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derived from councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he selected whatever was best; and certainly no general ever planned his battles more judiciously. But if deranged during the course of action, if any member of his plan was dislocated by sudden circumstances, he was slow in readjustment. The consequence was that he often failed in the field, and rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and New York. He was incapable of fear, meeting personal dangers with the calm

est unconcern.

3. Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was prudence; never acting until every circumstance, every consideration, was maturely weighed; refraining if he saw a doubt, but, when once decided, going through with his purpose whatever obstacles opposed. His integrity was most pure, his justice the most inflexible I have ever known, no motives of interest or consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the words, a wise, a good, and a great man. His temper was naturally irritable and high-toned; but reflection and resolution had obtained a firm and habitual ascendency over it. If ever, however, it broke its bounds, he was most tremendous in his wrath.

4. In his expenses he was honorable, but exact; liberal in contribution to whatever promised utility, but frowning and unyielding on all visionary projects and all unworthy calls on his charity. His heart was not warm in its affections; but he exactly calculated every man's value, and gave him a solid esteem proportioned to it. His person, you know, was fine, his stature exactly what one could wish, his deportment easy, erect, and noble; the best horseman of his age, and the most graceful figure that could be seen on horseback.

5. Although in the circle of his friends, where he might be

unreserved with safety, he took a free share in conversation, his colloquial talents were not above mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of ideas nor fluency of words. In public, when called on for a sudden opinion, he was unready, short, and embarrassed. Yet he wrote readily, rather diffusely, in an easy and correct style. This he had acquired by conversation with the world, for his education was merely reading, writing, and common arithmetic, to which he added surveying at a later day.

6. His time was employed in action chiefly, reading little. and that only in agriculture and English history. His correspondence became necessarily extensive, and, with journalizing his agricultural proceedings, occupied most of his leisure hours within-doors.

7. On the whole, his character was, in its mass, perfect, in nothing bad, in few points indifferent; and it may truly be said that never did nature and fortune combine more perfectly to make a man great, and to place him in the same constellation with whatever worthies have merited from man an everlasting remembrance.

8. For his was the singular destiny and merit of leading the armies of his country successfully through an arduous war for the establishment of its independence; of conducting its councils through the birth of a government, new in its forms and principles, until it had settled down into a quiet and orderly train; and of scrupulously obeying the laws through the whole of his career, civil and military, of which the history of the world furnishes no other example.

THOMAS JEFFERSON.

II. MARCO BOZZARIS.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK (1790-1867) was born in Guilford, Connecticut. He engaged in the banking business for many years, and was for a long time the adviser of John Jacob Astor. With Joseph Rodman Drake he began a series of newspaper articles called The Croaker Papers. Owing to Drake's illness the work was discontinued. Halleck wrote little, considering his widespread popularity. His best-known verses are Marco Bozzaris and those written on the death of his friend Drake, containing the often quoted stanza:

"Green be the turf above thee,

Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,

None named thee but to praise."

1. At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk lay dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams his song of triumph heard:
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring,
Then pressed that monarch's throne—a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden-bird.

2. An hour passed on; the Turk awoke:
That bright dream was his last.
He woke, to hear his sentries shriek:

"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" He woke, to die 'mid flame and smoke,

And shout, and groan, and saber-stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast
Like forest pines before the blast,
Or lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:

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"Strike till the last armed foe expires;
Strike

for your altars and your fires;
Strike for the green graves of your sires,
God, and your native land!"

3. They fought like brave men, long and well;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain;
They conquered - but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile, when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;

Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

4. Come to the bridal-chamber, Death!
Come to the mother when she feels
For the first time her firstborn's breath;
Come when the blessèd seals

Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake's shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,

And thou art terrible: the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know or dream or fear
Of agony, are thine.

5. But to the hero, when his sword.
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come, when his task of fame is wrought;
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought;
Come in her crowning hour, and then
Thy sunken eyes' unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight

Of sky and stars to prisoned men ;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land;
Thy summons welcome as the cry
Which told the Indian Isles were nigh
To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land-wind from woods of palm,
And orange-groves, and fields of balm,
Blew o'er the Haytian seas.

6. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee: there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime.

Her soldier, closing with the foe,
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow;

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