Life
Watson moved to New York City in 1786 and engaged in business pursuits. He was a member of the New York State Assembly in 1791, 1794–1796 and was Speaker in 1794. He was a member of the New York State Senate (Southern District) from 1796 to 1798, and was a Regent of New York University from 1795 until his death.
Watson’s townhouse, located at 7 State Street in New York City still stands and is on the National Register of Historic Places. It was also the residence of Elizabeth Ann Seton, the first American Catholic Saint. The home is currently occupied by the rectory of the of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary Church and is part of the Seton Shrine.
In 1798, Watson was elected as a Federalist to the United States Senate to fill the vacancy caused by the resignation of John Sloss Hobart and served in the 5th and 6th United States Congress from December 11, 1798, to March 19, 1800, when he resigned to accept an appointment by President John Adams as Naval Officer of the Port of New York.
Watson was an unsuccessful candidate for Lieutenant Governor of New York in 1801. He was a member of the Society of the Cincinnati and an organizer and the first president of the New England Society of New York, from 1805 until his death.
Read more about this topic: James Watson (New York)
Famous quotes containing the word life:
“. . . you may think I waste my breath
Pretending that there can be passion
That has more life in it than death,”
—William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)
“As the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made a new compact to stand by each other and be brothers and never separate till death relieved them of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans. Joe was for being a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and dying, some time, of cold, and want, and grief; but after listening to Tom, he conceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a life of crime, and so he consented to be a pirate.”
—Mark Twain [Samuel Langhorne Clemens] (1835–1910)
“I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more—the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort—to death; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires—and expires, too soon, too soon—before life itself.”
—Joseph Conrad (1857–1924)