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; 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.