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It was one Sunday, (says he,) as I travelled through the county of Orange, that my
eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous old wooden house in the forest,
not far from the roadside. Having frequently seen such objects before, in travelling
through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of
religious worship.

Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation; but
I must confess that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness was not the least
of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was
a tall and very spare old man. His head, which was covered with a white linen cap,
his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy; and
a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind.

The first emotions which touched my breast were those of mingled pity and veneration.
But ah! sacred God! how soon were all my feelings changed! The lips of
Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were the lips of this
holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject, of
course, was the passion of our Saviour. I had heard the subject handled a thousand
times. I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild
woods of America I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic
a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed.

As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar,
a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold,
and my whole frame shiver.

He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour; his trial before Pilate; his
ascent up Calvary; his crucifixion, and his death. I knew the whole history; but never,
until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was
all new, and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation
was so deliberate that his voice trembled on every syllable, and every heart in the assembly
trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases had that force of description that the
original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very
faces of the Jews: the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the
buffet; my soul kindled with a flame of indignation, and my hands were involuntarily
and convulsively clenched.

But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Saviour;
when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven; his voice
breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do"—the voice of the preacher, which had all along
faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until his utterance being entirely obstructed by the
force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and
irrepressible flood of grief. The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded
with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far as to permit him to proceed.
Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to
be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive how he
would be able to let his audience down from the height to which he had wound them,
without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them
by the abruptness of the fall. But—no; the descent was as beautiful and sublime as
the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic.

The first sentence, with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau,
"Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God!"

I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sentence, unless
you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis
in the discourse. Never before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant
by laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable figure of
the preacher; his blindness constantly recalling to your recollection old Homer, Ossian,
and Milton, and associating with his performance the melancholy grandeur of their
geniuses. You are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation,
and his voice of affecting, trembling melody; you are to remember the pitch of
passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised; and then the few minutes
of portentous, death-like silence, which reigned throughout the house; the preacher

removing his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent
torrent of his tears,) and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, begins
the sentence, "Socrates died like a philosopher"—then pausing, raising his other hand,
pressing them both clasped together with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his
"sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice—"but
Jesus Christ—like a God!" If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the
effect could scarcely have been more divine.

Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of Massillon, or the force of
Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this
simple sentence. The blood, which just before had rushed in a hurricane upon my brain,
and, in the violence and agony of my feelings, had held my whole system in suspense,
now ran back into my heart with a sensation which I cannot describe—a kind of shuddering
delicious horror! The paroxysm of blended pity and indignation to which I
had been transported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement, humility, and adoration.
I had just been lacerated and dissolved by sympathy for our Saviour as a fellow-creature;
but now, with fear and trembling, I adored him as—"a God!"

If this description give you the impression that this incomparable minister had any
thing of shallow, theatrical trick in his manner, it does him great injustice. I have
never seen, in any other orator, such a union of simplicity and majesty. He has not a
gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he does not seem forced by the sentiment
which he is expressing. His mind is too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at the
same time, too dignified, to stoop to artifice. Although as far removed from ostentation
as a man can be, yet it is clear from the train, the style, and substance of his thoughts,
that he is not only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and profound erudition.
I was forcibly struck with a short, yet beautiful character which he drew of our learned
and amiable countryman, Sir Robert Boyle. He spoke of him as if "his noble mind
had, even before death, divested herself of all influence from his frail tabernacle of flesh;"
and called him, in his peculiarly emphatic and impressive manner, "a pure intelligence:
the link between men and angels."

This man has been before my imagination almost ever since. A thousand times, as I
rode along, I dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate
his quotation from Rousseau; a thousand times I abandoned the attempt in despair,
and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner and power arose from an energy of soul
which nature could give, but which no human being could justly copy. In short, he
seems to be altogether a being of a former age, or of a totally different nature from the
rest of men. As I recall, at this moment, several of his awfully striking attitudes, the
chilling tide, with which my blood begins to pour along my arteries, reminds me of the
emotions produced by the first sight of Gray's introductory picture of his bard:

Guess my surprise, when, on my arrival at Richmond, and mentioning the name of
this man, I found not one person who had ever before heard of James Waddel!!

James Waddel, D. D., was born in the north of Ireland in 1739, and was brought
by his parents, in his infancy, to America. They settled in the southeastern part of
Pennsylvania, near the state line, on White Clay creek. To the advice of an excellent
and pious mother, Mr. Waddel ascribed his first religious convictions. She was a woman
of eminent Christian knowledge and piety, and brought with her to this country
the methods of ancient Scottish Presbyterianism. When about 13 years of age, he was
sent to and educated at the academy of the celebrated Dr. Finley, at Nottingham, Pennsylvania,
where he studied the classics, mathematics, logic, and those branches indispensable
for the learned callings. Such was his proficiency, that his distinguished preceptor
soon employed him as an assistant. He was afterwards an assistant teacher in another
noted Presbyterian school, at Pequea, in Lancaster co., under the elder Smith. After
passing a year or more in that seminary, in pursuance of a long-cherished plan—as it
is thought, to devote himself to teaching—he set forth on his travels for the south, and
finally reached Hanover county, in Virginia. There he made the acquaintance of Col.
Henry, the father of Patrick Henry, and the celebrated Samuel Davies. The meeting
with Mr. Davies gave a direction to young Waddel's life. We next find him in Louisa,
where he assisted the Rev. Mr. Todd in his school, and devoted his leisure to the study
of theology. He was licensed as a Probationer, April 2d, 1761, by the (old) Presbytery
of Hanover, and in the following year, 1762, accepted a call to the churches of Lancaster
and Northumberland. There he found so much hospitality, intelligence, and polish,
among those old Virginia gentry, that he would cheerfully have passed his life among
them, but for the ill effects of the climate. There was then a brisk trade with Great
Britain from the mouths of the rivers, and much genuine piety among the merchants
and planters of that region. Mr. Waddel's labors were not slight, as he had three
preaching places, viz.: Lancaster C. H., the Forest meeting-house, and the Northumberland
meeting-house. About the year 1768, he married Mary Gordon, the daughter of
Col. James Gordon, ancestor of Gen. Gordon of Albemarle. The Presbyterian churches
of the Northern Neck owed much to the zeal of Col. G., who was an elder in the church,
and after his death they visibly declined, and were finally pretty much absorbed in the
Baptists. This was in part owing to their estates being open to the ravages of the British
vessels, who, carrying off their property, led to the decline of the wealthy Presbyterian
families.

About the year 1775, Mr. Waddel removed to the Tinkling Spring church, in Augusta.
Although almost broken down by disease, his frame attenuated, and his voice impaired,
yet he drew crowds of hearers.

In 1783 he accepted a call, and gave his services to the united congregations of
Staunton and Tinkling Spring. He remained in Augusta about seven years, during
which his health was entirely removated. His salary was only £45 per annum, Virginia
money.

From thence, Mr. Waddel made a last earthly removal to an estate which he named
Hopewell, near the angle of Louisa, Orange, and Albemarle. While here he preached
at the "D. S." church, near Charlottesville, at a log-house in Clarkesville, at the Brick
church near Orange C. H., and in the small edifice erected by himself, represented in
the preceding view. He also again became a teacher. Among his pupils were Meriwether
Clark and Governor Barbour.

Although secluded from the literary world, he found means to become thoroughly
versed in theology, as well as general literature. Mr. Waddel resided in Louisa about
20 years. There he ended his days, Sept. 17th, 1805, and, according to his request, was
buried in his garden. His last hours were such as might have been expected, from a
life of eminent piety and singular self-control.

In person Dr. Waddel was tall and erect, and when a young man he is said to have
been of striking appearance. His complexion was fair, and his eyes of a light blue;
his mien unusually dignified, and his manners elegant and graceful. His eloquence has
become matter of tradition in Virginia. It electrified whole assemblies, transfused to
them the speaker's passion at his will; "a species," says his biographer, "I must be
allowed to say, which I have seldom heard but in the south." Under his preaching, audiences
were irresistibly and simultaneously moved, like the wind-shaken forest. Especially
was his power great in so painting sacred scenes, as to bring the hearer into the
very presence of the object. Even his ordinary private intercourse was an uncommon
treat to intellectual persons, and occasioned the first men of his time to seek his company.
When in scornful argument he was like the sweeping torrent, carrying every
thing before it.

It was in 1803, when Mr. Waddel was approaching the end of his life, that Mr. Wirt,

under the incognito of a British officer, wrote his celebrated description. It has often
been questioned how far the accomplished author gave himself the license of fiction in
his sketch. It may, therefore, be observed, that Dr. Waddel was well known in Virginia,
his pulpit costume was different from that described, and that the British Spy,
instead of being a transient stranger, was well acquainted with Dr. W. and his family.
Says Prof. Alexander, "Mr. Wirt stated to me, that so far from adding colors to the
picture of Dr. Waddel's eloquence, he had fallen below the truth. He did not hesitate
to say that he had reason to believe, that in a different species of oratory he was fully
equal to Patrick Henry. He added, that in regard to the place, time, costume, and lesser
particulars, he had used an allowable liberty, grouping together events which had
occurred apart, and, perhaps, imagining as in a sermon, observations which had been uttered
by the fireside." Patrick Henry was accustomed to say, that Waddel and Davies
were the greatest orators he ever heard. The elocution of those men was not that
taught by masters, or that practised before the mirrors of colleges. A venerable clergyman
said, "When other men preach, one looks to see who is affected; when Dr. Waddel
preached, those not affected were the exception. Whole congregations were affected."
Gov. Barbour declared, that Dr. W. surpassed all orators he ever knew.

Dr. Waddel on some occasions employed his singular faculty in the revolution, in
patriotic services, and once addressed Tate's company, at Midway, Rockbridge county,
previous to their marching to the south. When the British Spy appeared, the old gentleman
was unfeignedly grieved at the laudatory notice of himself, and in reply to a complimentary
letter which he received, he dictated the words, Haud merita laus, opprobrium
est—[Unmerited praise is a reproach.]

His independence and zeal brought him into collision with the established church; and
he was one time fined for occupying a parish church. In the latter part of his life he
was afflicted with blindness. After several years his sight was partially restored by the
operation of couching.

A most touching account of Dr. Waddel's restoration to sight has lately been published
in the Literary Messenger. From it we derive the following: For eight years he
had been blind, a stranger equally to the cheerful light of day and the cheering faces of
kindred and friends. In the lapse of time great changes had taken place. The infant
had left the knee to rove among the fields—the youth had started into manhood, and
gone forth in the busy scenes of life, without a hope that the eyes of his venerable father
would ever rest upon him. Like the evening cloud of summer, a calm and holy resignation
settled over the mind of this man of God; but the dark curtain which hung over
the organs of sight seemed destined to rise no more.

After an operation for cataract, which, in the progress of some years, had rendered
light sensible, and then objects faintly visible—a well-constructed convex lens, sent by
a distant friend, enabled him in a moment to see with considerable distinctness. The
scene which followed in his family around was most moving. The father could again
see his children, who riveted his attention and absorbed his soul. Among these emotions
of intense interest and varied suggestion were visible in the eye, countenance, and
hurried movements. The bursts of laughter—the running to and fro—the clapping of
hands—the sending for absent friends—and then the silent tear bedewing the cheek in
touching interlude—the eager gaze of old servants, and the unmeaning wonder of young
ones—in short, the happy confusion and joy was such a scene as a master's pencil might
have been proud to sketch. The paroxysm produced by the first application of the
glasses having passed away; behold! the patriarch in his large arm-chair, with his
children around him, scanning with affectionate curiosity the bashful group. There
was a visible shyness among the lesser members of the family while undergoing this
fatherly scrutiny, not unlike that produced by a long absence. The fondness of a father
in contemplating those most dear to him was never more rationally exemplified, or exquisitely
enjoyed. And now the venerable old man arose from his seat, and grasped
a long staff, which seemed powerfully but momentarily to engage his attention—it had
been the companion of his darkest days, the pioneer of his domestic travels, and the
supporter of a weak and tottering frame—he then proceeded to the front door to take a
view of the mountains, the beautiful southwest range, stretching out in lovely prospect
at the distance of about three miles. All followed; and the mountain-scene, though
viewed a thousand times before, was now gazed upon with deeper interest, and presented
a greater variety of beauties than ever.

Great occasions produce great men.
The records of our own country bear testimony
to this truth. In the early and
in the later ages of her struggles, there
were not wanting men to advise and to
act for a nation's welfare. Among those who have acted a conspicuous part in building
up our political and civil institutions for more than sixty years, was James Madison,
who has lately sunk to rest, full of years and honors.

Mr. Madison was by birth a Virginian, and wholly educated in this country. He
was intended for a statesman from his youth, and made himself master of constitutional
law, when it was hardly known as a science either in England or in this country. He
was born on the sixteenth of March, 1751, and, of course, was in all the ardor and
freshness of youth on the breaking out of the revolution. In 1775, Mr. Madison was
a member of the legislature of Virginia, and at that early age, was distinguished for his
maturity of understanding and sage prudence. He was soon appointed one of the council
of the state. During the whole eventful struggle, James Madison had the confidence
of the state of Virginia; and, as a member of her legislature, was listened to with profound
attention when he brought forward sundry resolutions for the formation of a general
government for the United States, based upon the inefficiency of the old confederation.
From these resolutions grew a convention of delegates from the several states,
who, in conclave, prepared a form of a constitution to be submitted to the several states
for their discussion, approbation, and adoption. Mr. Madison was a member of this convention,
as a delegate from Virginia, and took an active part in the deliberations of that
enlightened body, of which Washington, his colleague, was president. On the adoption
of this constitution—a wonderful era in the history of the liberties of man—Mr. Madison
was elected a member of the first Congress, and took an active part in setting the
machinery in motion. At this period public opinion was greatly agitated by the crude

and false opinions scattered through the country, through the medium of the opposition
presses; this was grievous to the friends of the constitution, and three mighty minds,
Jay, Hamilton, and Madison, formed a holy alliance to enlighten the people upon the
great doctrines of the constitution, and breaking through the host of the Philistines, drew
the pure waters of truth for the good of the people. The essays from the pens of these
worthies, were collected in a volume, called the Federalist, which now stands a monument
of the wisdom and patriotism of that age. In the debates of the first Congress,
Mr. Madison took a large share. It was an illustrious assemblage of patriots, among
whom there often arose a difference of opinion in regard to political policy, but all were
lovers of their country, and laboring for her best interests. Here Mr. Madison acted
with the Cabots and the Ames' of the east, in perfect harmony. It was reserved for
an after age to feel the withering effects of party feuds. These were hardly discovered
as long as the father of his country filled the presidential chair. In the administration
of his successor, a separation into parties took place, and Mr. Madison ranked himself
on the side of Mr. Jefferson and his party. During the presidency of Mr. Jefferson, Mr.
Madison was secretary of state, and sustained that office with singular ability. He held
a ready pen, had a clear, philosophical perception of the great principles on which the
government professed to act, and could readily produce a defence of the course pursued.
No secretary ever did, or ever will do more by force of argument, than Mr. Madison,
while supporting the measures of Mr. Jefferson.

In March, 1809, Mr. Madison became President of the United States. It was a
stormy period. France and England, in their fierce struggles for mastery, forgot the
rights of neutral nations, and outraged our independence. Insult followed insult from
both countries, for the three first years of his administration; but he was, from the very
elements of his nature, inclined to peace, and had not urged preparations for war. In
1812, war was declared, without preparation, and the executive of the United States had
a difficult task to perform. A powerful part of the people were opposed to the war,
some for one reason, and some for another, and it required no small degree of moral
courage, to steer the ship of state at such a crisis. Mr. Madison was not a military
chieftain, and took no pleasure in the glories of a victory, no further than they were
beneficial to the interests of his country; but his moral courage was of the highest order,
that which arises from a consciousness of an intention of doing good. There can
be no doubt but that so sagacious a statesman as Mr. Madison, saw some of the blessings
that were to flow to his country from the evils of war. He knew that nations, at
times, hold incorrect opinions, and that the rude shocks of war are the only remedies for
these errors. The war had its dark and bright spots on the tablets of fame, but its results
were altogether fortunate. The necessity of a navy for national honor and protection,
anchored itself into the firm bosom of every patriot, with such a hold as to ride out
every billow and whirlwind of faction. By this war we were taught that no nation could
ever claim to be independent, whose resources were confined to agriculture and commerce
alone. By this war we became a manufacturing people to a respectable extent;
but there was as much opposition to this as there was to the war. This goes to show,
that it is beyond human reason to foresee what may be best; but all will agree that there
should always be wisdom and honesty at the head of our people, to make the most judicious
use of every event.

In 1817, when the reign of peace was established, Mr. Madison retired to his farm to
enjoy the serenity of rural life; but here he has not been idle. On the death of Mr.
Jefferson, he was made chancellor of the University of Virginia, and, as well as his predecessor,
took a deep interest in the prosperity of the institution. When Virginia called
a convention to alter her constitution, Mr. Madison, with Chief-Justice Marshall and
Mr. Monroe, were found among the sages who had witnessed the birth of that constitution,
and were well acquainted with its excellences and defects, and were good judges
of the best forms of amendment. Several years ago, a bookseller at Washington got up
an edition of the debates in the several conventions called by the states in 1787 and 1788,
to deliberate on the adoption of the constitution of the United States. Mr. Madison took
a lively interest in this publication, and afforded the editor all the information that he
possessed upon the subject.

Mr. Madison was unquestionably the leading member in the Virginia convention,
called for the adoption of the constitution of the United States, although there were
several distinguished men among them. This body was fortunate enough to have employed
a reporter of eminence for the occasion, which was not the case in many other
states; and what the Virginia reporter did not put down in his notes, Mr. Madison's
minutes and recollections most readily supplied.

In the convention he had to meet the blaze of Patrick Henry's eloquence, the subtle
arguments of Mason, and the chilling doubts of Monroe; but all were overcome by the
clearness of his views, and the force of his reasonings. Mr. Madison was not an orator
in the common acceptation of the word; there were no deep tones in his voice; no
flashes of a fierce and commanding eye; no elegant gestures to attract the beholder;
all was calm, dignified, and convincing. It was the still, small voice, in which the oracles
of God were communicated to the prophet. He never talked for the love of display,
but simply to communicate his thoughts. He spoke often in debate, when earnest in
his cause, but was always heard with profound attention; not a word of his speeches
was lost. He was so perfectly master of his subject, that he had nothing to correct in
a retrospective view of it, and was so well understood that he had nothing to explain.
His voice was deficient in volume, but it was so well modulated, that its compass was
more extensive than that of many speakers of stronger lungs. His conversation was
truly a charm. He was familiar with most topics, and he loved both to communicate
and receive information. He lived in times when men grew up with strong prejudices
and partialities; but his most familiar guests seldom heard a sentence tinged with them,
either at his table or fireside. For nearly twenty years he had been daily preparing for
the change of worlds, and at last sunk into the arms of death in as peaceful a sleep as
a babe on the bosom of his mother. Nature and religion had cured him of all fears of
the grave; he had no dread of what "dreams might come when he had shuffled off this
mortal coil." He had no enmities to settle, for he had quarrelled with no one; he had
no slanders to forgive, for no one ever traduced him. His history contains, indeed, a
miracle, for there has not been one of mortal, or of immortal birth, who has acted a conspicuous
part on this earth, but James Madison, whose private reputation has not been
assailed.

James Barbour "held the highest trusts in Virginia, as speaker of the House of
Delegates, governor of the state, and senator in Congress. Under the general government
he sustained with ability the offices of secretary of war and minister to Great
Britain. His political career was a distinguished one, and his character in life secured
the esteem of all who knew him. He died June 8th, 1842, aged sixty-six."

Philip Pendleton Barbour "was distinguished for his talents, and was indebted to his
professional and political eloquence for his success in life. He was a member of Congress
from 1814 to 1825; in 1821 he was elected speaker of the House of Representatives;
in 1825 he was appointed a judge of the Virginia court; in 1827 he became again a member
of Congress, and served three sessions. In 1836 he was appointed by President
Jackson an associate judge of the supreme court of the United States. He died suddenly,
February 25th, 1841, at Washington city, of ossification of the heart, aged about
sixty."