their own eyes when they saw him in the streets of London, He will surely be arrested, said some. He will surely be bought over, said others. Franklin, and all who thought as Franklin did, and there was one bishop and more than one lord who thought with him, received Quincy with open arms, and listened eagerly and thoughtfully to his story of English wrongs and American resentment. Ministers, too, were anxious to see him. Lord North caused him to be sought out, for the clearsighted, high-minded man would make no overtures. If a thorough knowledge of what America intended, a full, accurate, and straightforward account of the state of American opinion could have induced the ministry to draw back their hands, every obnoxious act would have been repealed, every soldier recalled. But behind the ministry was the King, self-willed, obstinate, irritated; and though every word that Quincy said to North was repeated to the King, resentment, not conviction, was the only feeling it awakened. It was evident that government would not recede.

Saddened, but not disheartened, he continued his labors, seeking everywhere the friends of America and striving to confirm them in their kind feelings; meeting her enemies boldly, and using argument and eloquence to convince them of their error. In the midst of these labors his disease returned upon him more severe and menacing Skilful attendance and comparative re

than ever.

pose gave temporary relief, and his physician held out the promise of recovery if he would only break off from his work and give himself up with undivided attention to the care of his health.

Meanwhile the storm was gathering. Before it broke, the friends of the Colonies, unable to avert it, were anxious to send a final warning to their American brethren, — a warning which they dared not trust to paper. Quincy saw clearly that to carry it was going to certain death. Repose, the waters of Bath, might give him health; and did he not owe something to his family and friends, to an aged father, of whom he was the chief hope, to a devoted wife, and children scarcely emerged from infancy, of whom he was the only stay? Had he not already sacrificed much while others were calmly looking on ? Was it really the call of duty, where the hazard was so great, the reasons so nearly balanced, the excuse so evident and so plausible?

All this he felt and saw, and calmly and resolutely accepted the fatal mission. It was not like mounting a breach, for there the hot blood nerves the failing limbs, and borne on by the shouts and tumult, and fiery whirlwind of battle, men do things which at other times they would shrink from with horror. But it was placing himself calmly and deliberately in death's chosen path, and watching with unshrinking eye his swift and sure advance. The ship that he sailed in was ill provided

for the accommodation of a sick man; the weather was “inclement and damp"; there was no friend to cheer him with kind words or minister to his wants. A common sailor sat by his pillow and took down, in a rude hand, his last thoughts and wishes: his country still first and foremost among them; and thus, after six weeks of solitary suffering, and just within sight of the land where wife and children and friends were anxiously awaiting his coming, he died. What sacrifice more complete, what martyrdom more holy?

Congress had its martyrs, too, if it be martyrdom to die at the post of duty for conscience' sake. The small-pox made the duty of delegate a perilous one in 1775; and among its victims was one whom the cause of American freedom could ill spare at that critical period of our fortunes. Samuel Ward had been Governor of Rhode Island, and when the first Continental Congress was chosen, became, with Stephen Hopkins, her representative. Re-elected to the Congress of 1775, he was soon distinguished for his sound judgment and practical familiarity with the management of legislative assemblies. Rhode Island was hardly large enough to give a President to the Congress, but in committee of the whole, Ward was regularly called to the chair. Few men were more assiduous in the performance of their duty; few were listened to with more respect; few possessed in a higher degree the confidence of their associates. He was among the

zealous advocates of union, although the chief of his life had been passed in the political contests of a small State. He was among the early friends of Independence, foreseeing it long before it could be spoken of in debate, and looking hopefully to it as the natural and inevitable consequence of what had already been done. And when his heart was warmest in the cause and his hopes highest, he, too, died, a victim of the small-pox in its most malignant form; but still more a victim of that noble sense of duty which taught him that for the civilian, as for the soldier, the post of honor is often the post of death. He died, too, before enough had been done to insure him a permanent place in history; too soon even to allow him to give his voice and affix his name to that Declaration of Independence for which he had labored so earnestly. And Rhode Island, like too many of her sister States, forgetful of the children who served her, when to serve her was to put life and fortune in jeopardy, permitted his bones to lie for nearly a century in a borrowed grave, and when at last, forced from their resting-place by the encroach.nents of an expanding population, they returned to her bosom, to return to it unheralded, and silently mingle with their native soil in the obscurity of a common burying-ground.

Domestic life, too, had its martyrs, men and women, who, laboring earnestly in obscure fields, sacrificing much, suffering much, drew upon them

selves the vengeance of their country's enemies, and sealed their devotion with their blood. Of two of these, the love and veneration of their contemporaries, piously transmitted to posterity, has preserved the memory with peculiar freshness: James Caldwell, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Elizabethtown, New Jersey, was distinguished from the beginning of the war as an ardent Whig; and Hannah Ogden, his wife, entering warmly into all his feelings, shared with him the hardships and dangers of his position. His vehement eloquence was directed against the enemies of his country so boldly, and acted so powerfully his hearers, that he was soon marked out as a man to be peculiarly dreaded, and a price set upon his head. It is easy to conceive what the influence of such a man must have been: not only eloquent in the pulpit, but living in daily intercourse with the soldiers and ministering intelligently to their wants. It is easy to conceive, too, what a life of peril and excitement the life of this noble couple must have been in a State which was so often the

upon

seat of war, and with the enemy always so near their door. More than once he was compelled to take his pistols with him into the pulpit, and lay them down by the side of his Bible. It was no false alarm: though the fatal blow first fell where least expected. In the summer of 1780 there was constant marching to and fro in the Jerseys, and many things to indicate an intention to make them