of the acts. Against these proceedings resistance was bold and general, suspected householders answering the demand of the customs-officers by closing the doors in their faces. It was the duty of Otis, as Advocate-General of the Province, to uphold the action of the executive government; but he refused to argue for the writs, and resigned. On his resignation becoming known he was at once retained, along with Oxenbridge Thacher, to defend the cause of the people, and his splendid triumph in this capacity made him the popular hero. His opponent, as has been already intimated, was his old friend, Jeremiah Gridley, King’s Attorney,—a lawyer of great learning and acuteness. An eye-witness comments on the sublime spectacle of Otis, spite of the difficulties of his position, the excitement of the hour, and the fire and vehemence of his own passionate nature, treating his old master “with all deference, respect, and esteem”, but confuting all his arguments, and reducing him to silence, and Gridley, on the other hand, “seeming to exult inwardly at the glory and triumph of his pupil.”

In answering, almost at the outset, a charge which made his highest public virtue his fault,—the charge that he had deserted his office,—he said: “I renounced that office, and I argue this cause from the same principle, and I argue it with the greater pleasure as it is in favor of British liberty at a time when we hear the greatest monarch upon earth declaring from his throne that he glories in the name of Briton, and that the privileges of his people are dearer to him than the most valuable prerogatives of his crown; and it is in opposition to a kind of power, the exercise of which in former periods of English history cost one king his head, and another his crown.”

The only principles of public conduct that are worthy of a gentleman or a man are to sacrifice estate, ease, health, and applause, and even life itself, to the sacred calls of his country. The glowing and oft-quoted eulogy of John Adams on this great argument, which is said to have lasted nearly five hours, is a commonplace of history, but we cannot forbear repeating it. Otis was a flame of fire; with a promptitude of classical allusions, a depth of research, a rapid summary of historical events and dates, a profusion of legal authorities, a prophetic glance of his eyes into futurity, and a rapid torrent of impetuous eloquence, he hurried away all before him. American independence was then and there born. Every man of an immense crowded audience appeared to me to go away as I did, ready to take up arms against the “writs of assistance.” The speech, says Bowen, “gave vitality and shape to the dim sense of oppression and wrong from the mother country, which already rested indistinctly on the minds of the colonists.” “It breathed,” says Adams, “into this nation the breath of life.”

The effect, however, which John Adams and other admirers of Otis have ascribed to his great legal triumph was obviously not the one Otis himself intended it to produce. There was, after all, something exceedingly vague and uncertain about his attitude and principles as a politician and a statesman. His contemporaries felt this, and somewhat unfeelingly accused him of inconsistency. At one time he was equally censured by his friends and by foes. In his “Vindication of the Conduct of the House of Representatives of the Province of Massachusetts Bay,” published in 1762, occurs the following: “The British Constitution of government, as now established in His Majesty’s person and family, is the wisest and best in the world. The King of Great Britain is the best and most glorious monarch upon the globe, and his subjects the happiest in the universe.” And yet Lord Mansfield, whose marble figure stands proudly among those of other distinguished Englishmen in the corridor of the British House of Commons, defended him in Parliament, not as a loyalist, but as a revolutionist. “Otis” said he, “is a man of consequence among the people over there. It was said the man is mad. What then? One madman often makes many. Massaniello was mad, nobody doubts; yet for all that he overturned the government of Naples.” Friends of the government on both sides of the water suggested that Otis should be proceeded against for treason, but the British Attorney-General declared the “writs of assistance” illegal, and there, for a time, the matter ended.

When, in January, 1763, preliminaries of peace between France and England were signed, the people of Boston rejoiced, and Otis, as their spokesman, said: “The true interests of Great Britain and her plantations are mutual, and what God in His providence has united, let no man dare attempt to pull asunder.” Governor Bernard, however, who inferred from this strain of remark that the province would soon recover its reputation for loyalty, seriously overrated its significance. When the General Assembly of Massachusetts met in 1764, Otis, as chairman of the Committee of Correspondence, drew up the draft of an address to Parliament, to prevent the passage of the Stamp Act; but it was not presented. The act passed into law, and Boston was immediately caught in a whirlwind of popular indignation and excitement. The mob burnt the effigy of Oliver, who, in an evil moment, had accepted the office of Distributor of Stamps, and he, deeming discretion the better part of valor, resigned his post immediately thereafter, under Liberty-tree. The house of Hutchinson, Lieutenant Governor, was demolished, while Bernard, the chief offender, was left undisturbed. Mobocracy, however, was not a pleasant contemplation to the sober and law-abiding people of Boston, and next day the inhabitants of the town assembled in Faneuil Hall and denounced the authors of outrage and violence.

The Stamp Act Congress, originally proposed by Otis, met in New York, October 19, 1765. He, together with Timothy Ruggles and Colonel Partridge, were delegated to attend as the representatives of Massachusetts. Otis took a prominent and influential part in the deliberations of the Congress, and was one of the committee chosen to draft an address to Parliament praying for the repeal of the obnoxious law, which had nearly brought business to a stand-still in many of the colonies, for, as Hutchinson remarks, “No wills were proved, no administrations granted, no deeds nor bonds executed.” Agitation and appeal were successful. Parliament beat a retreat and dropped the attempt to tax the American colonies, like a red-hot poker. [H] But the breach between the popular party and the friends and representatives of the government was destined never to be healed. Between Hutchinson and Otis especially relations were of a very unfriendly character, and it must have been exceedingly difficult for the partisans on either side to keep cool when the leaders were so apt to catch fire. Still, when the Revenue Act of 1767 fell like a firebrand among the colonists, Otis, singularly enough, was almost alone in advising moderation and caution. In the following year his action and attitude were more consistent; he was once more the advocate of resistance, and was appointed to draft letters to the King, to De Berdt, the agent of the Province in London, and a circular-letter, addressed to the colonial assemblies, requesting them “to unite in some suitable measures of redress.” [I] Governor Bernard demanded the rescinding of the letters; and Otis replied in a speech which the Governor described as “the most