alas, poor
human nature! It is certain that these charges are very incon-
sistent with his general character. So far from being naturally
envious, and disposed to keep back modest merit, one of the
finest traits in his character was the parental tenderness with
which he took by the hand every young man of merit, covered
him with his ægis in the Legislature, and led him forward at the
bar. In relation to his first great rival in eloquence, Richard
Henry Lee, he not only did ample justice to him on every occas-
ion in public, but defended his fame in private with all the zeal
of a brother; as is demonstrated by an original correspondence
between those two eminent men, now in the hands of the
author. Of Colonel Innis, his next great rival, he entertained
and uniformly expressed the most exalted opinion; and in the
convention of 1788, as will be remembered, paid a compliment
to his eloquence, at once so splendid, so happy, and so just, that
it will live forever. The debates of that convention abound with
the most unequivocal and ardent declarations of his respect for
the talents and virtues of the other eminent gentlemen who were
arrayed against him, - Mr. Madison, Mr. Pendleton, Mr. Ran-
dolph.
Even the justly great and overshadowing fame of Mr.
Jefferson never extorted from him, in public at least, one invidi-
ous remark; on the contrary, the name of that gentleman, who
was then in France, having been introduced into the debates of
the convention for the purpose of borrowing the weight of his
opinion, Mr. Henry spoke of him in the strongest and warmest
terms, not only of admiration but of affection, - styling him "our
illustrious fellow-citizen," "our enlightened and worthy country-
our common friend. ”
The inordinate love of money and of fame are certainly base
and degrading passions. They have sometimes tarnished char-
acters otherwise the most bright; but they will find no advocate
or apologist in any virtuous bosom. In relation to Mr. Henry,
however, we may be permitted to doubt whether the facts on
which these censures (so inconsistent with his general character)
man, » «
## p. 16094 (#440) ##########################################
16094
WILLIAM WIRT
1
are grounded, have not been misconceived; and whether so much
of them as is really true may not be fairly charged to the com-
mon account of human imperfection.
Mr. Henry's great intellectual defect was his indolence. To
this it was owing that he never possessed that admirable alert-
ness and vigorous versatility of mind which turns promptly to
everything, attends to everything, arranges everything, and by
systematizing its operations, dispatches each in its proper time
and place and manner. To the same cause it is to be ascribed
that he never possessed that patient drudgery, and that ready,
neat, copious, and masterly command of details, which forms so
essential a part of the duties both of the statesman and the law-
yer. Hence too he did not avail himself of the progress of science
and literature in his age. He had not, as he might have done,
amassed those ample stores of various, useful, and curious knowl-
edge which are so naturally expected to be found in a great
man. His library (of which an inventory has been furnished to
the author) was extremely small; composed not only of a very
few books, but those, too, commonly odd volumes. Of science
and literature he knew little or nothing more than was occasion-
ally gleaned from conversation. It is not easy to conceive what
a mind like his might have achieved in either or both of these
walks, had it been properly trained at first, or industriously occu-
pied in those long intervals of leisure which he threw away.
One thing however may be safely pronounced: that had that
mind of Herculean strength been either so trained or so occupied,
he would have left behind him some written monument, compared
with which even statues and pillars would have been but the
ephemeræ of a day. But he seems to have been of Hobbes's
opinion, who is reported to have said of himself, that if he had
read as much as other men, he should have been as ignorant as
they were. ” Mr. Henry's book was the great volume of human
nature. In this he was more deeply read than any of his coun-
trymen. He knew men thoroughly; and hence arose his great
power of persuasion. His preference of this study is manifested
by the following incident: He met once, in a bookstore, with the
late Mr. Ralph Wormley, who, although a great bookworm, was
infinitely more remarkable for his ignorance of men than Mr.
Henry was for that of books. — “What! Mr. Wormley,” said he,
"still buying books ? » “Yes,” said Mr. Wormley, “I have just
I
1
## p. 16095 (#441) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16095
>>
heard of a new work, which I am extremely anxious to peruse.
« Take my word for it,” said he, “Mr. Wormley, we are too old
to read books: read men,- they are the only volume that we can
peruse to advantage. ” But Mr. Henry might have perused both,
with infinite advantage not only to himself but to his country
and to the world; and that he did not do it, may, it is believed,
be fairly ascribed rather to the indolence of his temper than the
deliberate decision of his judgment.
PATRICK HENRY'S FIRST CASE
From (Sketches of the Life and Character of Patrick Henry)
Soo
over-
Oon after the opening of the court, the cause was called. It
stood on
a writ of inquiry of damages, no plea having
been entered by the defendants since the judgment on the
demurrer. The array before Mr. Henry's eyes was now most
fearful. On the bench sat more than twenty clergymen, the
most learned men in the colony, and the most capable as well as
the severest critics before whom it was possible for him to have
made his début. The court-house was crowded with an
whelming multitude, and surrounded with an immense and anx-
ious throng; who, not finding room to enter, were endeavoring
to listen without, in the deepest attention. But there was some-
thing still more awfully disconcerting than all this; for in the
chair of the presiding magistrate sat no other person than his
own father. Mr. Lyons opened the cause very briefly: in the
way of argument he did nothing more than explain to the jury
that the decision upon the demurrer had put the act of 1758
entirely out of the way, and left the law of 1748 as the only
standard of their damages; he then concluded with a highly
wrought eulogium on the benevolence of the clergy.
And now
came on the first trial of Patrick Henry's strength. No one had
ever heard him speak, and curiosity was on tiptoe. He rose very
awkwardly, and faltered much in his exordium. The people hung
their heads at so unpromising a commencement; the clergy were
observed to exchange sly looks with each other; and his father
is described as having almost sunk with confusion from his seat.
But these feelings were of short duration, and soon gave place
## p. 16096 (#442) ##########################################
16096
WILLIAM WIRT
to others of a very different character.
For now
were those
wonderful faculties which he possessed, for the first time devel-
oped; and now was first witnessed that mysterious and almost
supernatural transformation of appearance, which the fire of his
own eloquence never failed to work in him. For as his mind
rolled along, and began to glow from its own action, all the exu-
viæ of the clown seemed to shed themselves spontaneously. His
attitude, by degrees, became erect and lofty. The spirit of his
genius awakened all his features. His countenance shone with
a nobleness and grandeur which it had never before exhibited.
There was lightning in his eyes which seemed to rive the spec-
tator. His action became graceful, bold, and commanding; and
in the tones of his voice, but more especially in his emphasis,
there was a peculiar charm, a magic, of which any one who ever
heard him will speak as soon as he is named, but of which no
one can give any adequate description. They can only say that
it struck upon the ear and upon the heart in a manner which
language cannot tell. Add to all these, his wonder-working fancy,
and the peculiar phraseology in which he clothed its images; for
he painted to the heart with a force that almost petrified it. In
the language of those who heard him on this occasion, "he made
their blood run cold, and their hair to rise on end. ”
It will not be difficult for any one who ever heard this most
extraordinary man, to believe the whole account of this trans-
action, which is given by his surviving hearers; and from their
account, the court-house of Hanover County must have exhibited,
on this occasion, a scene as picturesque as has been ever wit-
nessed in real life. They say that the people, whose countenance
had fallen as he arose, had heard but a very few sentences before
they began to look up; then to look at each other with surprise,
as if doubting the evidence of their own senses; then, attracted
by some strong gesture, struck by some majestic attitude, fasci-
nated by the spell of his eye, the charm of his emphasis, and the
varied and commanding expression of his countenance, they could
look away no more. In less than twenty minutes, they might be
seen in every part of the house, on every bench, in every win-
dow, stooping forward from their stands, in deathlike silence;
their features fixed in amazement and awe; all their senses lis-
tening and riveted upon the speaker, as if to catch the last strain
of some heavenly visitant. The mockery of the clergy was soon
## p. 16097 (#443) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16097
turned into alarm; their triumph into confusion and despair: and
at one burst of his rapid and overwhelming invective, they fled
from the bench in precipitation and terror. As for the father,
such was his surprise, such his amazement, such his rapture, that
forgetting where he was, and the character which he was filling,
tears of ecstasy streamed down his cheeks, without the power or
inclination to repress them.
The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered that
they lost sight not only of the act of 1748, but that of 1758
also; for, thoughtless even of the admitted right of the plaintiff,
they had scarcely left the bar when they returned with a verdict
of one penny damages. A motion was made for a new trial; but
the court too had now lost the equipoise of their judgment, and
overruled the motion by a unanimous vote. The verdict and
judgment overruling the motion were followed by redoubled
acclamations, from within and without the house. The people,
who had with difficulty kept their hands off their champion, from
the moment of closing his harangue, no sooner saw the fate of
the cause finally sealed than they seized him at the bar, and in
spite of his own exertions, and the continued cry of order” from
the sheriffs and the court, they bore him out of the court-house,
and raising him on their shoulders, carried him about the yard
in a kind of electioneering triumph.
Oh, what a scene was this for a father's heart! so sudden; so
unlooked-for; so delightfully overwhelming! At the time he was
not able to give utterance to any sentiment; but a few days
after, when speaking of it to Mr. Winston, he said with the most
engaging modesty, and with a tremor of voice which showed
how much more he felt than he expressed, «Patrick spoke in
this cause near an hour, and in a manner that surprised me!
and showed himself well informed on a subject of which I did not
think he had any knowledge! ”
I have tried much to procure a sketch of this celebrated
speech. But those of Mr. Henry's hearers who survive seem
to have been bereft of their senses. They can only tell you,
in general, that they were taken captive, and so delighted with
their captivity that they followed implicitly whithersoever he led
them; that at his bidding their tears flowed from pity, and their
cheeks flushed with indignation; that when it was over they felt
as if they had just awakened from some ecstatic dream, of which
XXVII-1007
## p. 16098 (#444) ##########################################
16098
WILLIAM WIRT
they were unable to recall or connect the particulars. It wa
such a speech as they believe had never before fallen from the
lips of man; and to this day the old people of that country can-
not conceive that a higher compliment can be paid to a speaker
than to say of him, in their own homely phrase, “He is almost
equal to Patrick when he plead against the parsons. "
(
BURR AND BLENNERHASSETT
ARGUMENT IN THE TRIAL OF AARON BURR
W".
ho is Blennerhassett? A native of Ireland, a man of let-
ters, who fled from the storms of his own country to
find quiet in ours. His history shows that war is not
the natural element of his mind. If it had been, he never would
have exchanged Ireland for America. So far is an army from
furnishing the society natural and proper to Mr. Blennerhassett's
character, that on his arrival in America he retired even from
the population of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and soli-
tude in the bosom of our western forests. But he carried with
him taste and science and wealth; and lo, the desert smiled!
Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears
upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellish-
ment of fancy. A shrubbery that Shenstone might have envied
blooms around him. Music that might have charmed Calypso
and her nymphs is his. An extensive library spreads its treas-
ures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all
the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and inno-
cence, shed their mingled delights around him. And to crown
the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely
even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that
can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love, and made
him the father of several children. The evidence would con-
vince you that this is but a faint picture of the real life.
In the midst of all this peace, this innocent simplicity, and
this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the
heart, the destroyer comes: he comes to change this paradise
into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach.
No monitory shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate
## p. 16099 (#445) ##########################################
WILLIAM WIRT
16099
possessor warns him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A
stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities by the
high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon
finds his way to their hearts by the dignity and elegance of
his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the
seductive and fascinating power of his address. The conquest
was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple and credulous. Con-
scious of no design itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no
guard before its breast. Every door, and portal, and avenue of
the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was
the state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. The pris-
oner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the open
and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found
but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart
and the objects of its affection. He breathes into it the fire of
his own courage; a daring and desperate thirst for glory; an
ardor panting for great enterprises, for all the storm and bustle
and hurricane of life. In a short time the whole man is changed,
and every object of his former delight is relinquished. No more
he enjoys the tranquil scene: it has become flat and insipid to
his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are
thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance
upon the air in vain; he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks
the rich melody of music: it longs for the trumpet's clangor and
the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet,
no longer affects him; and the angel smile of his wife, which
hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now
unseen and unfelt. Greater objects have taken possession of his
soul. His imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems,
of stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught
to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes
and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse
into a wilderness; and in a few months we find the beautiful
and tender partner of his bosom, - whom he lately permitted
not the winds of » summer "to visit too roughly," -- we find
her shivering at midnight, on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and
mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell.
Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his
happiness, thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace,
thus confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for
(
»
## p. 16100 (#446) ##########################################
16100
WILLIAM WIRT
him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of
another - this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a
subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason — this
man is to be called the principal offender, while he by whom he
was thus plunged in misery is comparatively innocent -a mere
accessary! Is this reason ? Is it law? Is it humanity ? Sir,
neither the human heart nor the human understanding will bear
a perversion so monstrous and absurd! so shocking to the soul!
so revolting to reason! Let Aaron Burr, then, not shrink from
the high destination which he has courted; and having already
ruined Blennerhassett in fortune, character, and happiness, forever,
let him not attempt to finish the tragedy by thrusting that ill-
fated man between himself and punishment.
## p. 16101 (#447) ##########################################
16101
OWEN WISTER
(1860-)
-
He short stories of Owen Wister are an addition to the Amer-
ican fiction which is helping the world to realize the infinitely
Po varied and interesting characters and scenes in widely sepa-
rated sections of the United States. These stories are illustrations
from the author's own text: “Many sorts of Americans live in Amer-
ica. ” A part of the drama of primitive humanity is displayed in Mr.
Wister's pages: the part which is enacted on the great sandy plains
of the Southwest, with mountains for stage setting, and Indians, sol-
diers, and cowboys as persons of the play.
Mr. Wister, although he knows the West
so well, and writes of it with such sympa-
thetic insight, is an Eastern man,- a Phila-
delphian of good family,- and was born in
that city in 1860. When he was ten years
of age he was taken to Europe, where he
remained three years.
Returning to his
native land, he prepared for college at St.
Paul's School in Concord, New Hampshire,
and was graduated from Harvard in 1882.
At the University he developed a taste for
literature and music. He wrote the libretto
for a Hasty Pudding Club opera bouffe; and OWEN WISTER
at that time music seemed to be his first
choice: indeed, after graduation he went abroad to devote himself to
that art; on the advice of Liszt going to Paris for the study of com-
position. But family affairs brought him home the next year, and
poor health sent him hunting big game in Wyoming and Arizona.
This first Western trip was a turning-point in Mr. Wister's career.
The country and its inhabitants - so new, strange, and spectacular,
compared with his former experiences — took strong hold of him, and
stimulated his dormant literary instincts.
On his return East, he decided for the legal profession, and was
graduated from the Harvard Law School in 1887, settling down in
Philadelphia to practice. But the West continued to lure him: again
and again he tasted the excitement of wild life, and drank in impres-
sions which were to bear fruit in fiction. Within ten years he made
## p. 16102 (#448) ##########################################
16102
OWEN WISTER
no less than fifteen of these Western tours. He began to make use of
the material thus gathered in 1891, and gradually came to give all
his energies to literature.
His sketches and tales were gathered into book form in Red Men
and White,' which appeared in 1896,-eight stories which previously
had been widely read in the magazines and recognized as individual,
vital work.
The real Indian is drawn by this writer: not the idealized, fancy-
sketch representation sometimes offered. Soldiers and settlers too, as
he limns them, are felt to be authentic. The dialogue is eminently
natural; the descriptions of nature those of the keen-eyed observer
who is also a poet.
The spirit of comradeship and humorous exag-
geration typical of the West is admirably caught, while the underly-
ing tone is that of tragedy,- naturally enough, for Mr. Wister deals
truthfully with the stern, albeit picturesque, conditions of a new
civilization where the elemental passions are at work with little con-
cealment. The main impression of such masterpieces as (Specimen
Jones,' with its lighter incidents leading up to an intense dénouement,
or La Tinaja Bonita,' fairly Dantesque in its shadows, is that of
strenuous drama. But humor is never lacking to supply the lights for
the chiaroscuro.
Mr. Wister's tentative book, “The Dragon of Wantley' (1892), writ-
ten before he had found his true métier, proved, with its delicate,
playful satire on the days of chivalry, that the author had a fund
of quiet fun. Further Western sketches of compelling interest may
be expected from one who in 'Red Men and White) has made a dis-
tinct contribution to the fiction of locality in the United States.
E
SPECIMEN JONES
From Red Men and White. Copyright 1895, by Harper & Brothers
PHRAIM, the proprietor of Twenty Mile, had wasted his day
in burying a man. He did not know the man. He had
found him, or what the Apaches had left of him, sprawled
among some charred sticks just outside the Cañon del Oro. It
was a useful discovery in its way; for otherwise Ephraim might
have gone on hunting his strayed horses near the cañon, and
ended among charred sticks himself. Very likely the Indians
were far away by this time; but he returned to Twenty Mile
with the man tied to his saddle, and his pony nervously snorting.
And now the day was done, and the man lay in the earth, and
they had even built a fence round him; for the hole was pretty
## p. 16103 (#449) ##########################################
OWEN WISTER
16103
shallow, and coyotes have a way of smelling this sort of thing a
long way off when they are hungry, and the man was not in a
coffin. They were always short of coffins in Arizona.
Day was done at Twenty Mile, and the customary activity
prevailed inside that flat-roofed cube of mud. Sounds of sing-
ing, shooting, dancing, and Mexican tunes on the concertina came
out of the windows hand in hand, to widen and die among the
hills. A limber, pretty boy, who might be nineteen, was dancing
energetically; while a grave old gentleman, with tobacco running
down his beard, pointed a pistol at the boy's heels, and shot a
hole in the earth now and then to show that the weapon was
really loaded. Everybody was quite used to all of this-except-
ing the boy. He was an Eastern new-comer, passing his first
evening at a place of entertainment.
Night in and night out every guest at Twenty Mile was
either happy and full of whisky, or else his friends were mak-
ing arrangements for his funeral. There was water at Twenty
Mile — the only water for twoscore of miles. Consequently it
was an important station on the road between the southern coun-
try and Old Camp Grant, and the new mines north of the Mes.
cal Range. The stunt, liquor-perfumed adobe cabin lay on the
gray floor of the desert like an isolated slab of chocolate. A
corral, two desolate stable sheds, and the slowly turning windmill,
were all else. Here Ephraim and one or two helpers abode,
armed against Indians and selling whisky. Variety in their
vocation of drinking and killing was brought them by the trav-
elers. These passed and passed through the glaring vacant
months: some days only one ragged fortune-hunter, riding a
pony; again by twos and threes, with high-loaded burros; and
sometimes they came in companies, walking beside their clank-
ing freight wagons. Some were young, and some were old; and
all drank whisky, and wore knives and guns to keep each other
civil. Most of them were bound for the mines, and some of
them sometimes returned. No man trusted the next man; and
their names, when they had any, would be O'Rafferty, Angus,
Schwartzmeyer, José Maria, and Smith. All stopped for one
night; some longer - remaining drunk and profitable to Ephraim;
now and then one stayed permanently, and had a fence built
round him. Whoever came, and whatever befell them, Twenty
Mile was chronically hilarious after sundown,-a dot of riot in
the dumb Arizona night.
## p. 16104 (#450) ##########################################
16104
OWEN WISTER
an
»
On this particular evening they had a tenderfoot.
The boy,
being new in Arizona, still trusted his neighbor. Such people
turned up occasionally. This one had paid for everybody's drink
several times, because he felt friendly, and never noticed that no-
body ever paid for his. They had played cards with him, stolen
his spurs, and now they were making him dance.
It was
ancient pastime; yet two or three were glad to stand round and
watch it, because it was some time since they had been to the
opera. Now the tenderfoot had misunderstood these friends at
the beginning, supposing himself to be among good fellows; and
they naturally set him down as a fool. But even while dancing
you may learn much, and suddenly.
