books in various languages. To him, the events and characters of past history were like the occurrences of to-day. And the circumstances of his own life, back to his early childhood, seemed clothed in transparent light. Conversations he had enjoyed with persons more than a halfcentury back, he could recall at pleasure; and the varied scenes he had witnessed stood out like pictures before his view. Quick in feeling, indignant at injustice and wrong, there was at times impetuosity; and, when occasion called for it, his words were like consuming lightning, and shattered what they struck. No man could be more witheringly severe, withering with terrific truth. But then he was also simple. as a child, and naturally overflowing with genial affection. Of few could it be more aptly said:

"He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading:
Lofty and sour to them that loved him not;

But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer."

A few years before his decease, Mr. Adams was invited, by the school-committee of the town of Quincy, to accompany them in their round of visits to the several district schools in the town. He complied very readily; gave his attention, during a session of three hours in the forenoon and three in the afternoon of each day, to the lessons of the pupils; and entered into the humble work before him with as much animation of manner as he would have evinced in political discussions, or in managing the affairs of a nation. Lord Bacon has said. that "he who cannot contract the sight of his mind, as well as disperse and dilate it, wanteth a great quality." This mark of true greatness was not wanting in President Adams.

On the first day of the indisposition of Mr. Adams, he gave his signature to the effusion herewith, laid aside in his desk in the hall of Congress, addressed to the Muse of History, perched on her rookwheeled and winged car over the front door of the House of Representatives at Washington:

"Muse! quit thy car, come down upon the floor,
And with thee bring that volume in thy hand;
Rap with thy marble knuckles at the door,

And take at a reporter's desk thy stand.
Send round thy album, and collect a store

Of autographs from rulers of the land;
Invite each Solon to inscribe his name,
A self-recorded candidate for fame."

Mr. Adams, on the 21st of February, 1848, entered the hall of the House of Representatives apparently in his usual health and spirits. When the house had been in session about an hour, the yeas and nays being ordered on the question of a vote of the thanks of Congress, and awarding gold medals, to Generals Twiggs, Worth, Pillow, Shields, Quitman, and others, for their services in the Mexican war, Mr. Adams responded in the negative in a voice unusually clear, and with more than ordinary emphasis. After the speaker had risen to put another question to the house, a sudden cry was heard on the left of the chair, "Mr. Adams is dying!" Turning their eyes to the spot, the members beheld the venerable man in the act of falling over the left arm of his chair, while his right arm was extended, grasping his desk for support. He would have dropped upon the floor, had he not been caught in the arms of the member sitting next to him. A great sensation was created in the house; members from all quarters rushing from their seats, and gathering round the fallen statesman, who was immediately lifted into the area in front of the clerk's table. The speaker instantly suggested that some gentleman move an adjournment, which being promptly done, the house adjourned. A sofa was brought, and Mr. Adams, in a state of perfect helplessness, though not of entire insensibility, was gently laid upon it. The sofa was then taken up and borne out of the hall into the rotunda, where it was set down; and the members of both houses, and strangers who were fast crowding around, were with some difficulty repressed, and an open space cleared in its immediate vicinity; but a medical gentleman, a member of the house, advised that he be removed to the door of the rotunda, opening on the east portico, where a fresh wind was blowing. This was done; but, the air being chilly and loaded with vapor, the sofa was, at the suggestion of Mr. Winthrop, once more taken up and removed to the speaker's apartment, the doors of which were forthwith closed to all but professional gentlemen and particular friends. While lying in this apartment, Mr. Adams partially recovered the use of his speech, and observed, in faltering accents, "This is the end of earth;" but quickly added, "I am composed." Members had by this time reached Mr. Adams' abode with the melancholy intelligence, and soon after, Mrs. Adams and his nephew and niece arrived, and made their way to the appalling scene. Mrs. Adams was deeply affected, and for some moments quite prostrated, by the sight of her husband, now insensible, the pallor of death upon his countenance, and those sad pre

monitories fast making their appearance which fall with such a chill upon the heart.

Mr. Adams, after having been removed to the apartment of Speaker Winthrop, sank into a state of apparent insensibility, and expired at a quarter past seven o'clock, on the evening of Feb. 23, 1848.

JOHN PHILLIPS.

JULY 4, 1794. FOR THE TOWN AUTHORITIES.

THIS production bears the finest marks of intellectual vigor and correct principles; and so well was it received, that extracts from it were for a long time going the rounds in the newspapers of the day, and some of these passages have a permanent place in our school-books, as models for our youth. We will glean a passage: "The effects of the event we this day commemorate were not confined to our own country, but soon extended across the Atlantic. The prospect of humbling a powerful rival induced an arbitrary prince to aid the American cause with numerous armies and powerful fleets, exhibiting the paradoxical appearance of slavery fighting the battles of freedom. The subjects of despotism soon imbibed the principles they were employed to defend, and caught the ardor which flamed in the American bosom. Surrounding circumstances led to reflections highly unfavorable to their own situation. They perceived the tree of liberty profusely watered with their blood; its foliage spreading, yet yielding them no shelter; its fruit blooming and mellowing in luxuriance, yet denied the delicious taste, it excited no passion but despair. When the mandate of their sovereign summoned them to their native shores, a deeper horror seemed to shade the darkness of despotism. They beheld, with mingled grief and indignation, a people in the most fertile country of Europe, amid the profusion of the bounties of nature, obliged to live on the gleanings of their own industry. The scanty pittance, saved from the exactions of arbitrary power, yielded by ignorance and superstition, to satisfy the boundless demands of a rapacious clergy. A kingdom converted to a Bastile, in which the mind was imprisoned by a triple impenetrable wall of ignorance, superstition, and despotism. The fervid spirit which glowed within them soon per

vaded their country, and threatened destruction to their government. On the first favorable contingency, the enthusiastic energies of reviving Freedom burst the cerements which had confined it for two thousand years, and the Gothic fabric of feudal absurdity, with all its pompous pageants, colossal pillars and proscriptive bulwarks, the wonder and veneration of ages, was instantly levelled with the dust.

"An astonished world viewed with awful admiration the stupendous wreck. They beheld, with pleasing exultation, the fair fabric of Freedom rising in simple proportion and majestic grace upon the mighty ruin. The gloomy horrors of despotism fled before the splendid effulgence of the sun of liberty. The potent rays of science pierced the mist of ignorance and error, 'republican visions were realized, and the reign of reason appeared to commence its splendid progress.' But the whirlwind of discord threatened to raze the fabric from its foundation. The lowering clouds of contention hung around, and darkened the horizon. Fayette, the apostle of liberty, was abandoned by the people whom he saved, and became a victim to despotic cruelty and cowardice. The damp, poisonous exhalations of a gloomy dungeon now encircle and chill that bosom, whose philanthropy was coëxtensive with the universe, whose patriotism no power could extinguish, no dangers appal. But, illuminated by the rectitude of thy heart and the magnanimity of thy virtue, the trickling dews of thy prison-walls shall sparkle with more enviable lustre than the most luminous diadem that glitters on the brow of the haughtiest emperor." The apostrophe to Lafayette was uttered at the precise time when the patriot was languishing in the dungeon of Olmutz.

John Phillips, a son of William Phillips and Margaret, a daughter of Jacob Wendell, was born in Boston, Nov. 26, 1770. His mother was a lady of fervent piety; and Rev. Dr. Palfrey relates that her son informed him that his mother, at the last interview when she was able to sustain a connected conversation, on the occasion of an assurance from him that her directions should be strictly fulfilled after her death, raised herself, and, addressing him in a manner of the most emphatic solemnity, she charged him to remember then the many official oaths he had taken. His birthplace was on the ancient Phillips estate, now known as No. 39 Washington-street, where his widowed mother kept a dry-goods shop for many years.

When seven years of age, he entered Phillips' Academy, at Andover, founded by his relatives, where he received instruction, residing

in the family of Lieut. Gov. Samuel Phillips, until he entered Harvard College in 1784. After his graduation, when he gave the salutatory oration, he read law with Judge Dawes, the successor of Oliver Wendell, in Suffolk Probate. On being of age, he was admitted to practice in the Suffolk bar, and in 1794 married Sally, daughter of Thomas Walley, a merchant and selectman of Boston.

In the year 1800, says Knapp, the population of Boston had so much increased that it was found necessary to petition the Legislature to establish a Municipal Court of criminal jurisdiction for the county of Suffolk. The Supreme Judicial Court, and the Common Pleas, had become burdened by the numerous entries on the criminal side of the docket; and parties in civil actions suffered tedious delays, while the courts were engaged in jail delivery. The Municipal Court was established in 1800, and George Richards Minot became its first judge, and John Phillips was selected as a public prosecutor, to vindicate the majesty of the laws. He was annually elected town advocate for this purpose, until he was succeeded by Peter O. Thacher. In 1803 he was elected a representative, and in 1804 he was sent to the Senate, which station he occupied for twenty years, and was president of this body for ten years. In 1809 he became a judge of the Court of Common Pleas, until that court was abolished for another on a new model. In 1820 Mr. Phillips was elected to the convention for revising the constitution of the State, where he displayed great wisdom and playful humor. In remarks on the third article of the bill of rights, on which there was great diversity of opinion, he urged its indefinite postponement, saying it was well to remember the adage, When you know not what to do, take care not to do you know not what. He hoped they should not resemble the man who had the epitaph on his tombstone, "I was well; I would be better, and here I am."

In 1812 Mr. Phillips was elected a member of the corporation of Harvard College, which station he filled until his decease, and was frequently moderator of the town-meetings of the old town of Boston.

Mr. Phillips was chairman of the committee of twelve who reported a city charter, which was adopted by the town on January 1, 1822. One attempt having been made to elect a mayor, without success, Mr. Phillips was solicited to stand as candidate, in order to effect a union; and he received nearly a unanimous vote. He was inaugurated, ·