political rights, but, also, of a new-born power to maintain and defend them. During the first hundred years of colonial history King and Parliament, occupied with affairs of an absorbing character at home, knew little, and cared even less, about the fate and fortunes of the men and women, who, for the sake of conscience and religious freedom, had left the land of their birth and best affection, and were engaged in a heroic contest with nature, on a wild, desolate, and distant coast. The early colonists were left to a liberty almost as unfettered as the wild animals and savage tribes whom they dislodged from their native forests. When, however, the infant communities had grown strong and prosperous, and had initiated a system of commerce which bade fair to become expansive and lucrative, they at once attracted the attention of the State authorities in the land of their origin. When the conflict with Parliament began, the rights and immunities claimed by the American colonies, were not matters of statute and charter. The prescriptive right, which is founded in long-established custom and usage, rather than in positive enactment, was the ground of resistance to the encroachments of the Provincial Executive. When James Otis, in pleading against the “Writs of Assistance,” said, “Taxation without representation is tyranny,” he stated a great political principle; he indicated the great palladium of popular liberty; but deeper than that principle, in the hearts of the colonists, lay the sense of uneasiness at the prospect of having the privileges of one hundred and fifty years in any way compromised, disturbed, or imperilled. This was the spirit of Franklin, in his “Hints for a Reply to the Protest of the Lords against the Repeal of the Stamp Act:” “I will freely spend nineteen shillings in the pound,” said he, “to defend my right of giving or refusing the other shilling; and, after all, if I cannot defend that right, I can retire cheerfully with my little family into the boundless woods of America, which are sure to afford freedom and subsistence to any man who can bait a hook or pull a trigger.” This was the spirit of Otis when he complained that Parliament regarded the British colonies in America rather as “a parcel of small, insignificant conquered islands, than as very extensive settlement on the continent,” with a future of unlimited development in store. This, too, was the spirit of Hawley, when, with a boldness outstripping that of Otis himself, he said, “The Parliament of Great Britain has no right to legislate for us.” The latter sentence is memorable as being the first instance in which the power of the British Parliament was distinctly denied in a colonial legislature.

Still, side by side with these strong assertions of independence, there existed curiously enough an almost equally strong feeling of reluctance to sever the long-standing relation between the colonies and the mother country. England was still “home,” even in the language of James Otis, as is clear from his correspondence, in which he speaks of certain legal decisions as being “sent home for approbation.” Though all were agreed as to the character and tendency of such acts of the imperial legislature as the Stamp Act, the Revenue Act, the Port Bill, and the Billeting Bill, hopes were entertained to the last that some method of solution would be eventually discovered that would avert the disaster of revolution. “In America,” said Rev. Andrew Elliot, a popular and much-respected minister in Boston, “the people glory in the name, and only desire to enjoy the liberties of England.” And he added, significantly enough, “Oppression makes wise men mad.” Even Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to John Randolph, as late as 1775, expressed his decided preference “to be dependent on England under proper limitation, to being dependent on any other nation, or on no nation whatsoever.” “We strongly enjoin you,” said the Pennsylvania Assembly, November 9, 1775, largely influenced by Farmer Dickenson, in its instructions to its delegates, “that you, in behalf of this colony, dissent from and utterly reject any proposition, should such be made, that may cause or lead to a separation from our mother country, or a change of the form of this government.” In almost identical words the Assembly of New Jersey expressed its dread of “separation from England.” “For what are we to encounter the horrors of war?” asked a writer in the New York Gazette, April 8, 1776, as quoted by Mr. Oscar Straus, in his admirable little work on “The Origin of the American Republic.” “It is a form of government which Baron Montesquieu, and the best writers on the subject, have shown to be attended with many mischiefs and imperfections, while they pay high encomiums on the excellency of the British Constitution. The Continental Congress has never lisped the least desire for independency or republicanism. All their publications breathe another spirit.” What strong ground the Gazette had for the above statement will be seen from the words of the address sent to the British Parliament and People by the Congress of Delegates which met on the 5th September, 1774, at Carpenter’s Hall, Philadelphia. “You have been told,” says the Congress, “that we are impatient of government and desirous of independence. These are calumnies. Permit us to be free as yourselves, and we shall esteem a union with you to be our greatest glory and our greatest happiness.”

It is always the unexpected that happens, however, and, strange as it may appear, in little more than a year after the publication of the warnings of the New York Gazette, and the strong deprecations of leading colonists, the first decisive and irrevocable step towards revolution of the government and the autonomy and independence of the colonies was taken. On July 4, 1776, the Rubicon was passed: the Declaration of Independence was proclaimed.

To trace the causes and indicate the character of this sudden and irreversible revulsion of feeling is to relate the story of the public career of James Otis as primus inter pares and leader of the popular party in the Province of Massachusetts. For ten years, with the exception of some brief intervals of popular misunderstanding and disfavor, he stood forth as the eloquent exponent and acknowledged champion of the popular cause. Long prior to 1760 he had achieved renown as a lawyer, and the skill and distinction he had attained in his profession had already received due and appropriate recognition and reward in his appointment to the Attorney-Generalship of the Province. In that year, however, the outcry against the administration of the Acts of Trade became loud and general, and in the discontent and excitement which prevailed the over-zealous agents of the Executive came into collision with the people. The revival of an old “Act for the better securing and encouraging the trade of His Majesty’s colonies in America,” imposed a duty of sixpence on molasses and other articles imported from the French and Spanish West Indies. As this was tantamount to doubling the price, the trade was forced into contraband channels, and vigorous measures had to be adopted for the suppression of the illicit traffic. A third of the forfeited goods belonged to the king, and were appropriated for the benefit of the colony; a third belonged to the governor; and a third fell to the informers. But as that portion of the spoils which accrued to the colony was not claimed, the money was used to stimulate the zeal and vigilance of the customs-officers. These persons, armed with “writs of assistance” issued by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in England, were empowered to enter and search any private house suspected of containing smuggled goods, and seize whatever articles might be considered contraband within the meaning