Some thirty-five years ago, in New York city, at Tammany hall, of which
place I was then a frequenter, I happen'd to become quite well
acquainted with Thomas Paine's perhaps most intimate chum, and certainly
his later years' very frequent companion, a remarkably fine old man,
Col. Fellows, who may yet be remember'd by some stray relics of that
period and spot. If you will allow me, I will first give a description
of the Colonel himself. He was tall, of military bearing, aged about 78,
I should think, hair white as snow, clean-shaved on the face, dress'd
very neatly, a tail-coat of blue cloth with metal buttons, buff vest,
pantaloons of drab color, and his neck, breast and wrists showing the
whitest of linen. Under all circumstances, fine manners; a good but not
profuse talker, his wits still fully about him, balanced and live and
undimm'd as ever. He kept pretty fair health, though so old. For
employment - for he was poor - he had a post as constable of some of the
upper courts. I used to think him very picturesque on the fringe of a
crowd holding a tall staff, with his erect form, and his superb, bare,
thick-hair'd, closely-cropt white head. The judges and young lawyers,
with whom he was ever a favorite, and the subject of respect, used to
call him Aristides. It was the general opinion among them that if manly
rectitude and the instincts of absolute justice remain'd vital anywhere
about New New City Hall, or Tammany, there to be found in Col. Fellows.
He liked young men, and enjoy'd to leisurely talk with them over a
social glass of toddy, after his day's work, (he on these occasions
never drank but one glass,) and it was at reiterated meetings of this
kind in old Tammany's back parlor of those days, that he told me much
about Thomas Paine. At one of our interviews he gave me a minute account
of Paine's sickness and death. In short, from those talks, I was and am
satisfied that my old friend, with his mark'd advantages, had mentally,
morally and emotionally gauged the author of "Common Sense," and besides
giving me a good portrait of his appearance and manners, had taken the
true measure of his interior character.
Paine's practical demeanor, and much of his theoretical belief,
was a mixture of the French and English schools of a century ago, and
the best of both. Like most old fashion'd people, he drank a glass or
two every day, but was no tippler, nor intemperate, let alone being a
drunkard. He lived simply and economically, but quite well - was always
cheery and courteous, perhaps occasionally a little blunt, having very
positive opinions upon politics, religion, and so forth. That he labor'd
well and wisely for the States in the trying of their parturition, and
in the seeds of their character, there seems to me no question. I dare
not say how much of what our Union is owning and enjoying to-day - its
independence - its ardent belief in, and substantial practice of radical
human rights - and the severance of its government from all
ecclesiastical and superstitious dominion - I dare not say how much of
all this is owing to Thomas Paine, but I am inclined to think a good
portion of it decidedly is.
But I was not going either into an analysis or eulogium of the
man. I wanted to carry you back a generation or two, and give you by
indirection a moment's glance - and also to ventilate a very earnest and
I believe authentic opinion, nay conviction, of that time, the fruit of
the interviews I have mention'd, and of questioning and
cross-questioning, clench'd by my best information since, that Thomas
Paine had a noble personality, as exhibited in presence, face, voice,
dress, manner, and what may be call'd his atmosphere and magnetism,
especially the later years of his life. I am sure of it. Of the foul and
foolish fictions yet told about the circumstances of his decease, the
absolute fact is that as he lived a good life, after its kind, he died
calmly and philosophically, as became him. He served the embryo Union
with most precious service - a service that every man, woman and child
in our thirty-eight States is to some extent receiving the benefit of
to-day - and I for one here cheerfully, reverently throw my pebble on
the cairn of his memory. As we all know, the season demands - or rather,
will it ever be out of season? - that America learn to better dwell on
her choicest possession, the legacy of her good and faithful men - that
she well preserve their fame, if unquestion'd - or, if need be, that she
fail not to dissipate what clouds have intruded on that fame, and
burnish it newer, truer and brighter, continually.
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