Before the Virginia Historical and Philosophical Society, at its late
annual meeting, held in the Hall of the House of Delegates, on the
evening of the 2d March, on moving the following resolution:
_Resolved_, That the Society most truly laments the loss which it has
sustained in the common calamity, the death of its illustrious
President, the late John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United
States, whose name, associated with our Institution in its origin,
will grace its annals, while his life and character shall adorn the
history of our State and country to the end of time.
Mr. President,--In the report of the Executive Committee, which has
just been read, we are officially informed of what we knew but too
well before, the loss which our Society has sustained in the death of
our late venerable and illustrious President. Yes, Sir, the man whom
Virginia--whom his country--whom all his fellows-citizens in all
parts of the United States, admired, and loved, and delighted to
honor--the man whom we, Sir, who knew him, fondly and affectionately
called "THE CHIEF," (as he was indeed in almost every sense of the
word,) our MARSHALL is no more. We shall see him no more in the midst
of us--we shall see him no more in this very Hall, where his wisdom
and eloquence have so often enlightened and convinced the listening
assemblies of the State--we shall see his face, we shall hear his
voice no more, forever. But we do not, we cannot forget him; but the
remembrance of his transcendant abilities, his spotless integrity,
his pure patriotism, his eminent public services, and his most
amiable private virtues, is embalmed in all our hearts.
With these sentiments, Sir, which I am persuaded are the sentiments
of all our members, I have felt it to be a duty which I owe not only
to the memory of the deceased, but to the honor of our Society, to
offer the resolution which the announcement suggests. In doing so,
however, I shall not deem it either necessary or proper to detain you
with many words, when I feel, most unaffectedly, that any which I
could use would be entirely inadequate, and almost injurious, to the
fame of such a man. I will not, therefore, Sir, enlarge upon the
particulars of his life, which are already familiar to you. I will
not tell you of the brilliancy of his first entrance upon the stage
of action, when the voice of our Commonwealth, rising in arms to
defend her constitutional rights against the tyranny of Britain,
called him from his native forest, and from the studies in which he
had just engaged, to join her army hurrying to the rescue of my own
native town from the grasp of her insolent invader: nor of his
following campaigns under Washington himself, and his gallant bearing
on the memorable plains of Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth: nor
of his subsequent stand at the bar of this city, (then, as it is now,
one of the most distinguished in the country,) where he was _primus
inter pares_, the first amongst his fellows--the brightest star in
the constellation which shed its radiance over our state: nor of his
appearances in the House of Delegates, and in the Convention for the
ratification of the constitution: nor of his conduct at the court of
revolutionary France, where (with his worthy associates) he baffled
all the arts and stratagems of the wily Proteus of Politics himself,
and maintained the honor of his country to the admiration of all her
citizens: nor of his reappearance in this place: nor of his
translation to the floor of the House of Representatives, where he
stood, spoke, and conquered: nor of his short but substantial service
as Secretary of State: nor, above all, of his crowning elevation to
that chair of judicial supremacy for which he seemed to have been
made; and where he sat for so many years, like incarnate Justice--not
blind, indeed, like that fabled divinity, but seeing all things with
that quick, clear, and penetrating eye, which pierced at once through
all the intricacies and involutions of law and fact, to discover the
latent truth, or detect the lurking fallacy, as by the glance of
intuition. No wonder, Sir, that with such admirable faculties,
combined with such perfect pureness of purpose, such entire
singleness and simplicity of heart, he shed a lustre around that seat
which it never had before, and which I greatly fear it will never
have again. No wonder, Sir, that he appeared to the eyes of many in
all parts of our land, and even of some who could not exactly agree
with him in all his views of our federal compact, as the very Atlas
of the Constitution, supporting the starry firmament of our Union
upon his single shoulder, which bowed not, bent not beneath its
weight; and that when he died, there was something like a feeling of
apprehension (for an instant at least) as if the fabric which he had
so long sustained must fall along with him to the dust, and become
the fit monument of the man.
But I will not dwell, nor even touch any longer, Sir, on these
things, which indeed hardly belong to us, or belong to us only in
common with all our fellow-citizens. _Vix ea nostra voco._ I can
hardly call them our own. But I must just glance for a single moment,
Sir, at the connection of the illustrious deceased with our Society.
Sir, when we were about to form our institution, conscious as we were
of the mortifying fact, that from the unfortunate passion of our
people for politics, so called, (mere party politics) the more calm
and rational pursuits of science and letters to which we were about
to invite their attention, could hardly hope to find favor in their
eyes, we were naturally desirous to call some person to that chair
whose character, whose very name, might give the public an assurance
of the utility of our labors; and we turned instinctively to _him_.
We saw him, Sir, with all the honors of a long, laborious, and useful
life clustered upon him; enjoying the respect and confidence of
honorable men of all parties alike; maintaining his official
neutrality with a meek and modest dignity that nothing could disturb,
or ruffle for a moment; and soothing his old age with Christian
philosophy, and polite letters, and the "sweetly-uttered wisdom" of
poesy, which he had always loved from his youth--and we tendered him
the office. He accepted it, Sir, at once, with that gracious
condescension which belonged to him--expressed his cordial
concurrence in our views--presented us with his own immortal work,
the Life of the Father of his Country--and stamped our enterprise
with the seal of his decisive approbation.
After this, Sir, we naturally felt a new interest in him; and you
remember Sir, I dare say, how our hearts flowed out to him with a
sort of filial reverence and affection, as he came about amongst us,
like a father amongst his children, like a patriarch amongst his
people--like that patriarch whom the sacred Scriptures have canonized
for our admiration--"when the eye saw him, it blessed him: when the
ear heard him, it gave witness to him; {261} _and after his words men
spake not again_." For his words, indeed, even in his most familiar
conversation, fell upon us with a sort of judicial weight; and from
his private opinions, as from his public decisions, there was no
appeal. Happy, thrice happy old man! How we wished and prayed for the
continuance of his days, and of all the happiness and honor which he
had so fairly won, and which he seemed to enjoy still more for our
sakes than for his own! We gazed upon him indeed, Sir, as upon the
setting sun, whilst, his long circuit of glory almost finished, he
sank slowly to his rest; admiring the increased grandeur of his orb,
and the graciousness with which he suffered us to view the softened
splendors of his face; but with a mournful interest, too, which
sprang from the reflection that we should soon lose his light. And we
have lost it indeed. He has left us now--and we mourn for his
departure. But we are consoled, Sir, by the transporting assurance
which we feel, that the splendid luminary which the benificent
Creator had kindled up for the blessing and ornament of our native
land, and of the world, is not gone out in darkness, but shines still
with inextinguishable lustre in the firmament of Heaven.