Passing from my own house to the railroad, I stepped over to the Post Office, and took my morning papers; and, on opening one of them, the first words that struck my astonished eyes were those announcing the death of William Hickling Prescott! Sir, I deplore, and shall deplore to my dying day, that I have not seen and conversed with Mr. Prescott for some months past; that, after parting with him in May, I met him only at the gate of the tomb to say a last farewell: but I shall console myself with the thought, that I have had the opportunity of adding my feeble voice to the earnest and eloquent testimonials to his great name and his lovely character on this occasion. One of those great writers and teachers of the historic art to whom I have alluded - Thucydides speaks of "that simplicity in which nobleness of nature most largely shares," as the highest style of man; and surely to no man, before or since the days of the profound historian of the Peloponnesian war, do those words apply with more pertinency and force than to the character of Prescott. And, as he lived, so he died. Great as the shock was, sad as this bereavement is, bitter as are our feelings in the first moments of our loss, we must all acknowledge that he accomplished a noble and brilliant life; and, though he left works unfinished, whenever that great summons came, it would find him so employed, that works would still be left unfinished. For, Mr. President, it is not the lot of man to finish his tasks here below: that can only be done in the world above. But, sir, as my reverend friend has said, he was called away in the midst of happiness, as if by an angelic messenger. The summons came in a moment. It found him enjoying the light of the domestic hearth; and, in an instant, his spirit was translated into the light of Eternal Love. That, Mr. President, was the euthanasia of our friend and associate. REMARKS OF HON. JAMES SAVAGE. MR. PRESIDENT,-Enough has been said here, by those who enjoyed the acquaintance of Mr. Prescott, to afford to others a just estimate of his character; for few could have acquaintance with him that was not an intimate one. He was transparent in such uncommon degree, that, in a short time, whoever was acquainted with him might become conversant with his character. Sir, it does not always happen, — but I thank Heaven the instances are not rare, in which from a glorious father is derived a son with strong resemblance. Here have been three generations of this stock claiming highest regard from the people of Massachusetts, and for very diverse qualities. He who commanded on Bunker Hill is known only, but universally, for his intrepidity. Brave to a degree beyond what belongs to the general spirit of soldiery, having labored all night in throwing up the works on that commanding spot; entitled, as his commander thought, to defend them through the day, yet was he not a braver man than his son William, distinguished for widely different public service. The stainless honor of Judge Prescott needed not to be shown in deadly combat; but whoever weighed his merit felt that he would have sustained at every hazard, even of instant death, the calm assertion of duty in vindication of the rights of his fellow-men. After the full and appropriate estimate of the private virtues and literary reputation, the endowments and acquisitions, of our late associate, I would ask, confidently, for a review of his characteristic and hereditary distinction, of unusual bravery in his pursuits. What is the first requisite the Muse of History demands of her admirers? The truth, in every respect; the truth, in spite of all opposition; the truth with mildness, and with the affection and dignity that accompanied every word that Mr. Prescott ever said on paper or in the utterance of speech. Sir, he, more than any other man, I think, of my acquaintance, and I refer to the delightful illustrations of his classmate, and to the more delightful remarks which came from his religious instructor; I refer to what is known by his most intimate friends, he was a man who could stand up before the universe, and challenge any aspersion. There never was a man who spoke ill of him. He eminently is exposed to the woe that, it is said, belongs to him "of whom all men speak well." Mr. President, I ought not to have said half as much as I have; and yet, though it is late, I did not dare to sit still any longer, for fear that a sufficiently impressive intonation should not be given to the highest merit of that man's character. It is not his distinction attained in letters. It is not that the world round, where the English language is read, and the various languages into which his works have been translated, the French, the German, the Spanish, and the Italian, — there is not remaining on this earth a man of higher literary merit; I will not say, distinction. There may be one or another superior by metaphysical acquisition, by mathematical endowments, or diffusing good throughout the world; but my departed friend never knew the temptation of adopting an equivocal expression, or even the metaphysical refinement that conceals one. No man could ever charge him with it. He was solely seeking for Truth in the best recesses where Truth is found; and he has done more than any other living man to bring her forth in her full majesty. Greater difficul ties no writer encountered, and none ever triumphed over them more fully. I would, sir, refer more particularly to what was so admirably touched upon by his classmate and by his religious instructor; and I have looked also for many years upon the very same, happiness I call it; and happiness it will be, when we think of it,-upon his happiness. while suffering from what is commonly called an accident,— a casualty we will call it (but if there be a Providence in any thing, not to govern nations, not to regulate this sidereal system only, but applying to each individual, then that misfortune, as it seems, was the greatest good); upon his happiness, when he was submitted to that awful darkness to which no ray of light was permitted. His father and his mother and his sister may well have hoped that it should be well with William, even under such a disaster. But he himself, for now near thirty years, has manifested to all the world the blessing which our great religious poet has illustrated for his own case, in the prayer,· "So much the rather thou, Celestial Light! Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers REMARKS OF MR. GEORGE T. CURTIS. MR. PRESIDENT,- Standing less near, in age and in associa tion, to him whom this whole community now mourns, than those who have addressed you, I yet desire to lay an humble tribute of admiration upon his tomb; feeling how true it is, that we have now lost one, who, in the language of these resolutions, will be admitted everywhere to be entitled to the name and the rank of a great historian; and who, in his relation to us, added to this title that of a near and dear friend. - - I have said, sir, that we have now lost him. I should correct that expression. We have, indeed, lost the daily greeting, the friendly grasp, the genial smile, all that was the earthly presence of this illustrious writer and beloved friend. All unfinished, too, as when some great sculptor is stricken down with the chisel in his hand, lies the last of those splendid monuments which his genius led him to undertake for the delight and instruction of mankind. Yet how much remains! That reputation, co-extensive with Christendom, which has brought so much honor upon our country, upon our city, and upon us; that example of victory over personal infirmities, and of victory over the allurements of a social position exempt from the necessity of toil, an example which has carried, and is yet to carry, consolation and encouragement to the struggling scholar in all lands, which appeals, and is yet to appeal, so powerfully to the wealthy youth of our own country; that beautiful character, which has caused a whole community to feel as if touched by a personal loss, and to pour their tears upon his grave as for one who was their own; those works, which are to exist so long as any vestiges of our civilization remain, side by side with the imperishable writings of the chief historians of all ages, these are not lost, because they are of the fruits, for the production of which our immortal nature was placed in this mortal sphere. Mr. President, if I had felt that it was the sole purpose of these proceedings to express the grief of personal affection, I should not have ventured to address you; for, although I have for many years been honored by the personal regard of the late Mr. Prescott, what belongs to the duties of friendship has come, and will doubtless again come, from others. But to me, sir, an humble amateur in that noble art in which our lamented friend was so distinguished, this occasion has — I would not say a higher; for what can be higher or holier than the last rites of love?—to me this occasion has a further interest. It seems to me to call, not for vindication, not for defence, not for challenge; but for the briefest and most simple statement of the value and dignity of the labors of our deceased friend, as they are expressed in the first of the resolutions on your table. The pursuit to which Mr. Prescott devoted his life is universally felt, among the cultivated part of mankind, to be one of the highest forms of intellectual labor; yet it is probable that even educated men do not always fully appreciate the qualities, the powers, and the tasks of a truly great historian. The general public can, of course, only take the finished work |