Henry was born at Studley, Virginia, May 29th, 1736. He was of good Scotch and English blood, and was educated by his father; he married at eighteen and went early into business. He became a lawyer when twenty-four, and was successful from the first. When pleading the cause of a clergyman in 1763 in the celebrated tobacco-tax question, he showed himself to be a fine speaker; and from this on, advanced rapidly in public life. Elected in 1765 to the Virginia House, in a fiery speech he advocated resistance to the Stamp Act and became the leader of his colony. He was a delegate to the first Continental Congress, and in 1776, on the adoption of the Constitution, his own state made him four times governor; he declined re-election in 1786, to be again elected in 1796 and again to decline…. Retiring from public life in 1791 at the age of fifty-five, he practiced law, preferring to guard his broken health and provide for his large family; although subsequently Washington offered him the post of Secretary of State and that of Chief Justice, and President Adams named him minister to France. In 1799, however, at Washington’s appeal he allowed himself to be elected to the Legislature; but died June 6th, before taking his seat.

Personal

  On the 6th inst. departed this life Patrick Henry, Esquire, of Charlotte Count. Mourn, Virginia, mourn! Your Henry is gone! Ye friends to liberty in every clime, drop a tear. No more will his social feelings spread delight through his happy house. No more will his edifying example dictate to his numerous offspring the sweetness of virtue, and the majesty of patriotism. No more will his sage advice, guided by zeal for the common happiness, impart light and utility to his caressing neighbors. No more will he illuminate the public councils with sentiments drawn from the cabinet of his own mind, ever directed to his country’s good, and clothed in eloquence sublime, delightful, and commanding. Farewell, first-rate patriot, farewell! As long as our rivers flow, or mountains stand—so long will your excellence and worth be the theme of homage and endearment, and Virginia, bearing in mind her loss, will say to rising generations, imitate my Henry.

  I have not time to compare the characters of Washington and Henry, or I would clearly show that fewer blunders fell to the share of the latter than the former, and yet I have no objection to paying a tribute to the past services and virtues of either.

  His disposition was indeed all sweetness—his affections were warm, kind, and social—his patience invincible—his temper ever unclouded, cheerful and serene—his manners plain, open, familiar, and simple—his conversation easy, ingenious and unaffected, full of entertainment, full of instruction, and irradiated with all those light and softer graces, which his genius threw, without effort, over the most common subjects. It is said that there stood in the court, before his door, a large walnut-tree, under whose shade it was his delight to pass his summer evenings, surrounded by his affectionate and happy family, and by a circle of neighbours who loved him almost to idolatry. Here he would disport himself with all the careless gaiety of infancy. Here, too, he would sometimes warm the bosoms of the old, and strike fire from the eyes of his younger hearers, by recounting the tales of other times; by sketching, with the boldness of a master’s hand, those great historic incidents in which he had borne a part; and by drawing to the life, and placing before his audience, in colours as fresh and strong as those of nature, the many illustrious men in every quarter of the continent, with whom he had acted a part on the public stage…. Mr. Henry’s conversation was remarkably pure and chaste. He never swore. He was never heard to take the name of his Maker in vain. He was a sincere Christian, though after a form of his own; for he was never attached to any particular religious society, and never, it is believed, communed with any church…. His morals were strict. As a husband, a father, a master, he had no superior. He was kind and hospitable to the stranger, and most friendly and accommodating to his neighbours. In his dealings with the world, he was faithful to his promise, and punctual in his contracts, to the utmost of his power.

  Imagination can present no brighter picture of a happy old age, than is exhibited in the real life of Henry; and, when we compare this charming spectacle with that of the cares and privations which have clouded the closing years of some of our greatest revolutionary patriots, we are forced to acknowledge, that the strict private economy with which Henry has sometimes been reproached as a fault, when combined, as it was in his case, with a genial temperament and a liberal discharge of all the duties of life, was not so much a venial error as an actual, positive, and most important virtue. He had been always strongly impressed with the importance of religion, and had studied with care the best books on the subject that came within his reach…. He possessed an instinctive sagacity, which supplied, to a great extent, the deficiencies of his education; a moral courage, which led him to spurn all considerations of mere temporary expediency, when he was once satisfied where the right lay, and a naturally noble and generous heart. To these better qualities he owed his extraordinary efficiency and success as a public speaker.

  Mason Locke Weems, with his fun and his fiddle, his imagination and his fluency, had points in common with that most gifted of all such Virginians, Patrick Henry. Without the opportunity which called into exercise Patrick Henry’s sublime talent, that great-natured orator might have lived to the end of his days a fiddling stroller and story-teller, like his contemporary, Weems.

  Such, I think it may fairly be said, was Patrick Henry when, at the age of twenty-four, having failed in every other pursuit, he turned for bread to the profession of the law. There is no evidence that either he or any other mortal man was aware of the extraordinary gifts that lay within him for success in that career. Not a scholar surely, not even a considerable miscellaneous reader, he yet had the basis of a good education; he had the habit of reading over and over again a few of the best books; he had a good memory; he had an intellect strong to grasp the great commanding features of any subject; he had a fondness for the study of human nature, and singular proficiency in that branch of science; he had quick and warm sympathies, particularly with persons in trouble,—an invincible propensity to take sides with the underdog in any fight. Through a long experience in off-hand talk with the men whom he had thus far chiefly known in his little provincial world,—with an occasional clergyman, pedagogue, or legislator, small planters and small traders, sportsmen, loafers, slaves, and the drivers of slaves, and, more than all, those bucolic Solons of old Virginia, the good-humored, illiterate, thriftless Caucasian consumers of tobacco and whiskey, who, cordially consenting that all the hard work of the world should be done by the children of Ham, were thus left free to commune together in endless debate on the tavern porch or on the shady side of the country store,—young Patrick had learned somewhat of the lawyer’s art of putting things; he could make men laugh, could make them serious, could set fire to their enthusiasms. What more he might do with such gifts nobody seems to have guessed; very likely few gave it any thought at all. In that rugged but munificent profession at whose outward gates he then proceeded to knock, it was altogether improbable that he would burden himself with much more of its erudition than was really necessary for a successful general practice in Virginia in his time or that he would permanently content himself with less.

  With no pomp or ceremony, but amid the tears of his devoted family and loving neighbors, Patrick Henry was laid to rest in the quiet graveyard at Red Hill, at the foot of the garden. A plain marble slab covers his grave, on which are inscribed his name, the dates of his birth and death, and the words, “His fame is his best epitaph.”

  Beloved and praised without stint by the men of his time, and since his death strangely maligned by a rival statesman of Virginia.

  Among his own countrymen every detail of the career of such a familiar historical figure is of undying interest; but to the notice of most English readers Patrick Henry comes, I think, but as a shadowy name. His life can be divided into two distinct periods. The first has an international interest, and consists of the almost magical transformation of the despised clown, through a series of dramatic situations, to a leading figure and potent factor in one of the greatest struggles in English history. In the second his activity ceases to have any international significance, and is reduced by the march of events to a purely provincial and domestic stage. The former, as a subject of interest to Englishmen, needs no apology. The latter would only be welcome where some sympathy with the personality of Henry, and the conditions of the Southern Colonies after the war, had been awakened.

Speeches

  He is by far the most powerful speaker I ever heard. Every word he says not only engages but commands the attention; and your passions are no longer your own when he addresses them. But his eloquence is the smallest part of his merit. He is, in my opinion, the first man upon this continent, as well in abilities as public virtues, and had he lived in Rome about the time of the first Punic War…. Mr. Henry’s talents must have put him at the head of that glorious commonwealth.

  The times in which he lived were suited to his genius, in other times we doubt if his peculiar powers would have raised him to a higher distinction, than that of an eloquent speaker at the bar…. The secret of his eloquence unquestionably rested in his power of touching the spring of passion and feeling. He had little to do with the understanding or judgment of his hearers.

  They fall, of course, far below his fame; and it is, after all, on the faith of mere tradition, attested, however, by facts too numerous and of too public a character to leave it in any way doubtful, that the present and future generations will acknowledge the justice of his claim to the proud title, that has been given him, of the greatest orator of the New World.

  Mr. Henry seldom used his pen, and has therefore left but little written eloquence authenticated by himself. To form our estimate of his powers, we have mainly to rely on the reports of those who had witnessed the wonders he wrought—those who had felt the magic of his action, trembled at the majesty of his voice, and caught the flashings of his eye,—who had been fascinated by his smile, or repulsed by his terrific frown, and who always found themselves incompetent to express fully the power with which he impressed conviction.

  In executing a mission from the Synod of Virginia, in the year 1794, I had to pass through the county of Prince Edward, where Mr. Henry resided. Understanding that he was to appear before the Circuit Court, which met in that county, in defence of three men charged with murder, I determined to seize the opportunity of observing for myself the eloquence of this extraordinary orator…. In person, Mr. Henry was lean rather than fleshy. He was rather above than below the common height, but had a stoop in the shoulders which prevented him from appearing as tall as he really was. In his moments of animation, he had the habit of straightening his frame, and adding to his apparent stature. He wore a brown wig, which exhibited no indication of any great care in the dressing. Over his shoulders he wore a brown camlet cloak. Under this his clothing was black, something the worse for wear. The expression of his countenance was that of solemnity and deep earnestness. His mind appeared to be always absorbed in what, for the time, occupied his attention. His forehead was high and spacious, and the skin of his face more than usually wrinkled for a man of fifty. His eyes were small and deeply set in his head, but were of a bright blue color, and twinkled much in their sockets. In short, Mr. Henry’s appearance had nothing very remarkable, as he sat at rest. You might readily have taken him for a common planter who cared very little about his personal appearance. In his manners, he was uniformly respectful and courteous…. In the countenance, action, and intonation of the speaker, there was expressed such an intensity of feeling, that all my doubts were dispelled; never again did I question whether Henry felt, or only acted a feeling. Indeed, I experienced an instantaneous sympathy with him in the emotions which he expressed; and I have no doubt the same sympathy was felt by every hearer.

  Henry rose with an unearthly fire burning in his eye. He commenced somewhat calmly [Speech of March 23, 1775], but the smothered excitement began more and more to play upon his features and thrill in the tones of his voice. The tendons of his neck stood out white and rigid “like whipcords.” His voice rose louder and louder, until the walls of the building, and all within them, seemed to shake and rock in its tremendous vibrations. Finally, his pale face and glaring eye became “terrible to look upon.” Men “leaned forward in their seats,” with their heads “strained forward,” their faces pale, and their eyes glaring like the speaker’s. His last exclamation, “Give me liberty or give me death!” was like the shout of a leader which turns back the rout of battle. The old clergymen said, when Mr. Henry sat down, he [the auditor] felt “sick with excitement.” Every eye yet gazed entranced on Henry. It seemed as if a word from him would have led to any wild explosion of violence. “Men looked beside themselves.”

  No one spoke so well or reasoned so badly as Henry. He was to the end of his days an orator and an actor, and nothing more. Had he, indeed, gone upon the stage, he would have rivalled Garrick. The attitudes which he struck, the way in which he walked, his gestures, his sonorous voice, and the wonderful play of his features must, if we may trust the descriptions of those who heard him, have been most remarkable. He would have been fine as Othello, and have done well as Sir Andrew Aguecheek. But a statesman he certainly was not. Whatever could be done by eloquence he could do. He could deliver a fourth-of-July oration, move a jury, conduct a canvass, or entertain the Legislature with tirades on liberty and the rights of man in a way that would have excited the envy of Pitt and Burke. When, however, the end sought was to be gained not by good speaking, but by good reasoning, he was unable to cope with men whose limited vocabulary, whose mouthing and stammering and monotonous tones it was painful to hear.

  Mr. Henry was a man of marked and peculiar power as an orator. He could sway the minds of the cultured and the ignorant with equal ease. He could rouse to action, or quiet the raging passions. He was a born actor, and understood how to use his powers with the best effect. While he was not a wise and accomplished statesman, he exercised a strong influence on the destinies of his country.

  For Virginia he was Otis and Adams in one,—both orator and political manager. Not many of his burning speeches have come down to us, but we well know what he was: one of the first orators of the eighteenth century.

  His speeches had an extraordinary vividness, and no speaker of his day is so widely quoted in our time as Henry. He expressed honesty as well as passion, and strong practical ability lay behind his words. He prepared the minds of the people for the inevitableness of war, and was active in devising measures to meet it when it came.

  Mr. Henry was happily endowed with that rich imagination which gives vitality to the body of thought, and which is essential to the success of the great orator. He was deeply imbued with that vehemence of conviction, that oratorical action, which modulates the tones, tinges the visage with irresistible power, and suggests to the hearer more than articulate language can express.

  His oratory appeals strongly to the emotions. In his legal practice he depended more on the spell which his eloquence threw over the jury, than on a mastery of the legal intricacies of the case. He was fervid rather than weighty; superficial and hasty rather than deep. His oratory abounds in figurative language; it is sometimes overwrought, even turgid, full of exaggerations and extravagant rhapsodies, yet when joined with the fire, the energy, the flashing eye, the impassioned voice of the man who originated it, was irresistible.

  The greatest Revolutionary orator of the emotional type was Patrick Henry of Virginia, inferior to many of his contemporaries in learning, judgment, and practical efficiency, but endowed with the gift of passionate eloquence. His famous speech before the Virginia Convention, in 1775, rivals the oratory of Chatham for terse strength and fiery logic.