dangerous. He was eager for prompt, decisive action. Tearing a blank leaf
from a law-book, he hastily wrote some resolutions, and, rising to his
feet, he read them to the assembly.

We can easily picture the scene. This plainly dressed rustic with his bent
shoulders is in striking contrast to the prosperous plantation owners,
with their powdered hair, ruffled shirts, knee-breeches, and silver
shoe-buckles. They give but a listless attention as Henry begins in quiet
tones to read his resolutions. "Who cares what this country fellow
thinks?" is their attitude. "Who is he anyway? We never heard his voice
before."

It is but natural that these men, whose judgment has been looked up to for
years, should regard as an upstart this young, unknown member, who
presumes to think his opinion worth listening to in a time of great crisis
like this.

But while they sit in scornful wrath, the young orator's eyes begin to
glow, his stooping figure becomes erect, and his voice rings out with
fiery eloquence. "The General Assembly of Virginia, _and only_ the General
Assembly of Virginia," he exclaims, "has the right and the power of laying
taxes upon the people of this colony."

These are stirring words, and they fall amid a hushed silence. Then the
debate grows hot, as members rise to speak in opposition to his burning
eloquence.

[Illustration: William Pitt.]

But our hero is more than a match for all the distinguished men who