grandson of the knight, and by the eloquent and accomplished Henry Tazewell.  Then it was usually bestowed upon some prominent lawyer who had retired from the bar, and within my recollection it has ever been held by upright, intelligent, and honorable men.  I see this old man, too, with the freshness of the passing hour, as he was driving out in his capacious chariot to Lawson’s, or as he strolled or rather rocked along the sidewalk.  He was very large, weighing between two and three hundred, and was nearly six feet in height.  He said he had no idea of his bulk until, passing a negro woman in the street with a basket on her head who took a side glance at him, he heard her unconsciously exclaim:  “Good gracious, what a big white man!” He was born in 1760, in Brunswick as Brunswick then was, was educated at William and Mary, while Wythe was professor of law, having as his college associates John Marshall, Spencer Roane, the amiable and patriotic Samuel Hardy, who was destined to fall too soon, and at whose grave Virginia sat in mourning, Archibald Stuart, Bushrod Washington, William Short, our Minister to Spain, et alii haud impares:  was one of the founders of the Phi Beta Kappa Society—­an institution which will make his name immortal—­and began the practice of the law in his native county.  After the peace of 1783, he took up his abode in Portsmouth, where he reached the head of the bar; and in the great hegira from that town on the adoption of the federal constitution in 1788, he came over to Norfolk, where he had now long held the front rank in his profession.  He too had passed a noviciate in the Clerk’s office, had studied law under the guidance of Wythe, and had been very successful.  Like Nimmo, he was called the honest lawyer; and it was one of the sly jests of our fathers that there should be two lawyers at the same bar and in the same generation, whose claims to the title should be generally conceded by the people.  In 1802 he had reached his forty-second year; and having acquired a competent fortune—­for moderation was the order of those times—­he was soon to withdraw from the bar, and to fill the chair of the Recorder.  He is said to have been very successful in making lawyers eloquent and entertaining while he was on the bench.  Whether he was fond of the classics, I cannot affirm; but he certainly borrowed a trait from Homer, and nodded occasionally; and when a tedious speaker began his harangue, having already taken a full view of the law and facts of the case, he usually fell asleep, waking up as the counsel finished his harangue, much refreshed at least, if not instructed by it, and proceeded to give judgment in the case.  He was noted for his tenderness to the poor, and it is said that he had on their account almost as much business after he withdrew from the bar as before.  He died in 1820, at the age of sixty, and was buried in St. Paul’s, within a few feet of his compatriot Mathews.  When Col.  Nivison, in December, 1776, was returning to his lodgings