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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 775 339 3 f 
 
 Wntt^ of i\\t ^tixA, 
 
 SEEMON 
 
 PREACHED AT 
 
 KING'S CHAPEL, BOSTON, 
 
 .TXJlVIi: 3, lSti7: 
 
 REING THE SUNDAY FOLLOWING THE DECEASE OF 
 
 MR. THOMAS BULFINCH. 
 
 ANDREW Pl^EABODY. 
 
 J' R ix T /■; I) Ji r i: k q t ' e s t. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 1867. 
 
 J. II. EASTBURN'S PRESS. 
 
4 
 
 We are too little apt to recognize and confess 
 how much of them there is that remains to ns, 
 how mnch that could not die, how much that will 
 grow even more vivid and precious as the years 
 roll on, and will verify with an ever increasing 
 fulness the words, " He, being dead, yet speaketh." 
 
 Let us now consider some of the ways in which 
 we, who lament the absence from our sight of the 
 faithful and excellent, may hope to find these 
 words fulfilled. 
 
 In the first place, I think that we understand 
 the characters of our friends better after they 
 have gone from us, than while they were with us, 
 and that they thus speak to us in their examples 
 with greater precision and emphasis. Take the 
 instance of one whom none knew but to praise 
 and love. To joraise and love is not to under- 
 stand. The life may have been one of incessant 
 and various occupation, and the transactions and 
 utterances of every day may have been regarded 
 with warm approval, and have ministered to the 
 growth of the most sincere and fond afiection ; but 
 they have been beheld in themselves rather than in 
 their motives and princij^les, and as separate inci- 
 dents rather than as the expression and outflow 
 
of a nobly framed and consistent character. Thus, 
 as we pass through the streets of a town or city, 
 the eye takes in single objects, but not the site, or 
 plan, or general features. For these we must 
 seek an elevated position, from which minute 
 details Avill disappear or dwindle, while great out- 
 lines and characteristics will be plain and clear. 
 Death gives us this elevation as to human char- 
 acter. We before knew, it may he, that the life 
 was beautiful and lovely ; we now see why it was 
 so, — what was its pervading spirit, what its sacred 
 law\s of speech and action, what the great lessons 
 of duty that it teaches, — the golden threads which 
 held the whole together, and gave symmetry and 
 unity to the endlessly varied forms of utterance 
 and activity. And how intense the emphasis 
 •which death gives to the cardinal virtues of one 
 whom we had tenderly loved, and especially to 
 the one predominant trait, be it conscientiousness, 
 or gentleness, or fortitude, or courage, or benevo- 
 lence, or spirituality ! We now see how that trait 
 branched out in various directions, assumed differ- 
 ent phases, gave energy and vividness to the other 
 virtues, at once fostering them, and in turn fostered 
 by them ; and a voice comes to us from the yet 
 
recent, and in after years from the still cherished 
 grave, commending to us that special aspect of 
 goodness, urging it upon us as the due tribute of 
 undying human love no less than of piety, and 
 rebuking us for every departure from it. 
 
 Nor let it be said that this j)eculiar sacredness 
 attached to any single trait of excellence is adapted 
 to make one-sided and deficient characters. For, 
 in the first place, the virtues are a sociable sister- 
 hood, and cannot well live apart, so that one of 
 them sedulously wooed, and won, brings in all her 
 sisters with her, she remaining only first among 
 equals. And, secondly, the individuality which 
 distinguishes one good man from another, and 
 amono; the most excellent makes one star differ 
 from another, when not in the degree, in the kind 
 of glory, consists in the predominance of some 
 sinijle virtue wdiile the others are not wanting;, 
 and in the peculiar tone and grouping created 
 by this predominance. 
 
 It is, therefore, an infinite gain and benefit, if 
 death has so endeared to us any one form or 
 aspect of goodness, any special cluster of Christian 
 graces, that we cannot contentedly remain in that 
 regard defective or faulty; for while this form, or 
 
aspect, or cluster may determine the order and 
 proportion of our virtues, it will not suffer us in 
 any department of duty to be barren or unfruitful. 
 In the next place, our friends who have gone 
 before us to Heaven speak especially to us of the 
 need and worth of Christian faith iind piety, and 
 no living words can equal in impressiveness the 
 tacit pleading of death. When a life closes, the 
 inquiry which seems to be aw^akened at once in 
 every heart, even in the irreligious and the reck- 
 less, is, "Was the departed prepared to die?" I 
 have been struck with this, when the great men 
 of our land — high officials, renowned orators, 
 accomplished statesmen — have been called away. 
 The first communications that circulate in the 
 public prints are dying words and manifestations 
 as to relio:ion, and whatever incidents in the whole 
 
 CD " 
 
 past career can have any bearing on the religious 
 character; and either the due eulogy upon a 
 Christian life and spirit, or the honest, though 
 feeble attempt to piece out a rainbow over the 
 death-flood from shreds and particles of half-lumi- 
 nous mist, precedes all discussion of public merits 
 and services. I have often been most painfully 
 impressed by this tendency in private circles. 
 
where the departed had manifested no special 
 regard for religion, but friends have tortured into 
 grounds of hope the utterances of weariness of life 
 drawn out bj j^'^^ii^? ^i' momentary exclamations, or 
 isolated virtuous acts, or passive admissions of the 
 truth, in fine, everything that did not bear on its 
 face an absolutely irreligious import. But when 
 one, who has indeed lived as a Christian, passes 
 away, what comfort can equal that which flows 
 from the assurance that our friend has found in 
 death the very gate of Heaven ? How lovingly do 
 we dwell on the early consecration to the Saviour, 
 — the marks of his lineage and kindred, — the ex- 
 pressions of faith unfeigned and hope anchored 
 within the veil, — the traits of Christian fidelity 
 that made the life luminous, — the path which we 
 can now see reaching on from the death-hour and 
 through the death-shadow to the assembly of the 
 redeemed and the presence of the glorified Ee- 
 deemer ! We then feel and own that relioion is 
 indeed the one thing needful for the mortal who 
 is to put on immortality, — that there is nothing 
 in life so precious as that which fits one to die in 
 peace and hope, — that all things are to be account- 
 ed as worthless in comparison with that in the 
 
aim and spirit through which one wins Christ, and 
 is found in Him. There is thus impressed upon 
 us a profounder sense than comes to us through 
 any other agency, of the infinite importance of 
 personal piety, — of a soul at peace with God, and 
 sustained by an immortal hope. 
 
 Has this lesson been sent home to any of our 
 hearts by God's death-angel? Has there gone 
 up, in our grief, fervent gratitude that our friend 
 was one whom the Lord loved, and for whom 
 death was but translation beyond the power of 
 death? Oh let it be our life-lesson, — our direc- 
 tory for all time to come, — our preparation for 
 our own last hour and closing scene. Over our 
 lifeless forms there will be like solemn thought 
 and anxious mquiry. What our surviving friends 
 will most yearn to know will be whether we fall 
 asleep in Jesus. Shall we die, and leave no sign ? 
 Oh let it be our life-aim and life-work so to order 
 our conversation here that there shall be only 
 trust and hope for us when we die, and that what 
 is felt for us shall be only the counterpart of the 
 fulness of joy into which we awake from the 
 death-slumber. 
 
• 
 10 
 
 Again, our friends who have gone before us to 
 Heaven speak to us of the reality of Heaven. 
 We may believe the promises of God, but never 
 with so realizing a faith as when those who have 
 been unspeakably dear to us have gone from us 
 to inherit the promises. If there were a shade 
 of scepticism before, it now passes aw^ay; for we 
 feel assured that so much excellence and loveli- 
 ness cannot have died, — that one so admirably 
 fitted for life cannot have been stricken from the 
 ranks of the living, — that so true and pure and 
 high an education of the spirit cannot have been 
 matured and perfected for the earth-clods to 
 cover, — that such powers of usefulness cannot 
 have been developed, except for a larger, loftier 
 sphere, — that a stewardship of earthly trusts so 
 faithfully discharged camiot but have been merged 
 in a stewardship of wider scope and for nobler 
 uses. We always think of such a friend as in 
 Heaven ; and one such argument can withstand 
 the assault of every doubt and of every form of 
 sophistry. I well knew a very old man of marked 
 acumen and ability, who, from early fanaticism, 
 passed, through a long ordeal of scepticism, to a 
 more rational fiith in his declining years, but 
 
11 
 
 who, when he had lost his hold on almost every- 
 thing else that was sacred^ still held unchanged 
 the belief in immortality, sustained by the grave 
 and memory of his devout parents, and was wont 
 through life to repeat and apply to himself the 
 line of Cowper, 
 
 "Tlie son of parents passed into tlie skies." 
 
 Nor is this all. Not only the belief, but the imag- 
 ination is quickened through the ministry of death. 
 Heaven seems nearer to us, and assumes more 
 lifelike forms to our thought, Avhen it is the home 
 of those who have here been the life and joy of 
 our household-circles. It is no longer the far- 
 away, dimly conceived possibility that it may 
 have been when oar affections had little or no 
 special property there ; but the veil is at times 
 Avithdrawn and never wholly replaced ; luminous 
 forms, the counterparts of those no longer with 
 us in tli^ body, pass in clear vision before us, 
 and wonted voices cry, "Come up hither." Our 
 affections will not part with their treasure, but 
 mount where the beloved have passed in, follow 
 where they have gone before, and, in vivid hope, 
 take possession where they had marked the way. 
 
12 
 
 There is, also, a surviving influence of the pure 
 and true, the devout and faithful, which remains 
 with us when they go from us, and which time 
 often only confirms and deepens. At first, the 
 feeling is that they have wholly passed away, — 
 that the voice which has been so blessedly efficient 
 to counsel, comfort and gladden, is forever silent, — 
 that for the presence withdrawn there is only 
 utter and cheerless desolation. But, as we return 
 to the ordinarj^ routine of life, we find that the 
 spirit of the departed is at our side. The accus- 
 tomed voice pulses upon the inward ear. What 
 the friend separated from us would have said, 
 the well-known tone and style of sentiment, 
 opinion and principle, the earnest preference in 
 this direction, the strong disesteem in that, — all 
 come vividly to our thought, and are, if possible, 
 a more sacred law to us, because impressed by the 
 solemn sanction of death and memory. An even, 
 uniform, thoroughly disciplined charax^ter thus 
 makes itself felt years and years after the seal of 
 death has been stamj)ed upon it, and an unseen 
 guidance, restraint, support, help and comfort 
 thus often complete and crown the earthly work 
 of those who seem to have been taken before 
 
13 
 
 their time, and to have left ca hirge j)art of their 
 work undone. 
 
 With these thoughts I cannot help connecting 
 that of a still more intimate conversance between 
 the dead and the living. Heaven may be a place, 
 for aught we know to the contrary ; but it is still 
 more a state, and one of its prime elements must 
 needs be an enlarged power of perception, cogni- 
 zance and activity. It must be Heaven wherever 
 the pure and happy spirit dwells, or moves, or 
 stays. And must not the deathless love of those 
 who go from us to the Lord keep them virtually 
 w^ith us, cognizant of what concerns our true w^ell- 
 being, watchful of our path, our trials and tempta- 
 tions, our success and progress ? Were this 
 wanting, would not Heaven be less than Heaven ? 
 Can Heaven have a greater joy than this, when 
 surviving kindred remain in sympathy with the 
 departed, and those on either side of the death- 
 river move on with even step, on the same path, 
 toward the same goal, — those on earth assured of 
 the fellowship of their friends who have passed on; 
 those in Heaven blending their prayer and praise 
 with the uttered and the voiceless worship of those 
 who have not yet put ofi' the earthly tabernacle? 
 
•l4 
 
 We know not how far God's spiritual adminis- 
 tration may be, like his outward Providence, 
 through agents or mediators. But if there be 
 guardian and ministrant angels, hosts of God that 
 encamp around us, messengers from him to the 
 souls of men, who are so likely to stand in that 
 office to us as those who, while they lived on earth, 
 were as angels of God to us, — whose ministries for 
 us were those of heavenly purity, faithfulness, and 
 love ? Thus may they, being dead, speak to us 
 in breathings of peace, and strength, and joy, — in 
 influences that energize and guide, comfort and 
 gladden, — in messages from the Father to the 
 souls which he has bound with them in a union 
 too sacred to be suspended even by death. 
 
 Among the dead, who, by their faith and piety, 
 still and ever speak, I know that your thoughts, 
 as well as my own, have rested on one whom you 
 have seldom, and I, till now, never missed from his 
 accustomed seat in this sanctuary ; in whose life 
 we have seen the beauty of holiness, and whose 
 example of Christian excellence death Avill, I trust, 
 embalm in enduring life-likeness in the memory 
 of all of us who revered and loved him. Though 
 the eulogy of private merit is seldom becoming in 
 
15 
 
 the pulpit, I know you would be unwilling that 
 he should ])iiss from you without special com- 
 memoration. Attached to this Church through 
 an honored ancestry, who, for several successive 
 generations, were worshippers and office-bearers 
 here, — separated from your communion only 
 during a few years of early manhood passed in 
 a distant city, — bearing an important part in the 
 several revisions of your liturgy, — loving your 
 discipline and order of divine service as pre- 
 eminently true to the teachings and spirit of our 
 common Christian faith, — the cherished friend of 
 all your pastors since your separation from the 
 English Church, — he can have left none more 
 intimately conversant, or more closely identified 
 with your history. 
 
 I cannot sj)eak at length of his pure taste, 
 his generous culture, his high literary attainments, 
 his skill and success as an author. These won 
 for him distinguished praise and honor ; and what 
 he accomplished so admirably in his leisure hours 
 might well awaken the regret that his ambition 
 was not equal to his ability, or that scholarly 
 pursuits had not been his business instead of his 
 recreation. 
 
IG 
 
 But, in this sacred presence, I would rather 
 remind you of those things in which we have 
 seen in him the spirit of his Divine Master, — of 
 his tender conscientiousness, his serenity and sweet- 
 ness of temper, his heart-coined courtesy of mien 
 and manner, his reverent love of God's Word and 
 ordinances, his diffusive benevolence, manifested 
 not only in gifts more than proportioned to his 
 ability, but in look, and word, and deed, in pro- 
 tracted and self-denying endeavor, in every form 
 and way in which he could make those around 
 him happier and better. Faults he may have had; 
 but who can name them ? Have we known one 
 who seemed more entirely blameless ? — one of 
 whom, as we look back on his finished course, we 
 can say with a richer fulness of meaning, " Mark 
 the perfect man, and behold the upright ?" 
 
 Ever on the watch for, or, I would rather say, by 
 the instinct of his religious consciousness ever spon- 
 taneously aware of, the opportunities of kindness, 
 he made his daily intercourse a ministry of Chris- 
 tian love. His careful and considerate offices of 
 friendship, in timely counsel and genial sympathy, 
 have been unspeakably precious, not only to those 
 who could proffer the title of kindred or established 
 
17 
 
 intimacy, but to very many whose need was their 
 only claim. There are those who owe all their 
 success in life to his early encouragement, his ad- 
 vice and instruction at forming or critical periods 
 of their career, his helping hand over steep and 
 rough passages of their way. In his modesty, he 
 loved to feel himself a debtor to his friends, that 
 he might seem to be discharging, wdiile conferring 
 an obligation. So entirely had thought for the 
 happiness of others become the pervading habit of 
 his life, that on his death-bed one of his last inqui- 
 ries w^as, wdio amono- his friends would be most 
 gratified by the gift of some beautiful spring- 
 flow^ers gathered by loving hands to be laid upon 
 his pillow. 
 
 We cannot but recoL>:nize in him a rare combina- 
 tion of the amenities and graces which constitute 
 that very highest style of man, the Christian gentle- 
 man. I use the word gentleriicm, because to my 
 mind it bears even a sacred significance, and I 
 would that it were employed to designate only that 
 polifeness — at once lofty and lowly, self-respecting 
 and deferential, heart-felt and heart-meant, shaping 
 look, word, tone, and manner from the inspiration 
 of an all-embracing charity — which is derived from 
 
18 
 
 communion ^vitIl Him in whom gentleness in all 
 human relations was the type and token of the 
 incarnate Divinitj^ This Christian gentleness, this 
 urhanity betokening a clenizenship of the heavenly 
 city, so characterized our friend, that one could 
 hardly look upon his clear brow and transparent, 
 benignant countenance, still less enter into even 
 transient conversation with him, and not take 
 knowledge of him that he had been with Jesus. 
 
 While we mourn his departure in the midst of 
 his usefulness, we yet cannot but be thankful that 
 he was called hence while his removal could be 
 so sadly felt by so many hearts, — before the light 
 of life had begun to grow dim, or its power to 
 become enfeebled. We would not, God willing, 
 that to a volume of life so fairly written, and 
 rounded to so beautiful a close, there should have 
 been a melancholy appendix of decline and infirm- 
 ity. Above all, we are thankful in the assurance 
 that for one who so made it " Christ to live," it 
 must have been " gain to die." Brethren, let us 
 be "followers of them who throuti-h faith ' and 
 patience inherit the i:)romises." 
 
Ix the death of Thomas Bulfinch ends, for this world, 
 a beautiful, unpretending, consistent Christian life. With 
 talents that might easily have made him distinguished, he 
 was always modest and unambitious. With uncommon 
 capacity for business, seeing clearly the means by which 
 those about him became rich, and, for many years, within 
 reach of a higher salary and opportunities of wealth, he 
 preferred a moderate income, Avith leisure for thought and 
 reading. Seemingly a solitary bachelor, he was always 
 stretching out a helping paternal hand to young men, who 
 had no claim upon him but that of a common humanity. 
 For many hours of every day, occupied with the details 
 of trade, his real day was given to study, to the highest 
 poetry of the ancients and the moderns, and to the history 
 of the thoughts and deeds of great men and heroes, not as 
 an idle amusement, but that he might gather thence facts 
 and principles for the guidance of the young to the more 
 complete understanding of much of the best of English 
 literature. Living in the world and with those occupied 
 w^ith worldly affairs, his favorite study was the Scriptures. 
 
 The life of such a man ought not to be suffered to be 
 forgotten, or to be remembered by only a few intimate 
 friends. It will be a pleasant duty, and it cannot be 
 unprofitable, to trace some of the influences under which 
 his character was formed; to inquire who were his 
 ancestors, and what were the circumstances in which his 
 earliest years were passed. 
 
20 
 
 The fiicts of his life are given by himself, witli liis 
 characteristic modesty, in the CLass-book for liis College 
 Class of 181-1:, of which he was Secretary. 
 
 Thomas Bulfinch, son of Charles Bulfinch, (H.U. 1781,) 
 was born on the 15th July, 1796, at Newton, Mass., where 
 his parents wei'C temporarily residing, their home being 
 in Boston, in which city they and their progenitors had 
 dwelt from almost the earliest settlement of the colony. 
 He was fitted for College at the Boston Latin School, and 
 at Exeter Academy. 
 
 After leaving Colleoe he served as Usher at the 
 Boston Public Latin School, of which our brother Gould 
 had been appointed Head Master, a few months before. 
 Here he continued fourteen months, and by the process 
 of teaching, deepened the impression of his College 
 studies. 
 
 At this time, (1815,) the Avar with England came to a 
 close, and the revival of trade in all its branches held out 
 temptations to embark in what seemed to promise a speedy 
 progress to competency and wealth. He yielded to the 
 temptation, and went into the store of his elder brother, 
 where he spent two years. In 1818, his father being 
 appointed Architect of the Capitol, at Washington, he 
 accompanied the family to that city, and there carried on 
 business for six years. Li 1825, he returned to Boston 
 and formed a partnership with Jose|)h Coolidge, (H. U. 
 1817,) which terminated in 1832. For five years more 
 he pursued the same occupation, but with poor success, 
 and was well contented to accept a clerkship in the Mer- 
 chants Bank of Boston, in 1837, which place he now holds. 
 
21 
 
 His tastes had always been literary, wliicli may in part 
 account for his ill success in commerce. His occupation 
 in the Bank allowed leisure, which he devoted to conge- 
 nial pursuits. 
 
 He became Secretary of the Boston Society of Natural 
 History, and for six years assiduously kept the records of 
 its proceedings. This led to a certain degree of acquaint- 
 ance with the Natural Sciences, and to the formation of 
 valuable intimacies. 
 
 In 1850, accident led him to a comparison of the version 
 of the Psalms used in the Prayer Book with more modern 
 versions. He pursued the investigation, and, in 1853, 
 published a small volume, entitled "Hebrew Lyrical 
 History, — or Select Psalms, arranged in the order of 
 the events to which they relate, with Introductions and 
 Notes." 
 
 This work, though but little noticed by the public, yet, 
 being commended by judicious friends, Mr. Bulfinch was 
 encouraged to the further use of his pen; and in 1855 
 published " The Age of Fable," a compend of Mythology. 
 This book was popular, and still holds Its place In the 
 bookstores. 
 
 A third work appeared In 1858. It was called "The 
 Age of Chivalry,'' and attempted to do for the legends of 
 the middle ages what the former work had done for those 
 of Pagan antiquity. The stories of King Arthur and his 
 knights were re-produced from old English literature, 
 with selections and modifications required by modern 
 taste. The sale of this Avork Avas also satisfactory. 
 
 The next of Mr. B's publications was entitled "The 
 Boy Inventor," a memoir of INIatthew Edwards, a youth 
 
99 
 
 of humble station but of rare endowments, in whose career, 
 arrested by an early death, Mr. B. took a warm interest. 
 
 So ends the notice in the Chiss-book. 
 
 "The Boy Inventor" appeared in 1860. The interest 
 which Mr. Bulfinch took in the youth whose story he has 
 here related, may be inferred from the facts that he had 
 Matthew's body buried in the family lot at Mt. Auburn, 
 and directed that his own grave should be next to that of 
 of this beloved pupil. 
 
 Nor was Matthew the only young man whom he aided 
 in the endeavor to obtain an education. Two others are 
 known, to whom his assistance has been scarcely less impor- 
 tant, and there Avere several other less prominent instances. 
 
 His "Legends of Charlemagne" appeared in 1863; 
 the beautiful collection called "Poetry of the Age of 
 Fable," in the same year; "Shakspeare adapted for 
 Eeading Classes," in 1865; and "Oregon and Eldorado, 
 or Romance of the Rivers," in 1866. 
 
 At the time of his decease he had made some progress 
 in the preparation of a Avork on the Heroes and Sages of 
 Greece and Rome. 
 
 Our certain knowledge of the family of Mr. Bulfinch 
 begins with Adino Bulfinch, a sail maker, by trade, and 
 a successful man and an influential citizen. He was chosen 
 Surveyor of Highways in Boston, in 1706, and again in 
 1708. 
 
 Thomas Bulfinch, his son, studied medicine in Paris, and 
 returned, in 1722, to Boston, where he thenceforth resided 
 
23 
 
 as a Physician, lie married Judith Colman, daughter 
 of John Cohiian, a distinguished merchant. Another of 
 Cohiian's daughters married Peter Chardon. The houses 
 built bv the two bridegrooms stood, side by side, in what 
 is now Bowdoin Square; Dr. Bulfinch's, where the Cool- 
 idge House now stands, and Mr. Chardon's, where the 
 Baptist Church is, at the corner of Chardon Street. 
 
 Thomas Bulfinch, son of the preceding, studied medi- 
 cine in Edinburgh, where he was an inmate of the family 
 of Dr. Robertson, afterwards the historian, of about the 
 same age, and his intimate comj)anion. Dr. Bulfinch 
 practiced, like his father, in Boston, and became distin- 
 guished as a physician. He married Susan, second 
 daughter of Charles Apthorp, Avho was boi'n in England, 
 in 1698, came to this country, and was an eminent 
 merchant, and paymaster and commissary of the British 
 forces here. His monument is in King's Chapel. By 
 his wife, Grizzell Eastwicke, he had a family of eighteen 
 children. 
 
 Dr. Bulfinch held the office of Justice of the Peace, 
 from the royal government, and afterwards from the 
 republican. He took the liberal side in politics, but 
 remained in Boston during the siege ; and from the roof 
 of his house in Bowdoin Square, his son Charles, then a 
 boy, witnessed the battle of Bunker Hill. Dr. Bulfinch 
 was Senior Warden of King's Chapel after the Revolution, 
 and was influential in the settlement of Dr. Freeman, to 
 whom, at his ordination, he delivered a Bible, bidding 
 him make that the guide of his instructions. 
 
 Charles Bulfinch, son of Dr. Thomas B., and father of 
 our lamented friend, was born August 8th, 1703. . He 
 
24 
 
 graduated at Harvard in 1781, then travelled in Europe, 
 where he developed and cultivated a taste for architecture. 
 On his return, he engaged in business, in partnership with 
 Mr. Joseph Barrell ; and they, with some others, organ- 
 ized the expedition of the shi])s Columbia and Washington 
 to the North-west Coast, which resulted in the discovery 
 of Columbia River, as related in the beginning of "Oregon 
 and Eldorado." 
 
 Iiiduloiiifv his architectural taste, Charles Bulfinch gave 
 plans for various buildings in Boston, among which, at an 
 early period, were the State House, the Theatre, long- 
 since destroyed, and the Catholic Church in Franklin 
 Street. There are still in the possession of the famil^^, a 
 gold medal, presented to him by the proprietors of the 
 Theatre, and a silver urn, from the congregation of the 
 Catholic Church, in acknowledgment of his plans, which, 
 in these instances, appear to have been gratuitous. 
 Besides his occupation as an architect, he was for 
 many years Chairman of the Selectmen of Boston and 
 Superintendent of Police. 
 
 The mother of Thomas Bulfinch was Hannah Apthorp, 
 eldest daughter of John Apthorp and of Hannah Green- 
 leaf Apthorp, who was daughter of Stephen Greenleaf, 
 High Sheriff of Suffolk under the royal government. 
 John Apthorp Avas son of Charles Apthorp, already 
 spoken of While Hannah Apthorp was still very 
 young, her parents, intending to spend a winter at the 
 South, for Mr. Apthorp's health, embarked for Charleston, 
 S. C, on board a vessel which was never heard of more. 
 
 She and her sister Frances, afterwards Mrs. Charles 
 Vaiighan, and her infant brother, the late Colonel John 
 
T. Aptliorp, were brouglit up by their grandfather, 
 Sheriff Greenleaf, a fine old gentleman, with some of the 
 sternness and formality of the old school, but with all its 
 integrity and firm principle too. He had spent his early 
 life in the performance of every social and domestic virtue, 
 and he devoted his old age to the education of his grand- 
 children. And never, perhaps, was children's education 
 more faithfully attended to. The elevated character and 
 tone of thought, and the pure and finished style both in 
 prose and poetry, as Avell as the accomplishments, of 
 the two granddaughters, show that nothing had been 
 omitted. They dwelt in his house on Tremont Street, 
 Avhere the United States Court House now stands, and 
 Mrs. Balfinch remembered, in her old age, how she and 
 the other children were sent, during the siege of Boston, 
 to the North End, as a safer part of the town, for, as the 
 British troops were encamped on the Common, that point 
 was the especial mark of the American artillery. 
 
 She married her cousin, Charles Bulfinch, November 
 20th, 1788, and had eleven children, of whom seven 
 attained maturity. 
 
 Mrs. Bulfinch is represented by all who remember her, 
 and none who knew her can forget, as a noble woman, 
 of delicate, native dignity, of the most refined and charm- 
 ing manners, with a sweet low voice which won and 
 captivated all Avho approached her, especially children, 
 and seemed to say, come, my child, if there is anything 
 to grieve you, tell me, and let me help to remove it. It 
 was impossible to resist her, and she went about as a 
 ministering angel, softening all asperities and reconciling 
 differences, a true peacemaker, persuading those to con- 
 
 4 
 
26 
 
 tinue friends, who, but for her, might have ceased to be so. 
 She was naturally a person of great vivacity and exuber- 
 ance of spirits; but, before the birth of Thomas, tliese 
 had been tempered in the discipline of Providence, by 
 the loss of several children and of a large fortune, and 
 only showed themselves in the liveliness, often brilliancy, 
 of her conversation and of her letters. She sang very 
 sweetly, and played upon the piano and upon the guitar 
 with taste and skill. After the loss of her fortune, she 
 went little into general society, but devoted herself, in a 
 circle of dear and admiring friends, to the duties of her 
 home, and especially to the happiness of her husband, and 
 the "temporal and eternal interests of her children." 
 
 Mr. Bullinch's father was a man of taste and liberal 
 culture. Besides the ofhce of Chairman of the Selectmen 
 of Boston, which he held for twenty-one successive years, 
 he was, for thirteen years, Architect of the Capitol at 
 Washington. He was, in the latter part of his life, of 
 very retired habits, and a great reader, but only of the 
 choicest books. 
 
 Thomas Bulfinch entered Harvard College in 1810, 
 and had a respectable rank in the class to which belonged 
 the historian Prescott, Pev. Drs. Greenwood and Lamson, 
 Judge Merrick, and other distinguished men, several of 
 whom are still living. One who knew him well and who 
 is a nice judge of character, says of him, "In college, as 
 ever afterwards, he was one of the gentlest, kindest, purest 
 men I ever knew; indeed, I am Inclined to think, abso- 
 lutely the most so. This was partly owing, I suppose, to 
 his happy natural constitution, which made all excesses 
 
and irrcti'ularlties as offensive to his taste as to liis 
 conscience. 
 
 "Such being the character of our friend, you will not 
 need to be informed that he took no part in college dissi- 
 pations or disorders. His rank in the class as a scholar 
 was very respectable ; and would have been higher, if his 
 ingrained modesty had permitted him to assert it. The 
 branches in which he excelled were classical learning and 
 English literature, — branches which he continued to 
 cultivate to the end of his life, and in which he had few 
 superiors." 
 
 The President of the College at that time was Dr. 
 Kirkland. Two of the professors were the fine Latin 
 scholar Levi Frisbie, and the admirable, unsurpassed 
 lecturer John Farrar, the latter of whom always enter- 
 tained an affection and a high regard for Mr. Bulfinch. 
 These were men of genius; very unlike, but all of 
 enlarged views, of warm and genial feelings, of high and 
 generous character, of courteous manners. Who shall 
 measure the influence of such men upon susceptible 
 natures in the forming period of youth? 
 
 Just before the class left College, in 1816, one of their 
 number, Benjamin Apthorp Gould, a most respectable 
 scholar, was chosen Master of the Latin School in Boston. 
 This appointment was an event of great moment, not 
 only to the prosperity of that school, but to the advance 
 of classical learning throughout New England. The 
 standard immediately rose in the school, not only of 
 scholarship, but, what is fiir more important, of good 
 manners, manliness and moral excellence. To this change 
 Mr. Gould largely contributed by his own pure and 
 
28 
 
 elevated qualities as a man, and liis high character as 
 a gentleman. 
 
 And he found a fit associate in ISIr. Bulfinch, one of 
 whose pupils in that school has still a clear remembrance 
 of his gentleness and fidelity, and of feeling himself drawn 
 towards learning and excellence by his winning manners. 
 Mr. Bidfinch continued to have a remarkable aptness 
 to teach and fondness for teaching, and was, probably 
 always, certainly in the latter part of his life, very success- 
 ful as a teacher, as he showed in several instances, by 
 aiding gratuitously and most efficiently the eiforts of de- 
 serving young men. His patience, his skill in the use of 
 language, the. consequent clearness of his explanations, 
 his extensive knowledge, and, above all, his sincere and 
 disinterested kindness, never fiiiled to attract and interest 
 his pupils. If he had devoted his life to this vocation, 
 there can be little doubt that he would have had dis- 
 tinguished success. 
 
 While Mr. Bulfinch was usher in the Latin School, 
 Edward Everett, Avho had just been appointed professor 
 of Greek literature at Cambridge, set sail for Europe, on 
 his visit to Greece, On his departure, Mr. Bulfinch 
 addressed to him, in the measures and spirit of Hoi-ace, 
 a Latin Ode, wdiich may be taken as a fair specimen of 
 his classical scholarship. The translation, in the note, 
 discloses its parentage by the initials attached to it. 
 
 Au E. E. TEIl GrECIAM ITEH FACIENTEM. 
 
 (J tu, bcat;e sortis et anliuv, 
 Qui nunc fugaccs pcrscqiicvis clioros, 
 Per prata, per valles Achivas, 
 
 rieridum, tiaiidasque Nymphns ! 
 
29 
 
 Quo vcr.'is crrans ? Thrciciis jugis 
 A^isas opacis robora frondihus, 
 Ornosvc, qiui' fliorda' sequaces 
 CEagvii sahicre vatis ? 
 
 Ant i'ontis oram Castalii pvcmis, 
 Ilaurirc tentaiis, nee vetita maiiu, 
 Undas sacratas ; et Canicnis 
 Do proprio vclut aiiine libans ? 
 
 Lustrasve Atlicnis iiiclj'ta Palladis 
 Delubi-a, sanctos aut Acaderaire 
 Lucos percrras, et Platonis 
 Grandiloqui vencrare sedes"? 
 
 Quocunquc cursum, per tumidum mare 
 Per grata Musis litora, per juga, 
 Flectas, memento Patriae., nam 
 To procul, atquc domi, tuetur.* 
 
 *To E. E., TRAVELLING IN GrEECE. 
 
 thou of arduous lot and fair, 
 
 Whose step tlirough Grecian vale pursues 
 
 The graceful phantoms wandering there, 
 The timid Nympli, the fleeting Muse, — 
 
 Where turn'st thou ? Seeking to explore 
 
 On Thracian hills the oak trees' shade, 
 Or ashen groves, that moved of yore 
 
 As the high strains of Orpheus bade ? 
 
 Or by the fount of Castaly, 
 
 With hand whose right the Muses gave. 
 Drinking and pouring gratefully 
 
 Libations from their own briglit wave ? 
 
 Or wandering where Ilissus' stream 
 
 Murmurs by Pallas' shrine of fame, 
 Kncjpl'st thou in bowers of Academe, 
 
 Invoking Plato's mighty name ? 
 
 In valleys to the Muses dear, 
 
 On mountain height or swelling sea. 
 Think of thy land, for, far or near. 
 
 With looks of love she follows thee! 
 
 [Translated by S. G. V,. 
 
30 
 
 Of the occupations of his leisure hours, through his 
 many years of mercantile life in Boston and Washington, 
 we know only from conjecture. The familiarity he shows, 
 in his jiublished works, with history and with Latin, 
 Italian, and English literature, indicates clearly enough 
 what they must often have been. 
 
 AVe know that he was always devoted to his friends ; 
 and an aftcctionate, faithful, and dutiful son. During the 
 declining years of his parents, he resided constantly with 
 them, refused offers of emolument which would have 
 separated him from them, and in his tender reverence, 
 almost filled to them the place of the daughter they had 
 lost. lie was a loving brother, unwearied in his atten- 
 tions to any one of his family in distress or laboring under 
 disease, and constantly and in every way thoughtful and 
 kind. He was always mindful of the poor, and most 
 liberal in his charities, both of time and money. 
 
 Indeed his peculiar and distinguishing virtue was a 
 gentle benevolence, an affectionate interest in others — 
 friends or strangers, especially in such as he could effect- 
 ually aid. Hence his life was never unfruitful; when he 
 was living most for himself it was when preparing to live 
 better for others. lie had a most catholic spirit ; though 
 strongly attached, by education and by habit, to the 
 orthodoxy of a Church Liturgy, he had unbounded charity 
 for those who differed from him, cither in believing more 
 or in holding to less. 
 
 One of those who knew him most intimately, says — 
 "The generous feelings of ]Mr. Bulfinch and his warm 
 sympathy with the oppressed, made him deeply interested 
 in the Anti-slavery movement, in its early period of diffi- 
 
culty and discourngemcnt. Afterwards, his gentle spirit 
 turned grsidually from the discussions that ensued, to the 
 quiet literary pursuits that he loved so well. Not long- 
 since, when a friend asked him why he did not join in the 
 triumphs of the party of which he was an early member, 
 he replied, 'I stood by Mr. Garrison when it was danger- 
 ous to a man's social position to be seen in his company. 
 Now, he has friends enough, and does not need me.' " 
 
 The manners of Mr. Bulfinch were natural and unas- 
 suming, uniting the urbanity which comes from daily 
 intercourse with men of the world, from all countries 
 and of all pursuits, with the refinement which belongs 
 to those of gentle birth, and the delicacy which, even 
 in the roughest natures, springs from high and pure 
 thoughts and elevating studies, and especially from 
 a familiarity with the best literature of ancient and 
 modern nations. Whoever has carefully observed young 
 men sfathered tosrether in laroe numbers from all walks 
 of life, and all parts of a great country, and living in 
 intimate intercourse with each other and with the gentle- 
 men and scholars who sometimes have, and always'should 
 have, charge of their discipline and instruction, will recog- 
 nize this truth, — will remember the beautiful change 
 which shows itself in their language, and which gradually 
 comes over their countenance, their movements, their 
 manners, and their whole bearing. This is- the most 
 important eifect of a public education; and a most essen- 
 tial element in the agencies Avhicli produce it is the 
 character and manners of the teachers, showing that it 
 is even more important that they should be gentlemen 
 than that they should be distinguished scholars. How 
 
many young men, who fail of attaining scholarship, are 
 elevated, refinetl and made gentlemen by these influences 
 of a truly liberal education. 
 
 In reference to Mr. Bulfinch's first printed work, 
 "Hebrew Lyrical History," he says, in a letter to a 
 friend, "In order to do justice to the investigation, I 
 studied German, and imported several volumes of the 
 critics of that languao;e, that I mioht have the benefit of 
 their aid. I was careful to keep my learning out of sight, 
 and not one word of any foreign language deforms my 
 page." 
 
 Mr. Bulfinch seems to have taken his first idea of his 
 Avorks upon Mythology from a sentence of Burke, 
 which he liked to quote: "The Grecian Mythology is 
 so intimately connected Avitli the Avorks of the greatest 
 poets, that it Avill continue to be interesting as long as 
 classical poetry exists, and must form an indispensable 
 part of the education of the man of literature and of the 
 gentleman." The plan Avhich came from this suggestion 
 was enlarged so as to include the j)oetic fables of the 
 Middle Ages, for Italy, France, the British Islands, and 
 the North of Europe. His object shall be stated in his 
 own words. 
 
 In the preface to the Age of Fable, he says — 
 "If that which tends to make us liapjjier and better can be called useful, 
 
 then we claim that epithet for our sul)ject. For Mytholojxy is the handmaid 
 
 to literature ; and literature is one of the best allies of virtue and promoters 
 
 of happiness. ***** 
 
 " Without a knowledge of mytholog}' much of the elegant literature of 
 
 our own language ca-mot be understood and appreciated. * * * 
 
 "But how is mythology to be taught to one who docs not learn it 
 tln-ough the medium of tlie langmges of Greece and Rome"? 
 
"Our book is an attempt to solve this problem, by telling- the stories of 
 mythology in such a manner as to make them a source of amusement. 
 We have endea^■ored to tell them correctly, according to the ancient 
 authorities, so that when the reader finds tlicm referred to he may not be 
 at a loss to recognize the reference. Thus we hope to teach mythology 
 not as a study, but as a relaxation from study; to give our work the charm 
 of a story-book, yet, by means of it, to impart a knowledge of an important 
 branch of education. ***** 
 
 " It is not for the learned, nor for the theologian, nor for the philosopher, 
 but for the reader of English literature, of either sex, who wishes to com- 
 prehend the allusions so frequently made by public speakers, lecturers, 
 essayists, and poets, and those which occur in polite conversation." 
 
 In the prefixce to the Age of Chivalry, the author says, 
 
 " It is believed that this presentation of a literature wliicli held unrivalled 
 SAvay over the imaginations of our ancestors, for many centuries, will not be 
 without benefit to the reader, in addition to the amusement it may afford. 
 Tlie tales, thougli not to be trusted for their facts, are worthy of all credit as 
 pictures of manners ; and it is beginning to be held that the manners and 
 modes of thinking of an age are a more important part of its history than 
 the conflicts of its peoples, generally leading to no result. Besides this, the 
 literature of romance is a ti'casure-house of poetical material, to which 
 modern poets frc(juently resort." 
 
 In the Legends of Chark^magne, he adds, — 
 
 "Besides the education whicli scliools and colleges impart, there is still 
 another kind necessary to completeness. It is that Avhich has for its object 
 a knowledge of polite literature. In the intercourse of polished society a 
 young person will more frequently need an acquaintance with the creations 
 of fancy than with the discoveries of science or the speculations of philosophy. 
 
 "In an age when intellectual darkness enveloped Western Europe, a con- 
 stellation of brilliant writers arose in Italy. Of these, Pulci, Boiardo, and 
 Ariosto took for their subjects the romantic fables which had for many ages 
 been transmitted in the lays of bards and the legends of monkish chroniclers. 
 These fables they arranged in oi'der, adorned with the embellishments of 
 fancy, amplified from their own invention, and stamped with immortality. 
 It may safely be asserted, that as long as civilization shall endure, these 
 productions will retain their place among the most cherished creations of 
 human genius. 
 
 " This volume is intended to carry out the same design as the two preced- 
 ing works. Like them it aspires to a higher character than that of a work 
 of mere amusement. It claims to be useful, in acquainting its readers with 
 the subjects of the works of the great poets of Italy. Some knowledge of 
 these is expected of every well-educated young person." 
 
34 
 
 The design of the author is very faithfully and very 
 successfully carried out. In the introductions and prefaces 
 he gives enough of the true history to prevent the reader 
 from mistaking the fancies of the poets for the literal 
 truth of facts. With the highest purpose and the purest 
 and most delicate taste he instructs and amuses without 
 for a moment misleading. And he writes in a style true 
 to his own character, and in clear, transparent, beautiful 
 Enojlish. 
 
 These books have deservedly become classics, and every 
 library for young persons would be very deficient Avithout 
 them. In the Age of Fable, particularly, the author has 
 done a thing which has often been attempted, and never 
 before so satisfactorily performed. He has gathered from 
 tlie dangerous mythology of the Greeks and Eomans, 
 with discriminate and tasteful selection, that and that 
 only which every well educated person ought to know. 
 
 Mr. Bulfinch kept on his laborious, useful course to 
 the end. He sometimes talked of resigning his place in 
 the bank, not from indolence or weariness, but that he 
 might have more time for his friends and for study, and 
 lest he should be found doing ill the work he was scrupu- 
 lously resolved to do faithfully. 
 
 Looking back upon the events which preceded his 
 birth, we may learn one of the lessons that Heaven is 
 still teaching us. The loss of their wealth seemed to his 
 parents a misfortune, and was felt as such. But, without 
 that loss, would his mother have become so single-hearted 
 and saint-like ? Would Thomas have been, in mind and 
 
O'J 
 
 in spirit, so Avell and so liigbly educated ? Would he 
 have become the patient, diligent, thoughtful student 
 that he was, so full of feeling for the trials and hardships 
 of others, so sympathetic, so ready to aid and so capable 
 of aiding ? 
 
 It Avas happy for him, it is happy for us that he con- 
 tinued, to the last, in the entire and cheerful possession of 
 all his faculties; with no wandering, no weakness, no 
 melancholy, no estrangement, no forgctfulness ; genial to 
 his friends, kind and gracious to all. 
 
 Our last remembrance of him is as pleasant as the 
 pleasantest. To us, and to all, he was, to the end, a true 
 man, a Christian gentleman. 
 
 The following touching lines are by a member of Mr. 
 Bulfinch's class, at the " Christian Union," of which their 
 writer has a grateful remembrance. He attended the 
 funeral and conveys in these verses his impressions of the 
 scene. 
 
 THOMAS BULFINCH. 
 
 A TKIBUTE. 
 
 BV IIIAKLKS WIl.l.rAM liUTI.En. 
 
 This is not deatli. 'Tis pleasant sleep. 
 O why should we who love him weep i 
 This frame may sink back to the sod, 
 The soul has risen to its God! 
 
 How beautiful these featui'cs ai'e! 
 And radiant as sonic morning star, 
 That from the east its light has shed 
 To tell the gloom of night has lied! 
 
30 
 
 How beautiful his life has been, — 
 So free from touch and deed of sin; 
 How beautiful the soul-lit smile 
 That lingers on tliese lips the while! 
 
 How beautiful his presence seemed, 
 The true ideal we have dreamed 
 A human life perchance might be. 
 Though tossed on Time's tempestuous sea. 
 
 How fitting ai'C these hymns and prayei'S, 
 That speak his rest from mortal cares; 
 For he has passed the valley dim, 
 And sung, ere this, the triumph hymn. 
 
 One look, — the last we give him here; 
 Yet in the spirits' gathering sphere. 
 In worlds where not one dear life dies, 
 Our risen friend shall meet our eyes! 
 
Ho 
 
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