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Learning Source Control with Git and
SourceTree
A Hands-On Guide to Source Control for coders and non-
coders

Roger Engelbert
The author and publisher have taken care in the preparation of this book, but make
no expressed or implied warranty of any kind and assume no responsibility for errors
or omissions. No liability is assumed for incidental or consequential damages in
connection with or arising out of the use of the information or programs contained
herein.

Cover Design by
Roger Engelbert

Engelbert, Roger, 1976-

Learning Source Control with Git and SourceTree : A Hands-On Guide to Source
Control for coders and non-coders / Roger Engelbert.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-912084-99-9
1. Source Control. 2. SourceTree.
3. Git. I. Engelbert, Roger, 1976- II. Title.

Copyright © 2017 Engelbert Publishing.

All rights reserved. This publication is protected by copyright, and permission must
be obtained from the publisher prior to any prohibited reproduction, storage in a
retrieval system, or transmission in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or likewise. For information regarding
permissions, write to:

ISBN-13: 978-1-912084-99-9
Dedicated to everybody who makes mistakes.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible were it not for the many, many colleagues I
witnessed struggling with source control in the many places I worked at. Be it
illustrators, game designers, sound editors... I hope this book is what they wished
they could have used back then. And I hope many more people can feel this way in
future.
About the Author
Roger Engelbert is a Game Developer and blogger at www.rengelbert.com/blog.
His passion for classic arcade games led him to a long career writing code. He's also
an amateur illustrator, writer and incorrigible meddler. Some say he's got too much
time on his hands. When he makes mistakes in his code, he uses Reset Hard and
pretends the mistake never happened.
Contents at a Glance
Introduction
1. SourceTree Installation
2. The Interface
3. Making Commits
4. Changing Your Mind
5. Taking Things Out
6. The Stash
7. Time Travelling
8. Branching Out
9. Merging In
10. Dealing With Conflict
11. Team Work
12. Other Stuff
Contents
Introduction
Why I Wrote This Book
What Is Source Control And Why Should You Care
What Does It Look Like?
Major Players
What Can Be Source Controlled?
What Are Binary Files
Size Limitations
Remote Repository Providers
Summary
1. SourceTree Installation
What Is SourceTree
Installing SourceTree
Signing Up With Bitbucket Cloud
Signing Up With Github
Installing SourceTree
Linking Your SSH Key
Adding New Accounts
Summary
2. The Interface
The Repository Browser
Creating A Local Repository
The Repository Window
 Create A Remote Repository
Clone A Remote Repository
Cloning Another User's Public Remote Repository
Summary
3. Making Commits
Committing To Local Repo
Pushing - Or Committing To A Remote Repo
Summary
4. Changing Your Mind
Discard
Reset
Resetting To A Commit
Resetting A Pending File
Reverse
Reversing A Specific Commit
The Differences Between Resetting And Reverting
Conflicts?
Backing Out Of A Commit
When To Use What?
Summary
5. Taking Things Out
Remove
Ignore
Summary
6. The Stash
Your Secret Stash
Creating A Stash
Applying A Stash
Deleting A Stash
 Summary
7. Time Travelling With The Graph
Checking Ou
Archiving
Blaming
Logging
Tagging
Summary
8. Branching Out
What Is Branching?
How To Create A Branch?
Committing To Branches
Switching Branches
Checking Out A Remote Branch
Branching And The Graph
Deleting A Branch
Summary
9. Merging In
Cherry Picking
Merging
Rebasing
When To Merge And When To Rebase?
Summary
10. Dealing With Conflict
Generating A Conflict
What A Conflict Looks Like
Resolving With Mine
Resolving With Theirs
Resolving A Conflict Manually
 Showing Diff Through A Merge
Committing A Conflict Resolution
The Best Strategy
Conflict With Binary Files
Conflict While Rebasing
Summary
11. Team Work
Pull
Fetch
GitFlow
How To Do All That In SourceTree?
Creating A Feature
Merging Back To Development
Releases And Hotfixes
Pull Requests
Summary
12. Other Stuff
LFS: Large File Storage
Command Line Tool
And That's It!
Introduction
Welcome to Source Control with Git and SourceTree!
To start off, I'll go over a quick introduction of Source Control systems and what
they can bring to your workflow. Are you someone who could benefit from source
control? What does it mean anyway to use source control, and what can you actually
do with it? We'll go over all that jazz here.
Whether you're reading this book in order to learn to use a source control system
because your work demands it of you, or because you wish to use it in your personal
projects, welcome!

Why I Wrote This Book

In my professional life as a game developer I collaborate daily with other coders, as
well as artists and writers and musicians, and although I could safely say that nearly
all professional coders know how to use a source control system (we simply have
to!), the same thing, sadly, cannot be said about the writers, illustrators and
musicians working in the same industry. Over the years, I have noticed how rare it is
to find a non-coder who knows how to use a source control tool or indeed knows
how beneficial this knowledge could be for them, whether for a professional job
or their own personal projects.
This divide between coders and non-coders is a strong one. And the reason for it, I
believe, is good old anxiety about the unknown. An illustrator friend of mine once
told me, regarding source control, "It's just another red button I'm afraid I'll
accidentally press and blow the entire project to smithereens." It is the strongly held
belief that if you collaborate that closely on a project with other co-workers
somehow this proximity will increase the chance for catastrophe. "What if we break
someone's code?" they say, "what if something explodes!"
I don't blame people for thinking this way. To be fair, most coders are less than
helpful when it comes to dealing with these concerns from their left brained
colleagues. Plus the tools available do not inspire confidence: they don't shout out
"easy to use", if you know what I mean. It's logical to be discouraged by tools that
seem to pack way too many features and dangerous "red buttons of doom", or even
worse, no graphical interface at all but a daunting text based command prompt
window straight from the 70s.
Yet, complex interfaces are a challenge experienced by coders and non-coders alike.
Show a coder the interface of the average 3D modeling program or sound editing
tool and he or she will probably run for the hills.
So I get the fear and vague sense of dread about learning a new tool. But here's the
thing about source control that you may not know: it helps a lot!
Source control is not meant just for coders. If you are a game designer, artist or
sound engineer working on a project with other artists and coders, you may be left
out of the collaboration loop which is the direct result of using source control tools.
You'll always be working parallel to a project–at arm's length–but not in the same
flow. Always dependent on someone else to incorporate your changes and edits to
the project.
There's nothing like working on a project where everybody on the team works and
collaborates on the same thing.
Companies are catching on to this and now I see more and more the demand for
experience in source control for non-coders as well.
But you don't work on a team, you say? Or you don't work in the gaming industry? It
does not matter: source control can still save your skin.
If you ever worked on a large personal project and felt the despair of taking the
wrong path somewhere, or having to rework entire sections because the latest
changes you've been working on didn't work out and now you have no way of
reverting to your project's original working state–except by rebuilding everything
from scratch!
If you ever used Save As to generate a long list of alternative files and backups, and
then either lost track of the changes contained in each version or worse, realized that
the changes you actually want are now spread out over a dozen different files!
Actually, if you do something with a computer... anything! If you pour yourself into
a project that means a lot to you... then, please, consider using source control.
There's nothing to be intimidated by.
This book will show you how easy it is.
What Is Source Control And Why Should You Care
Also known as Version Control, Source Control is a system that allows you to
record changes in documents over time. A kind of journaling system for files, where
you can store the history of all the changes done to all the files in a project. It also
allows you to "navigate" through a file's history, opening any of its previously saved
versions.
At its core, the functionalities and processes of Source Control are not that strange
to you. I'm sure you're familiar with operations like Save, or the magical Undo and
Redo operations that let you travel backwards and forwards in time to fix an error. In
some programs, you may have seen the Revert operation which lets you return the
file to a previously saved state. You may also have used the Save As operation to
create backups or versions of the same file as you made changes to it.
You also know how finite these operations are. Some programs support infinite
Undos but only while the file is currently open in its editor. Restart your computer,
or simply close the file and reopen it, and the information required for the Undo
operation is gone. In the same way, when you Save a file you may never go back to a
previously saved state. And maintaining a long list of file versions is not only
problematic it also takes a toll in your computer's memory.
But not so with source control. With it, you can go back in time and load different
versions of your project, review changes, combine elements from different saved
versions, create temporary changes you're not entirely sure will work out and so are
not ready to fully implement them to yet. And these are only a few of its advantages:
infinite undos, infinite saved versions, and these made available to you forever! That
is source control.
This book will teach you all these operations and how to get the most out of a source
control system. It does not matter if you are a coder, an illustrator, a writer, a
musician... Anyone who uses a computer to produce something should know about
this.

What Does It Look Like?

The typical source control project is a folder, containing as many sub folders and
files as you wish. The root folder is tagged by the system to be "source controlled".
This project folder becomes the repository, or repo for short.
This folder can exist locally in your machine, or remotely on a server. There are
Other documents randomly have
different content
associations had inspired, I gazed with a hallowed enthusiasm on
that rugged land, which looked down from its iron-bound eyre, the
eagle of the deep—that land which my boyish feelings had made the
seat of intellect and the dwelling place of genius. The early colonists
had called it by the tender name of Home; and the mellow tales of its
glory, which had been poured into my infant ear, were now started
into life and freshness. It was the land of Sir Philip Sydney, Hampden
and Pope, and on each spot of its classic earth Poetry had raised
her hallowed memorials, and Patriotism its stirring examples. From
the frozen sea to the burning tropics her name is respected, her
influence felt, her example imitated, her kindness cherished, her
resentment dreaded, while a radiant wake of glory streams behind
the path of her march. Far in the forests of the western world, the
names of her gifted sons who have asserted the triumphs of virtue or
the dignity of man, are heard, and are re-echoed back from the
Thames to the Ganges, and from the Volga to the Mississippi. In the
solitude of power she stands alone, a massy trunk, resisting anarchy
and bending to every storm of revolution, yet rising from each
assault in more verdant and luxuriant foliage. Philosophy may claim
the gigantic birth of Printing—Religion the Reformation, and Science
the discovery of Gunpowder, as the great engines which opened the
path of civilization. The mind of England seized these mighty levers,
her hand perfected them, and achieved for herself that towering
fame which pours its lustre from the table-land of the world. This
picture was the dream of ignorance. Alas! how soon was its frost-
work melted before the light of truth! Unconscious of the hideous
vice which lurked beneath the gorgeous fabric, I saw only its glowing
outline—I was ignorant of its rapine, fraud and avarice—its
selfishness of motive and act—its singleness of empire and power,
and of that universal corruption which yields power to wealth, and
honors to knavery. The demon of gain is abroad throughout England
—a pestilence which walketh in the darkness of the human heart,
expanding its ravenous arms in her cities, or secretly hugging its
penny in her lowliest cottages. Her metropolis is the shamble of the
universe—a capacious reservoir, where vice elbows virtue, and
where selfishness festers itself into the loathsome obesity of the
toad. Every thing is on sale, and in the "mixed assortment" of her
merchandise, even learning, genius and wit, succumb to the secret
spirit of her ledger.

"E'en the learned pate

Ducks to the golden fool."

Without her Christianity, which often blooms in guileless and

untainted simplicity, her blood-stained empire would tumble to the
earth. It is the influence of this holy faith which neutralizes the
excess of profligacy, and stimulates her expanded philanthropy.
Excited by its spirit, benevolence becomes religion, patriotism
springs into virtue, and in the remotest corners of the earth we see
the charity of the Christian opening the purse and heart of the
Englishman.

I leave the narrative of sights and curiosities to the guide book. Born
in the wilderness, my mind was as rugged as the grandeur of the
forest, and like the native Indian I had naught to admire but the still
and noiseless majesty of my own beautiful land. The stately palaces
—the lofty towers and all the fantastic pageantry which opulence
engenders, were but the moral to the fine sarcasm which antiquity
has fabled in the bridge of Salmoneus. Man's "brief authority"
decorates folly with a pyramid or a cathedral, and succeeding ages
call it glory. What son of Virginia would barter her broad rivers—her
sunny sky—her fertile plains, and her snow-capped mountains, for
the crumbling monuments of tyranny and superstition, or the fœtid
marts of gain? Who would exchange the infant purity of the western
world for the hoary vice and aged rottenness of Europe?
Uncontaminated by the example of England, we have yet seized
from her the sacred flame of freedom—her habeas corpus without
the act of impressment—her bill of rights without a borough
representation, and the rose of civil liberty transplanted to the west
has bloomed without a thorn.

I was soon in London, and received many marks of attention and

kindness from the representatives of an old commercial house,
which for years had sold every hogshead of tobacco from the
Granby plantations. My bills were honored, and at the instance of
Scipio I took a suite of rooms in the most fashionable street of the
city. Without letters of introduction, and too proud to search for my
many noble relatives, (my uncle had drugged me with their amors,
duels and honors!) I succumbed in silence to that cheerless solitude
which flaps its funeral wing around the indurated selfishness of a
crowded city. At the Virginia Coffee House, I frequently found many
of my own countrymen, who were making the tour of Europe only
because their fathers had done it. An utter contempt of money—a
carelessness of air and manner—a generous and open hearted
confidence in every one—a familiarity with the Doncaster and Epsom
turf—an anxious zeal in attending the courts of Westminster, and the
gallery of the House of Commons, with a thorough knowledge of the
literary history of England, and the places hallowed by Shakspeare
and the Spectator, were their striking and changeless characteristics.

Shortly after my permanent and fixed residence had been made, I

was lounging, as was my wont, in the crowded walks of the
Exchange—the only idle being in that heated and feverish walk of
gain, when a loud cry broke through the multitude and a horse
dashed near me, the foot of his rider hanging in the stirrup. I instantly
sprang forward, caught the bridle, leaped on his back, and leaning
down I rescued the unfortunate rider from his perilous situation.
From this event an intimacy commenced between Col. R—— and
myself. His history was brief. High birth and fortune smiled on his
cradle. Entering into manhood he had purchased a commission in
the army, and had lived out Swift's spirited description of the man of
fashion, "in dancing, fighting, gaming, making the circle of Italy, riding
the great horse and speaking French." Satiated with the world, he
had left it without being either a churl or a misanthrope. He resided in
a costly villa near London, which his taste had decorated with
elegance and refinement. The massy richness of an aged grove,
soothed, without chilling the fancy, and through its broad vista the
glimmering light lent itself to diversify uniformity without diminishing
grandeur. Consistency towered above vanity, for there were no
glades rolled into gravelled plains, nor trees sheared into fantastic
foliage—that sickly taste which finds honor in the sacrifice of
simplicity, and pride in its outrage on nature. The walls of his house
were hung with rare and deeply mellowed paintings, and his
capacious library was stocked with the heavy tomes of ancient lore.
Gone are those good old books!—their spirit has been turned into a
tincture!—their life and soul have been abridged—the stern Clitus
has been disgraced by a Persian dress—the march of mind cannot
brook a folio! The education of Col. R—— was deeply tainted with
the forgotten glory of his library—a wild flower blooming amid the
silence of a neglected ruin. He had literature without pedantry,
learning without arrogance; and being neither author nor compiler,
he yet mingled on equal terms of compliment and civility with the
gifted names of his land. Proud pre-eminence of genius! respected
even in its slumbers. Though its possessor be unknown to print,
though his pen sleep in idleness, like the prophet, the sacred flame
plays around his brow and lightens up his onward course.

In his society I drank from a deep stream of intellect pure and

unalloyed happiness—yet dashed into bitterness by the
remembrance that under his protection I had first visited a gaming
table—though he had carried me thither more for the purpose of
portraying human character than of making me either the proselyte
or victim of its insidious vice.

Come Lionel! said he, gently touching my shoulder, as I was deeply

absorbed in the unhallowed rites of the blind goddess—leave this
dangerous place! Your warm blood and ardent temperament cannot
withstand its harlotry. Crush in its infancy that juggling fiend, which
martyrs the pride of mind—the dignities of virtue, the immunities of
education, and the consolations of religion.

His warning voice fell on a sodden ear. Seated at a long table, in a

magnificent saloon blazing with lights and ornamented with costly
curtains of damask, whose billowy drapery dropped over grotesque
and luxurious furniture, I bowed with prostrate devotion to the idol of
Chance. I was in the temple of suicide—the hell of earth; and
inebriated with its deadly vapor, I saw not the thronging crowd,
whose passion-stricken countenances alternately displayed the rapid
transitions from joy to sadness, from successful cupidity to luckless
despair. I went through the usual vicissitudes of the game. I won.
Success made me bold, failure excited me to more and more
dangerous enterprise. I had drawn on our tobacco merchant until my
bills were protested, nor could I ask from Col. R—— the wages of
humanity. I paid a heavy premium to one of the loungers of the table,
to teach me a system by which I might always win. Duped by its
deceitful sophistry, I risked my all—my watch, breast-pin, and all the
jewelry of my dress were successively staked and lost. My hand was
on the golden locket consecrated as the gift of Isa Gordon. With a
painful struggle I preserved it from the gripe of despair, and quitted
the accursed table a bankrupt and a beggar!

When I reached my lodgings, Scipio met me with his usual kindness,

which I repelled with a severity and harshness that called a tear to
his eye. Go! cried I, leave me, I am a broken man and a friendless
beggar, I give you your freedom. Go! and for God's sake do not
longer tempt my avarice! An unusual cheerfulness spread itself over
his countenance—the convincing indication of my fallen fortune. The
idea was no sooner conceived, than my despair gave it certainty,
and rising I drove my servant from the room with a blow and a curse.

I sold all the furniture with which I had supplied my rooms, and again
rushed to the gaming table. The fickle goddess had forever deserted
me, and, lost to all sense of shame, I hung around the table, a silent
spectator of the deep, passionate, and thrilling drama.

About a week after Scipio's departure, a gentleman accosted me at

the table, and delivered a letter which he informed me he had
brought from Liverpool. It was written in the sententious style of a
merchant, and enclosed a draft in my favor on an eminent banker for
fifty pounds.

The writer informed me that Scipio had sold himself for this sum to a
Liverpool trader—that he had requested that the money should be
sent to me, and that on the day after the purchase he had shipped
the servant, with his own free consent, to the West Indies.
I waited on the banker, received the sacrifice of my slave's short-
lived freedom; and as I looked on the tear-stained money, I learned
from that generous and affectionate fidelity, a lesson which made me
loathe with horror the moral prostitution of the gaming table.

THE PATRIARCH'S INHERITANCE.

The following is an extract from an unfinished MS. and occurs at the close of an
interview between the Almighty and Abraham, in the course of which is introduced the
promise thus stated in Genesis: "And the Lord said unto Abram, after that Lot was
separated from him, Lift up now thine eyes, and look from the place where thou art,
northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward: For all the land which thou
seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed forever," &c.

———This pronounced,
The Radiant Form withdraws. And now return
Sunshine and shade, and cool, delicious airs,
Restoring common joys. The saintly chief,
Reviving, stands erect; and still his robes,
With lingering glory, make the moon-beams pale.
Soon all his senses feel the flowing soul,
Quick with new life and thrilling power intense.
His eyes, undazzled, drink the pouring sun,
And sweep entranced the swelling scene below—
Mountains, and hills, and plains, and lakes, and streams.

O, blest, enchanting vision! All around,

Enrich'd with purest green, and all remote
Adorn'd with deepest blue; the bending sky
And farthest summits mingling fainter hues,
Walling the world with sapphire. All he sees,
He hails his own; and burns with lordly flame.
His the down-rushing torrents; his the brooks,
Flashing from every vale; and his the lakes,
Wide sparkling bright, as though a shower of gems
On silver falling scattered countless lights.
His too the rolling woods, the laughing meads,
And rocks of waving grapes—his every wind,
Stirring the world with life and breathing far
Fragrance and music—his the silent cloud,
That fleetly glides along the soft mid-air,
Reflecting, moon-like, from its upper plain
Of snowy beauty, every ray from heaven;
And o'er the under landscape leading on
Its shadowy darkness, running up and down
The ever-changing mountains. Who may tell
The many sources of his gushing joy?
Not only Jordan, and its palmy plains;
Lot's Citied Garden; and the orient heights
Of fruitful Gilead, sweeping to the marge
Of Bashan's mellow pastures: not alone
The visual charms delight his ardent soul,
Around, though fair, and fairer still remote;
But wider regions—lost in distant haze,
Or shut from sight by intercepting bounds—
Fairest of all. Far flies his circling thought
From Edom's southern plains to Hermon's brow,
Frost-wreath'd, and lowlands steep'd in streaming dew;
And on to snow-crown'd Lebanon, with slopes
Of fadeless verdure nursed by living founts,
And glorious cedars swayed by balmy winds,
In whose high boughs the eagle builds her nest,
And on whose roots the fearful lion sleeps;
And thence to Tabor's central cone, and fields
Of Eden, like Esdrelon; and the oaks
Of flowery Carmel, waving o'er the sea;
And Sharon's rosy bloom; and Eshcol's vale,
 Purple with vines from Hebron to the coast.
O'er all the range his ravished mind expands,
Warm with high hopes of wondrous days to come.
The promise—like a meteor—how it lights
The gloom of future ages! Lonely there
The childless stranger stands—sublime in faith:
Sure that the ten throned nations reigning round,
In stately power, with pomp of idol shrines,
Shall yield to his descendants; shall behold
His mightier seed—thick as the seashore sands—
Countless as stars that crowd the clearest sky,—
Pouring their myriads over hill and dale,
Casting the champion pride of princes down,
Dashing the templed monsters in the dust,
Sounding the trump of triumph through the land,
Thronging the scene with holier, happier homes,
And rearing high, to flame with heavenly fire,
Earth's only altars to the Only God!
T. H. S.

Washington, March 17, 1836.

AMERICANISMS.

The Americanisms of our language have been a prolific source of

ridicule and reproach for the British critics. When a word in an
American publication has fallen upon the eyes of these literary
lynxes, which they have thought an innovation, they have fiercely
denounced it as Yankee slang—as a proof of our uneducated
ignorance; they have even denied that we understand the English
language, or can speak or write it intelligibly. In most of the cases it
turned out and was demonstrated, that the poor words thus assailed
were true and genuine English, used by their best writers and
speakers; found in their best dictionaries; but unhappily for the poor
things, unknown to these erudite and conceited knights of the pen,
either too careless to turn to their books for information, or having
none to turn to. In a few instances in which we have taken a little
license with the language, we have seen that after overloading us
with abuse for the birth of the child, they have taken it to themselves,
and put it into the service of writers and orators of the highest rank.
Such was the fate of our Americanisms—to advocate, influential, in
the sense in which we use it, and several others. They found the
brats really not such deformities as they supposed, and were willing
to adopt and use them; but this did not abate their contempt of the
parents. Englishmen residing in England, seem to claim an exclusive
right in the invention of English words. In Bulwer's character of
Rienzi, this hero is said to have been avid of personal power. This is
the coinage of the ingenious author; at least I find no authority for it
even in the latest dictionaries, nor in any other writer of reputation.
Now I have no objection to the introduction of a new word into our
language by Mr. Bulwer or any body else, provided that it be done
with due discretion, and subject to some just regulation and principle.
In the first place, it should be necessary, supplying a want, or at least
obviously convenient in the expression of some idea with more
precision than it can be done by any existing word. In the second
place, it should be in full consistence and harmony with the idiom of
the language. Lord Kames, on using a word of his own making, gives
this note. "This word, hitherto not in use, seems to fulfil all that is
required by Demetrius Phalereus in coining a new word—first, that it
be perspicuous; and next, that it be in the tone of the language."

I find no fault with Mr. Bulwer for the production of his mint, but I will
not acknowledge that he, or any other English author, has a better
right than an American to take this license. We understand the
language as well as they do; we derive our knowledge from the
same sources, and we shall use the liberty with as much caution,
propriety and discrimination. If this monopolizing, exclusive people,
could have their way, they would not suffer us to spin a pound of
cotton, or hammer out a bar of iron; and now, forsooth, we must not
presume to turn a noun into a verb, or add a monosyllable to the
stock of English words.

H.

TO RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE.1

1 Written soon after his death.

Start not, great spirit of the mighty dead!

No sneering cynic comes with fiendish tread,
To mock the laurels of thy honored brow,
And ask,—where lies thy strength or glory now?

No snarling critic, jackal-like, to brave

The fearful lion, nerveless in his grave,
Whose living look had shrunk his trembling form,
As craven creatures crouch before the storm:

No saintly, sinning bigot vents his spite

For crimes exposed, or horrors brought to light;
No puppy-patriot, peculator bold,
Would bark at thee, for sneering at his gold:

No spaniel dog, to gain a master's smile,

Would crunch thy bones, thy hallowed grave defile;
No smiling sycophant, or grovelling hind,
Whose soul succumbs beneath a mastermind:
 No little gatherer of great men's words,
No album-filling fool of flowers and birds,
Or autographic-maniac now weeps
In sickly sympathy, where Randolph sleeps.

Bereaved Virginia's voice majestic calls

In mournful wailings from her fun'ral halls,
"Whose strength shall terror strike? Whose voice shall charm?
Who wound, or win, the wretch who wills me harm?

Since thy great soul hath left its feeble frame,

My only pride is thy undying name;
My sun hath set in parting glory bright,
My Randolph's dead, my shores are wrapt in night.

Oh choose,—great spirit, from my blood alone,

Some worthy one, with genius like thine own;
Lest prophets false, my gallant sons deceive,—
To him, Elisha-like, thy mantle leave."
HESPERUS.

ADDRESS

Delivered by the Hon. Henry St. George Tucker, before the Virginia Historical and
Philosophical Society.1

1 The anniversary meeting of this Society was held at the Capitol in Richmond, on the
second of March, in presence of a numerous auditory of both sexes. There was much
disappointment at the absence of Professor Dew, who was expected to deliver the
annual Address, but whose attendance was prevented by ill health. The Hon. Henry
St. Geo. Tucker was unanimously appointed President in the room of Chief Justice
Marshall, and the address which we now have the pleasure of publishing was
delivered by the new President upon taking the chair. It was listened to with profound
attention and pleasure. So, also, was a speech to be found on page 260 of Mr.
Maxwell on presenting a resolution commemorative of the services and virtues of the
late Chief Justice.

During the meeting, Mr. Winder, the Clerk of Northampton, presented a collection of
MSS. found in some of the dark corners of the clerk's office of that ancient county.
These papers, we are informed, are highly valuable, and shed new and interesting
light upon an early period of Virginia History. They were the papers, it appears, of a
Mr. Godfrey Poole, who early in the eighteenth century, was the clerk of Northampton
court—was also a lawyer of considerable practice, and for many years clerk of the
committee of Propositions and Grievances, an office, we suppose, of much higher
relative grade then than at present. The MSS. are various in their character—
consisting for the most part, of addresses by the then governors Spotswood and
Dugsdale to the House of Burgesses—answers to those addresses, by the House,
and copies of various acts of Assembly and Reports of Committees, not found in any
printed record extant. There is also an undoubted copy of the Colonial Charter which
received the signet of King Charles, and was stopped in the Hamper office upon that
monarch's receiving intelligence of Bacon's rebellion. This charter, we believe, is not
to be found in any of the printed collections of State papers or Historical Records in
this country, having eluded the researches of Mr. Burke, and of the indefatigable Mr.
Hening, the compiler of the Statutes at Large.

It appears also that Mr. Poole contrived to enliven the barren paths of Law and
Legislation by an occasional intercourse with the Muses. We find among his papers
two Poems—one is brief, of an amatory character, and addressed to Chloe—that
much besonnetted name. The other, containing about one hundred and ninety lines is
thus entitled

The Expedition oe'r the mountain's:

Being Mr. Blackmore's Latin Poem, entitled,
Expeditio Ultra-Montana:
Rendered into English verse and inscribed
To the Honourable the Governour. (A. O. Spotswood.)

The "Expedition &c" is remarkable for three things—its antiquity (Virginian antiquity)—
its mediocrity—and for one or two lines in which (singularly enough) direct reference
 is made to the discovery of a gold region in Virginia. The lines run thus—

Here taught to dig by his auspicious hand,

They prov'd the growing Pregnance of the land;
For, being search'd, the fertile earth gave signs
That her womb teem'd with gold and silver mines.
This ground, if faithful, may in time outdo
The soils of Mexico, and of fam'd Peru.

Gentlemen,—In accepting, with the profoundest sense of my own

unworthiness, the station you have been pleased to confer upon me,
my mind very naturally reverts to the distinguished individual who
has heretofore presided over your deliberations, and has added to
the interest of your proceedings by the lustre of his own reputation,
and the mild dignity of his exalted character. Since the days of
General Washington, no man has lived more beloved and respected,
or died more universally regretted, than the late venerable Chief
Justice. Throughout this widely extended republic, our fellow citizens
have vied in the distinguished honors which have been paid to his
memory. Those honors have not been confined to the state which
gave him birth, to the city in which he dwelt, to the supreme tribunal
of his native state, which owes so much of its former reputation to
the efficient aid he brought to their deliberations in the flower of his
age. They have not been confined to any political party, or denied by
those who have honestly and widely differed from him in their views
of the construction of the great charter of our government. No,
gentlemen, his character and life have been the themes of universal
eulogy. The meditations of the wise have dwelt upon his virtues, and
the lips of the eloquent have poured forth his praises throughout the
Union. It is right that it should be so. As Chief Justice of the United
States, his fame was the common property of that Union, which he
so truly loved, and which he so long and so faithfully has served. For
five and thirty years he presided over the first judicial tribunal of the
United States; a tribunal which he elevated by his dignity, which he
illustrated by his abilities, and instructed by his wisdom; a tribunal
which was not only enlightened by the splendor of his meridian
greatness, but was illumined by the last rays of his departing genius,
and beheld with admiration its broad and spotless disc as it
descended to the horizon. Even the hand of time seems to have
dealt gently with his noble mind; and, like Mansfield and Pendleton,
he too sunk into the grave full indeed of years as well as honors, but
with unfading powers: thus affording another illustrious instance of
the preservation of the undying intellect amid the ruins of a decaying
frame.

Orbis illabetur ævo, vires hominumque tabescent,

Mens sola cælestis in œvum intacta manebit.

But, gentlemen, it has been the good fortune of some among us to

have known our venerated countryman, not only in the elevated
station to which his abilities had exalted him, but also in the not less
interesting relations of private life.

Seen him we have, and in the happier hour,

Of social ease but ill exchanged for power;

And in that delightful intercourse who has not remarked how

beautifully the amiable urbanity and simplicity of his manners,
commingled with the unpretending dignity which was inseparable
from the elevation of his character and his station? Who has not
witnessed the purity of his feelings, the warmth of his benevolence,
and the fervor of his zeal, in lending the support and countenance of
his great name and influence to every enterprise which was
calculated to promote the public good; to every scheme which
promised to assist the march of intellect; to every association which
had for its object the advancement of his countrymen in wisdom and
virtue, and to every plan which philanthropy could plausibly suggest,
for the amelioration of the condition of the humblest of our species?
His heart and his hand were equally open, and his purse and his
services were always freely commanded where they were called for
by any object of public utility or private beneficence. It is not then
surprising, gentlemen, that such a man should have been found at
the head of this Society; that you should have selected him to grace
your laudable enterprise, or that he should have lent his ready aid to
an institution, which, however humble in its beginnings, gives the
promise of important aid to the knowledge and literature of our
country. But it is a matter of the most painful regret, that the light of
his countenance will shine no more upon us here, and that the
influence of his counsels and the inspiration of his wisdom are
withdrawn from us forever. Those cannot be replaced; and we may
say of him as was said of the great father of his country more than
forty years ago,

Successors we may find, but tell us where,

Of all thy virtues we shall find the heir.

For myself, gentlemen, I can bring to the discharge of the duties of

this station nothing but the most earnest wishes for the success of
your institution; an institution, whose laudable design is to save from
oblivion whatever is interesting in the natural, civil and literary history
of our country; to rescue from unmerited obscurity the many
interesting papers which may throw light upon our annals; and to
concentrate in its "transactions" the materials now scattered through
the land, which at some future day may assist the researches of the
historian or the speculations of the philosopher. It is neither my
purpose nor my province here to dilate upon the benefits of such an
institution. That duty was performed on a former occasion, by one
who is now no more, with distinguished ability. Yet I trust I may be
excused for a very cursory allusion to this interesting topic. It is not
required to whet your purpose or to stimulate your exertions. But it is
not amiss that we should occasionally advert to the powerful motives
which impel us to sustain this infant institution. Do we look to the
reputation of our ancient and beloved commonwealth; to her
progress in the arts and in the cultivation of that literature which
softens the manners and gives its finest polish to society? How then
can we hear unmoved the taunts of others at her supineness? How
can we listen without an ingenuous blush, to the reproaches of those
who are ever ready to cast into our teeth our inglorious neglect of the
noble cause of literature? Throughout the civilized world, the lovers
of learning and of science are on the alert. Academies and societies
for their promotion are no longer confined to Europe. They have long
since found their way across the Atlantic, and have been growing
and extending in our sister states for half a century. Some of them
have grown to maturity and no longer totter in a state of infantile
weakness. Those of Pennsylvania and Massachusetts particularly
rest upon a basis stable and enduring, and have attained a noble
elevation that does honor to their founders. And what has Virginia
done? Absolutely nothing, until the spirited efforts of a few
individuals first gave existence to this institution. She has aroused
indeed from her slumbers at the voice of internal improvements, and
has caught the enthusiasm with which they seem to have inspired
the world. Her canals and her rail roads are sustained with all the
zeal of patriotic feeling, backed by the less meritorious, but more
steady influences of pecuniary profit. In every direction those arts
and enterprises which promise to pour their rapid returns of wealth
into the lap of the adventurer, are pursued with an eye that never
winks, and a step that never tires. Their progress is as rapid as the
speed of a locomotive. But literature—neglected literature, still lags
at a sightless distance behind. While companies spring up in a day
for the excavation of a canal or the construction of a rail road, for the
working of a coal mine or the search after gold. Behold what a little
band has associated here, to redeem our state from the disgrace of
a Bœotian neglect of literature—and to pluck up drowning honor by
the locks, without other reward than the participation with our great
corrivals in all the dignities of science. But let us not despair because
we are but a handful. Our little society is but the germ of better
things. This little seedling will, if properly nourished, become like a
spreading and majestic oak. Then indeed, will it be an enduring
monument to your memory, and posterity will look upon the noble
object which has been planted by your hands and watered by your
care, with respect and veneration for the authors of so great a
benefaction. But remember it will wither when so young, unless
sedulously fostered. An annual meeting at the seat of government
and a discourse from a learned academician once a year, however
interesting, will effect but little without the zealous and personal co-
operation of us all. Wherever we go, we may be of use to the
institution. The sagacious and observing will every where meet with
interesting matter to be communicated and collected into this
common reservoir. In the library of almost every man of ordinary
diligence in the collection of what is curious and interesting, there are
materials which by themselves are of little worth, but united with
others here would become valuable and important—like the jewel,
which shows to little advantage until it is surrounded by other
brilliants, and is set by the hands of a master workman. So too, in
our intercourse with society, we daily meet with the men of other
days—those living depositaries of the transactions of early times; of
transactions which live only in tradition and must be buried in the
grave with the venerable patriarch or interesting matron, unless
rescued from oblivion by the present generation. These evanescing
fragments of our history should be gathered together with the most
diligent care, like the flowers of an herbarium or the minerals of a
geologist, and prepared for the historical department in this cabinet
of literature. In short, gentlemen, go where we will, the most humble
among us may still advance the great cause in which we are
engaged. And while the learning and ability of some may contribute
the rich treasures of their own minds, and the valuable results of
their own profound lucubrations, there is not one among us who
cannot in some way or other add his mite to the general stock. This
is indeed no small consolation to myself; for I would not be a drone
in such a hive; and yet my professional pursuits have been too
exclusive to permit me to hope that I can ever be of other service
than as an humble gleaner in the great field which lies before us.

It now only remains for me, gentlemen, to offer my most respectful

acknowledgments for the honor you have conferred upon me,
accompanied by the assurance that I shall discharge the duties
assigned me with alacrity, and contribute to the success of your
laudable views, as far as my humble abilities and my very limited
acquirements in these walks of literature will permit.
 AUTHORS.

Adam Smith has decided that authors are "manufacturers of certain

wares for a very paltry recompense."

MR. MAXWELL'S SPEECH,

Before the Virginia Historical and Philosophical Society, at its late

annual meeting, held in the Hall of the House of Delegates, on the
evening of the 2d March, on moving the following resolution:

Resolved, That the Society most truly laments the loss which it has sustained in the
common calamity, the death of its illustrious President, the late John Marshall, Chief
Justice of the United States, whose name, associated with our Institution in its origin,
will grace its annals, while his life and character shall adorn the history of our State
and country to the end of time.

Mr. President,—In the report of the Executive Committee, which has

just been read, we are officially informed of what we knew but too
well before, the loss which our Society has sustained in the death of
our late venerable and illustrious President. Yes, Sir, the man whom
Virginia—whom his country—whom all his fellows-citizens in all parts
of the United States, admired, and loved, and delighted to honor—
the man whom we, Sir, who knew him, fondly and affectionately
called "THE CHIEF," (as he was indeed in almost every sense of the
word,) our MARSHALL is no more. We shall see him no more in the
midst of us—we shall see him no more in this very Hall, where his
wisdom and eloquence have so often enlightened and convinced the
listening assemblies of the State—we shall see his face, we shall
hear his voice no more, forever. But we do not, we cannot forget him;
but the remembrance of his transcendant abilities, his spotless
integrity, his pure patriotism, his eminent public services, and his
most amiable private virtues, is embalmed in all our hearts.

With these sentiments, Sir, which I am persuaded are the sentiments

of all our members, I have felt it to be a duty which I owe not only to
the memory of the deceased, but to the honor of our Society, to offer
the resolution which the announcement suggests. In doing so,
however, I shall not deem it either necessary or proper to detain you
with many words, when I feel, most unaffectedly, that any which I
could use would be entirely inadequate, and almost injurious, to the
fame of such a man. I will not, therefore, Sir, enlarge upon the
particulars of his life, which are already familiar to you. I will not tell
you of the brilliancy of his first entrance upon the stage of action,
when the voice of our Commonwealth, rising in arms to defend her
constitutional rights against the tyranny of Britain, called him from his
native forest, and from the studies in which he had just engaged, to
join her army hurrying to the rescue of my own native town from the
grasp of her insolent invader: nor of his following campaigns under
Washington himself, and his gallant bearing on the memorable
plains of Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth: nor of his
subsequent stand at the bar of this city, (then, as it is now, one of the
most distinguished in the country,) where he was primus inter pares,
the first amongst his fellows—the brightest star in the constellation
which shed its radiance over our state: nor of his appearances in the
House of Delegates, and in the Convention for the ratification of the
constitution: nor of his conduct at the court of revolutionary France,
where (with his worthy associates) he baffled all the arts and
stratagems of the wily Proteus of Politics himself, and maintained the
honor of his country to the admiration of all her citizens: nor of his
reappearance in this place: nor of his translation to the floor of the
House of Representatives, where he stood, spoke, and conquered:
nor of his short but substantial service as Secretary of State: nor,
above all, of his crowning elevation to that chair of judicial
supremacy for which he seemed to have been made; and where he
sat for so many years, like incarnate Justice—not blind, indeed, like
that fabled divinity, but seeing all things with that quick, clear, and
penetrating eye, which pierced at once through all the intricacies and
involutions of law and fact, to discover the latent truth, or detect the
lurking fallacy, as by the glance of intuition. No wonder, Sir, that with
such admirable faculties, combined with such perfect pureness of
purpose, such entire singleness and simplicity of heart, he shed a
lustre around that seat which it never had before, and which I greatly
fear it will never have again. No wonder, Sir, that he appeared to the
eyes of many in all parts of our land, and even of some who could
not exactly agree with him in all his views of our federal compact, as
the very Atlas of the Constitution, supporting the starry firmament of
our Union upon his single shoulder, which bowed not, bent not
beneath its weight; and that when he died, there was something like
a feeling of apprehension (for an instant at least) as if the fabric
which he had so long sustained must fall along with him to the dust,
and become the fit monument of the man.

But I will not dwell, nor even touch any longer, Sir, on these things,
which indeed hardly belong to us, or belong to us only in common
with all our fellow-citizens. Vix ea nostra voco. I can hardly call them
our own. But I must just glance for a single moment, Sir, at the
connection of the illustrious deceased with our Society. Sir, when we
were about to form our institution, conscious as we were of the
mortifying fact, that from the unfortunate passion of our people for
politics, so called, (mere party politics) the more calm and rational
pursuits of science and letters to which we were about to invite their
attention, could hardly hope to find favor in their eyes, we were
naturally desirous to call some person to that chair whose character,
whose very name, might give the public an assurance of the utility of
our labors; and we turned instinctively to him. We saw him, Sir, with
all the honors of a long, laborious, and useful life clustered upon him;
enjoying the respect and confidence of honorable men of all parties