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CHAP. the control of leaders who never lost their self-possession, nor transcended their constitutional rights. The govern1774. ment, thinking to avoid the evil, forbade them to hold such meetings, after a certain day. They evaded the law "by convoking the meetings before that day, and keeping them alive." "Faneuil Hall was at times unable to hold them, and they swarmed from that revolutionary hive into Old South Church. The Liberty Tree became a rallying place for any popular movement, and a flag hoisted on it was saluted by all processions as the emblem of the popu lar cause."

During this time, the people throughout the colonies held conventions and chose delegates to the General Congress about to meet at Philadelphia. One of these meetings, held in the "Fields" in New York, was addressed by a youth of seventeen. The stripling charmed his hearers by his fervor, as he grappled with the question and presented with clearness the main points at issue. When he closed, a whisper ran through the crowd, "It is a collegian." The youth was Alexander Hamilton, a native of St. Kitts, of Scotch and French descent, his mother a Huguenot. The son combined the caution of the Scot with the vivacity of the Gaul. At an early age he lost his mother, whose memory he cherished with the greatest devotion. "A father's care he seems never to have known." At the age of twelve he was thrown upon the world to depend upon his own resources. He came to

Boston, and thence to New York, where he found means to enter King's, since Columbia College. He had been known to the people simply as the West Indian, who walked under the trees in the college green, and unconscious of the observation of others, talked to himself. Henceforth a brilliant mind and untiring energies were to be consecrated to the welfare of the land that had adopted the orphan.

'Washington Irving.

THE OLD CONTINENTAL CONGRESS.

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1774.

When the time came for the meeting of the General CHAP. Congress, known as the Old Continental Congress, fiftyfive delegates assembled in the Carpenters' Hall, in the city of Philadelphia. Every colony was represented, except Georgia. Martin, the royalist governor, had prevented delegates from being chosen.

Here for the first time assembled the most eminent men of the colonies. They held in their hands, under the Great Disposer of all things, the destinies of a people numbering nearly three millions. Here were names now sacred in the memories of Americans. George Washington, Patrick Henry, Richard Henry Lee, Edward and John Rutledge, Gadsden, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Roger Sherman, Philip Livingston, John Jay, William Livingston, Dr. Witherspoon, President of Princeton College, a Scotch Presbyterian minister, who had come over some years before, but was said to be "as high a son of liberty as any man in America," and others of lesser note, but no less patriotism. They had corresponded with each other, and exchanged views on the subject of their country's wrongs; they had sympathized as brethren, though many of them were to each other personally unknown. It was a momentous crisis, and they felt the responsibility of their position.

The House was organized by electing the aged Peyton Randolph, of Virginia, Speaker, and Charles Thomson, of Pennsylvania, Secretary. A native of Ireland, when a youth he came to America. He was principal of the Quaker High School in Philadelphia, and was proverbial for his truth and honesty.

It was suggested that it would be becoming to open their sessions with prayer. This proposition was thought by some to be inexpedient, since perhaps the delegates could not all join in the same form of worship. At length Samuel Adams, who was a strict Congregationalist, arose and said: "I will willingly join in prayer with any gen

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CHAP tleman of piety and virtue, whatever may be his cloth provided he is a friend of his country." On his motion, 1774. the Rev. Mr. Duché, a popular Episcopal clergyman, of Philadelphia, was invited to officiate as chaplain. Mr. Duché accepted the invitation. A rumor, in the mean time, reached Philadelphia that General Gage had bombarded Boston. When the Congress assembled the next morning, anxiety and sympathy were depicted on every countenance. The rumor, though it proved to be false, excited feelings of brotherhood, hitherto unknown.

The chaplain read the thirty-fifth psalm, and then, carried away by his emotions, burst forth into an extemporary prayer to the Lord of Hosts to be their helper. "It seemed," says John Adams, in a letter to his wife,

as if Heaven had ordained that psalm to be read on that morning. He prayed, in language eloquent and sublime, for America, for the Congress, for the province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially for the town of Boston. It has had an excellent effect upon everybody here.”

When the prayer was closed, a long and death-like silence ensued, as if each one hesitated "to open a business so momentous." At length Patrick Henry slowly arose, faltering at first, "as if borne down by the weight of his subject;" but the fires of his wonted eloquence began to glow, as he recited the colonial wrongs already endured, and foretold those yet to come. "Rising, as he advanced, with the grandeur of his subject, and glowing at length with all the majesty and expectation of the occasion, his speech seemed more than that of mortal man." He inspired the entire Congress with his liberal sentiments; they found a response in every heart when he exclaimed: "British oppression has effaced the boundaries of the several colonies; the distinctions between Virginians, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, and New Englanders, are no more. I am not a Virginian, but an American." When he closed, the members were not