The case of Joseph Galloway, at first esteemed a most resolute patriot, and then committing himself to extreme loyalty, presents us an example. He was a lawyer of great abilities, a gentleman of wealth and of high social position. He had made many strong protests against the oppressive measures of government. He was a member of the Pennsylvania Assembly eighteen years, and twelve years its speaker. He says[664] that when he was chosen as a delegate to the first Congress he positively refused to serve unless he was allowed to draw his own "instructions." He was permitted to do so, and he himself signed them as speaker. They contain this injunction: "You are strictly charged to avoid everything indecent and disrespectful to the mother state." Chosen a delegate to the second Congress, he positively declined to serve, though importuned to do so by Dr. Franklin. The instructions given to the eight associates named with him for this second Congress contained the stringent words, "We strictly enjoin you that you, in behalf of this colony, dissent from and utterly reject any propositions, should such be made, that may cause or lead to a separation from the mother country, or a change of the form of government." The removal of this restriction on June 14, 1776, enabled a majority of the delegates to give the vote of the province for independence. No man in this first Congress marked a stronger contrast to Galloway than Samuel Adams, the "man of the people." Compared with what Joseph Reed called "the fine fellows from Virginia", Adams was not what is conventionally called a gentleman; but while John Hancock brought from Massachusetts money and ambition, his colleague carried the hardier brains of the two. The odious epithet of "demagogue" attached to Adams, not because of any beguiling arts, but from his plain simplicity of garb, preferred associates, manners, and mode of life. In his cheap and homely attire, dispensing with any other mode of influence than that of an honest heart and a vigorous mind, he had made himself the familiar companion of the mechanics, artificers, and craftsmen of North Boston, the shipbuilders, joiners, and calkers,—the rough, honest, and thrifty democracy,—with whom, sitting on a spar or loitering in a workshop, he would spend long and instructive hours. He was puritanically religious and rigidly observant of solemnities, prayed in his family, and asked a blessing at each meal of his simple fare. He neglected his own business to devote himself to public interests. Of his own poverty he was neither ashamed nor proud. It would not have been seemly for him to have presented himself to the courtly gentry of the Congress as he appeared in the streets of Boston. It would doubtless have confirmed the prejudice which many entertained of him as an ill-bred mass-leader. For deep and wide learning in legal, political, and economical science, added to his college culture, and for debating powers, he was the