“The aforesaid colors were then laid at the feet of Mrs. Madison. _O tempora! O mores!_ This was rather overdoing the affair. I forgot to say that the flag of the _Guerrière_ was festooned on one side of the room, and of some other vessel. Now, between ourselves, I think it wrong to exult so outrageously over our enemies. We may have reason to laugh on the other side of our mouths some of these days; and as the English are so much stronger than we are with their navy, there are ten chances to one that we are beaten. Therefore it is best to act moderately when we take a vessel, and I could not look at those colors with pleasure, the taking of which had made so many widows and orphans. In the fulness of my feelings, I exclaimed to a gentleman who stood near me, ‘Good heavens! I would not touch that color for a thousand dollars!’ He walked quickly away, I hearing another gentleman say, ‘Is it possible, Mrs. Latrobe?’ I looked around, and it was a good stanch Federalist from Rhode Island, Mr. Hunter, so that I shall escape hanging after so treasonable a speech.” Perhaps the circumstances were a valid excuse for the cheering; but this letter is a strange side light on some of the feeling of the times. All through the country Decatur became the hero of the hour. With a record for intrepidity and gallantry behind him, gained by his actions during the war with Tripoli, handsome and young, he became the idol of the public. Congress, by a unanimous vote, gave him a gold medal. The legislatures of Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia gave him thanks. The city of New York gave him the freedom of the city and a magnificent sword, and tendered to his crew a banquet at the City Hotel. Four hundred seamen sat down at the long tables, and the memory of that feast of rejoicing was long kept green in the service. As a picture of the day, a short account, taken from a contemporaneous history, _The War_, of the banquet given to Commodores Hull, Jones, and Decatur is of interest. The entertainment was given on the day after the freedom of the city was presented to Captain Hull. He and Decatur were present; Jones was absent. At five o’clock about five hundred guests sat down at the tables, De Witt Clinton, the mayor, presiding. “The room had the appearance of a marine palace,” said an eye-witness. It was colonnaded around with masts of ships entwined with laurels, and having the national flags of the world. Every table had a ship in miniature with the American flag displayed. On the wall was a mainsail of a ship, and when the third toast, “Our Navy,” was given, with three cheers, this sail was furled, revealing “an immense transparent painting of the three naval engagements in which Hull, Jones, and Decatur were respectively engaged.” Too great to be spoiled, Decatur still remained the quiet, simple hero, before whose eyes were spelled two words--Country and Duty; the one he lived to serve, the