seen, over the spelling-book and the Latin grammar, and showing itself in tears in his sixty-fifth year, grew with his growth, and was enhanced by that elevated sense of appreciation with which each regarded the other.  It was pleasing to see them together when the descending shadows of age were upon them, and when each had performed those deeds which are now deemed the greatest of their lives.  It would be hard to say whether they stood to each other in the relation of father and son, of brothers, or of equals.  Wickham was eleven years older than Tazewell, and had taught him to read.  It was evident Mr. Tazewell regarded Mr. Wickham with the greatest deference.  It was, however, something more than the deference with which one eminent man advanced in life would show to another eminent man still more advanced; it was the deference of the warmest friendship to an individual who not only reciprocated the feelings of affection, but who possessed all the moral and intellectual qualities that can adorn human nature.  He considered Mr. Wickham not only the most accomplished lawyer this country ever produced, but the wisest man he ever knew.  I have heard him say that the speech of Mr. Wickham on the doctrine of treason in Burr’s trial would have been pronounced new and able in Westminster Hall; and that it was the greatest forensic effort of the American bar.  Tazewell’s abiding affection for Wickham was such, that he drew upon it in favor even of his young friends.  When, at one-and-twenty, I took my seat in the House of Delegates, and, not dreaming of mixing in society, was preparing for a course of study during the long winter nights, one of the first calls I received was from Mr. Wickham.  With me his name had passed into history.  His great speech, which I had read and studied as I had read and studied the speeches of Chatham and of Burke, was made in the year I was born.  But I soon found that he was a living and breathing man.  His gentle kindness, his incomparable address, his charming talk, and his cordial hospitality pressed upon me, assured me that his heart still glowed with its ancient kindness:  and when I recall the hours which I spent at his elegant home; when I recollect the names of Marshall, Leigh, Johnson, Stanard, Harvie, and others whom I have seen at his hospitable board; when I recall that living galaxy of beauty which flashed in his thronged halls, and of which the sweetest and the brightest were his own household stars,—­now, alas! extinct and gone; and his own noble presence and demeanor, which drew from the spoiled and fastidious poet Moore the expression of his admiration and applause, it is with feelings of deep and tender regard, and of grateful veneration, that I offer this tribute to his memory.