sex; and his attentions to women were rendered with a delicacy and a gallantry that were enhanced by the reflection that such a man was not wholly at ease in approaching them.  And nobly did woman repay his courtesy and his affection.  As I dwell upon this aspect of his life, the image of her who was the bride of his youth, the partaker of his splendid fame, and the delight of his declining years, rises before me.  I behold her as she moved in that happy household, bestowing not a thought upon herself, but intent on making others happy.  I see her as she enters the room in which her husband is discoursing on learned topics to those who are grouped around him, and I see him pause as that “ocean-eye” rests benignantly and affectionately upon her.  I shall never forget the moment when thirty-five years ago I saw her in her own house for the first time; how cordially she pressed my hand; how kindly she talked to an orphan boy of a father he had never known; and how soon she put an awkward youth of seventeen at his ease.  The characteristic grace of that admirable woman was her love of domestic life.  With her the throne of human felicity was the family altar.  Life with her, as it ever was with those elder Virginia matrons whom she resembled, was too serious a business for pomp and show.  Had she been inspired with a passion for display, had she coveted the fleeting honors of a residence at a foreign court, or in the metropolis of our own country, a single word from her lips would have obtained all she wished.  But her heart, like a true Virginia mother as she was, was in the midst of her family; and though she properly appreciated the talents of her husband, and was willing that they should be exerted in the public service, she knew him well, and believed that he would be happier in his own home than when he was beset with public cares, or galled by those tortures with which ambition wrings its victims.  And when her last day had come, and the union of more than half a century had been dissolved, and her husband had seen her beloved remains put away in that solitary tomb by the sea, the charm of life was lost to him; and he calmly awaited the hour when he should be laid by her side.  Nor did the generous care of woman cease with her death.  When his hour was come, and he was placed beside her, his daughters, who had tended him for years with unceasing devotion, were borne in almost a dying state from his tomb.

He was keenly alive to the pleasures of friendship; and he maintained his affection for his early schoolmates unbroken to the last.  His reverence for Mr. Wythe passed all words.  Randolph loved him through life; and Tazewell reciprocated his affection with equal warmth.  The tide of his affection for John Wickham from his childhood flowed full and strong.  The relations which existed between them could be seen in the letter I read some time ago, and were earnest, tender, and affectionate.  The affection which Tazewell cherished for Wickham, kindled, as we have