ad William Berkeley died before the troublous scenes which now
awaited him, and which have cast so dark a shadow upon his character,
scarce any man in colonial history had left so pure a name, or been
mourned by sincerer tears. Death is at last the seal of fame, and over
the grave alone can we form a just estimate of human worth and human
virtue.

In person he was all that we delight to imagine in one who is truly
great. Age itself had not bent his tall, majestic figure, which rose,
like the form of the son of Kish, above all the people. His full black
eye was clear and piercing, and yet was often softened by a benevolent
expression. And this was the true nature of his heart, formed at once
for softness and for rigour. His mouth, though frequently a pleasant
smile played around it, expressed the inflexible firmness and decision
of his character. No man to friends was more kind and gentle; no man to
a foe was more relentless and vindictive. The only indication of
approaching age was in the silver colour of his hair, which he did not
conceal with the recently introduced periwig, and which, combed back to
show to its full advantage his fine broad brow, fell in long silvery
clusters over his shoulders.

Around him were gathered the prominent statesmen of the colony, members
of the Council and of the House of Burgesses, conversing on various
subjects of political interest. Among those who chose this rational mode
of entertainment was our old friend, Colonel Henry Temple, who met many
an old colleague among the guests, and everywhere received the respect
and attention which his sound sense, his sterling worth, and his former
services so richly deserved.

The Lady Frances, too, withdrawing her arm from that of her husband,
engaged in elegant conversation with the elderly dames who sought her
society; now conversing with easy dignity with the accomplished wives of
the councillors; now, with high-bred refinement, overlooking the awkward
blunders of some of the plainer matrons, whose husbands were in the
Assembly; and now smiling good-humouredly at the old-fashioned vanity
and assumed dignity of Mrs. Temple. The comparison of the present order
of things with that to which she had been accustomed in her earlier
days, formed, as usual, the chief theme of this good lady's discourse.
But, to the attentive observer, the glance of pride with which from time
to time she looked at her daughter, who, with graceful step and glowing
chee