about the "Reform Bill" which passed the House of Commons in 1876, and which gave to every householder the right to vote. By this law a great many thousand men, nearly all of them working men, were made voters. Disraeli was the originator, and, the most earnest advocate as well, of that bill, which, by his energy and power in debate was pushed through. Disraeli died a few years since, and perhaps no statesman or author's death has ever called forth more newspaper notices and eulogies than his.
You will find it interesting to study the life and character of this man, whom not only England and England's sovereign honored, but who received many tributes of respect from the press of our own land.
CHAPTER VII.
EVERETT, EDWARD.
We have many records of great men, born in poverty, and with limited educational advantages, rising from obscurity to eminence, by their own efforts. Such we style "self-made men," and in these sketches of great men we shall have occasion to speak of some of these, but our "E" is not such an one. Edward Everett was the son of a clergyman, and had in his youth the best of educational privileges. That these were not misimproved may be inferred from the fact that he was twice the "Franklin Medal Scholar" in the Boston public schools. He graduated from Harvard University when not quite eighteen years old. That was in 1811. You will observe that I have not gone far back in the history of the world for a subject. This man lived in the present century, indeed, it is only about twenty years since
he died. Young as he was, he was made Professor of Greek Literature at Harvard, a very few years after his graduation. But he went abroad before taking the professor's chair, in order to prepare himself better for the duties of the position. However, this preparation was to serve him in other capacities. Not very long did he serve the University in that way; his countrymen had other work for him. He had delivered some brilliant lectures at Harvard, but an oration delivered during the last visit of Lafayette to this country, settled the question, if any doubt yet remained as to his eloquence; it was on that occasion pronounced matchless, and the people of Massachusetts determined that such powers ought and should be made to do service in the political world. At the call of the people he left the seclusion of college walls and entered public life as a Representative in Congress. Later he was recalled from Washington to be the Governor of his State. Afterwards he travelled again in Europe, and settled himself in an Italian villa, with the purpose of carrying out a fondly cherished scheme of writing history. But again he was called into public life; first as United States Minister to the Court
of St. James; then when he again hoped to settle to private life he was prevailed upon to accept the Presidency of Harvard College, which he held for three years; then before he could set about his cherished scheme of labor he was chosen Secretary of State under President Fillmore. This was his last official service, though he was not permitted to retire into private life. For ten years he used his wonderful oratorical powers in the promotion of public good; now, it was a lecture in behalf of some benevolent enterprise, now, in commemoration of some historical event, or again, a eulogy upon some eminent personage. When the scheme was afoot of securing Mount Vernon to be held by an association for the people of the United States, Edward Everett devoted his time, his energies and his unequalled eloquence to the accomplishment of that purpose. He travelled over the length and breadth of the land, and spoke thousands of times to appreciative audiences upon the "Character of Washington," and as the results of that long and wearisome journeying, he contributed to the cause over sixty thousand dollars. But with the first peal that heralded the beginning of the war a theme
yet more inspiring was given him. The shot fired at Sumpter reached his ear, and on the twenty-seventh of the same month he was ready with a speech that rang out from Chester Square with no uncertain sound. But before the bells rang out "peace" he had ceased to speak—his lips were mute in death. Less than a week before he died—in January, 1865—he spoke in Faneuil Hall on behalf of Freedom.
In Boston, where his death occurred, there were demonstrations of profound sorrow; the flag at Bunker Hill, as well as all the flags of the city, was hung at half-mast. The church where the funeral services were held was crowded and the streets near the church were thronged with those anxious to pay respect to the memory of the gifted man; "the minute guns at the Navy Yard and on the Common boomed slowly. The church bells solemnly tolled, and the roll of muffled drums and the long, pealing, melancholy wail of the wind instruments filled the air."