ad already justified the fears of its wisest and most sagacious friends.
On the 7th of March, 1765, after a short and unimportant debate,
Parliament, on the motion of Mr. George Grenville, then first lord of the
treasury, had extended to the American colonies the stamp-tax everywhere
in force in England. The proposal had been brought forward in the
preceding year, but the protests of the colonists had for some time
retarded its discussion. "The Americans are an ungrateful people," said
Townshend; "they are children settled in life by our care and nurtured by
our indulgence." Pitt was absent. Colonel Barre rose: "Settled by your
care!" he exclaimed; "nay, it was your oppression which drove them to
America; to escape from your tyranny, they exposed themselves in the
desert to all the ills that human nature can endure! Nurtured by your
indulgence! Nay, they have grown by reason of your indifference; and do
not forget that these people, loyal as they are, are as jealous as they
were at the first of their liberties, and remain animated by the same
spirit that caused the exile of their ancestors." This was the only
protest. "Nobody voted on the other side in the House of Lords," said
George Grenville at a later period.

In America the effect was terrible and the dismay profound. The Virginia
House was in session; nobody dared to speak against a measure which
struck at all the privileges of the colonies and went to the hearts of
the loyal gentlemen still passionately attached to the mother-country.
A young barrister, Patrick Henry, hardly known hitherto, rose at last,
and in an unsteady voice said, "I propose to the vote of the Assembly the
following resolutions: 'Only the general Assembly of this colony has the
right and power to impose taxes on the inhabitants of this colony; every
attempt to invest with this power any person or body whatever other than
the said general Assembly has a manifest tendency to destroy at one and
the same time British and American liberties.'" Then becoming more and
more animated and rising to eloquence by sheer force of passion: "Tarquin
and Caesar," he exclaimed, "had each their Brutus; Charles I. had his
Cromwell, and George III. . . ." "Treason! treason!" was shouted on
all sides . . . "will doubtless profit by their example," continued
Patrick Henry proudly, without allowing himself to be moved by the wrath
of the government's friends. His resolutions were voted by 20 to 19.