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Toftt of tljt SRjiatrteir 
 
 A SERMON 
 
 PREACHED IN TRINITY CHURCH, BOSTON, 
 
 ON SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 1830; 
 
 ON OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF 
 
 THE LATE RECTOR, 
 
 THE REVEREND 
 
 JOHN SYLVESTER JOHN GARDINER, D. D. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE, A. M. 
 
 ASSISTANT MINISTER. 
 
 PUBLISHED AT THE REQUEST OF THE CONGREGATION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 SAMUEL H. PARKER. 
 
 1830 . 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/voiceofdepartedsOOdoan 
 
B , 
 
 SERMON. 
 
 HEBREWS, XI, 4. 
 
 HE, BEING DEAD, YET SPEAKETH. 
 
 God forbid that it should not be so! God forbid 
 that there should be no voice, even from the grave 
 of wisdom, virtue, piety, to cheer and guide us in the 
 path they trod! God forbid that there should be 
 power in the all-grasping sepulchre, to shut in, with 
 the poor perishable body, the immortal spirit which 
 informed and animated it! But no, it is not so— 
 thank God !—it is not so. Jesus has been made in¬ 
 carnate, Jesus has died, Jesus has risen again—and 
 even the grave, the grave is eloquent! Precious, 
 glorious, triumphant truth! Socrates hoped for it. 
 Cicero reasoned of it. Paul, standing by the desert¬ 
 ed tomb of Jesus Christ, asserted it:—“ now is Christ 
 risen from the dead, and become the first fruits,”— 
 the earnest, the example, the forerunner—“of them 
 that sleep.” Be of good cheer, then, Christian 
 mourners! “ Your dead men shall live.” Shall, do I 
 
 BURTON HIST. COLLECTION 
 DETROIT 
 
 EXCHANGE DUPLICATE 
 
4 
 
 say ? They are not dead. They cannot die. “ God 
 is not a God of the dead, but of the living—for all 
 live to him.” They live to God. They live to 
 themselves. They live to us—cheering our hearts 
 by the remembered music of their voices, guiding our 
 footsteps by the lingering light of their example. 
 The stone, rolled from the sepulchre by power di¬ 
 vine, is rolled away forever. The grave has ceased 
 to be a prison, for its doors stand open. They open 
 upward. It is the way to heaven. Nor are they 
 closed to us. They open to our ears and to our 
 hearts. There is a voice that issues from them, as 
 from an oracle divine, to stir our inmost souls. It is 
 the deep, resistless eloquence of our beloved and lost. 
 “ Being dead,” they speak to us. They admonish 
 us that life is short—and bid us be prepared to fol¬ 
 low them. They admonish us that its paths are 
 dark, and dubious, and slippery—and bid us to walk 
 uprightly and firmly, with constant watchfulness and 
 care. They admonish us that its responsibilities are 
 infinite, and awful—and bid us look beyond our¬ 
 selves for light and strength,for mercy and forgiveness, 
 They admonish us that its issues are eternal, irrevoc¬ 
 able, unchangeable—and they exhort us, as we aspire 
 to wear the glorious “ crown of everlasting life,” 
 that we continue 44 faithful unto death.” 
 
 It is on such a summons, Christian brethren, that 
 we are gathered here to-day. Our spiritual guide, 
 our friend beloved, our venerated father, has been 
 taken from us. He has gone to his rest, in a strange 
 and distant land. His sepulchre, by a mysterious 
 dispensation of the All-wise, is not with us. The 
 spot which should have been moistened by our tears, 
 
5 
 
 and hallowed in our hearts, was decked by the hands, 
 and consecrated by the prayers of strangers. Yet, 
 from that distant, solitary grave, there comes a voice 
 that finds a pulse in all our bosoms. It is not lost 
 amid the billows of the dark Atlantic. It is not spent 
 upon the fury of careering winds. It reaches, it per¬ 
 vades, it melts our hearts. To us, brethren of the 
 congregation—to you, the chosen flock of all his 
 care ; to me, the sharer of his confidence and of his toil 
 —the tenant of that tomb, though dead, yet speaks. 
 He speaks to us of himself—and bids us sorrow not 
 for him, even as others who have no hope, for in the 
 grave there is rest; rest for the homesick wanderer’s 
 weary feet, rest for the body, racked by pain, or worn 
 by slow disease, rest for the toil-spent spirit in the 
 bosom of its God. He speaks to us of ourselves, of 
 our present duties, of our future hopes, of our eternal 
 destinies—and bids us go, right onward, in the path 
 of faith, of hope, of charity, of obedience, of patient 
 submission to the will of the Almighty, of humble 
 confidence in the arrangements of the All-merciful; 
 that, through the atoning merits of the Saviour, we 
 may, at last, receive the welcome sentence, 44 Enter, 
 good and faithful servants, into the joy and glory of 
 your Lord !” Brethren, let not these solemn admoni¬ 
 tions, consecrated by distance, consecrated by sor¬ 
 row, consecrated by death, be addressed to you in 
 vain. The voice of him, from out whose grave they 
 come to you, listened to so often, listened to with so 
 much satisfaction, can never speak to you again. 
 These sacred places, which have known him so long, 
 which have known him so well, can know him now 
 no more forever.. Your eyes, accustomed from in- 
 
6 
 
 fancy to behold his well known features, or calling up, 
 from memory’s pictured treasures, his accustomed 
 figure, as among the most familiar objects of your 
 manhood’s intercourse, shall see his face no more. 
 Let us recall, then, while the time permits, the fading 
 traces of the past. Let us arrest, while yet one 
 echo lingers, the instructions of that once eloquent 
 tongue. It will appeal to you by sympathies which 
 none on earth can claim. It will awaken in your 
 bosoms memories that have slept perhaps for years. 
 It will bring back the venerable forms of aged pa¬ 
 rents ; and fair visions of beloved ones that faded in 
 their full blown beauty, as the rainbow fades; and 
 shadowy images, but dimly visible, of buds of inno¬ 
 cence and loveliness, that were but half disclosed be¬ 
 fore the tempest shook them from the tree of life. 
 But, Brethren, though it cost “ some natural tears,” 
 shun not the magic glass which memory holds. It 
 is a holy and permitted spell. It is an inspiration 
 that befits the time, the place, the persons, the oc¬ 
 casion. The eye, thus practised, will turn less ea¬ 
 gerly to gaze upon the passing pageantry of life— 
 will fix a keener, steadier, more hopeful, more resolv¬ 
 ed contemplation on the abiding splendours of the 
 excellent glory. The heart, thus influenced, will 
 engage with less devotion in the feverish strifes of 
 earth; will hold in truer and more chastened estima¬ 
 tion the pursuits of time ; and seek with more de¬ 
 termined purpose to be fitted for that high and holy 
 place, where, when the final trump has sounded, we 
 hope forever to repair the void which death has now 
 laid open in our aching breasts. 
 
 The reverend and lamented object of our thoughts, 
 —and, if he and we had not been Christians, I might 
 
7 
 
 add of our regrets,—though a long life of honour and 
 happiness and usefulness identified him with this, 
 his favourite city, was not a native of it. His ances¬ 
 tors, long back, respectable farmers of Lincolnshire, 
 in England, had indeed made this the country of 
 their adoption, at an early period of its settlement. 
 And his grandfather, Sylvester Gardiner,* though a 
 native of Rhode Island, long resident in Boston, as a 
 physician, in eminent and extensive practice ; and his 
 father, John Gardiner, born here, might naturally in¬ 
 duce the supposition that it was his birth place also. 
 It was however, as you are well aware, the common 
 practice, among such as could afford it, anterior to 
 the war of the revolution, to send their sons “home,” 
 as the natural expression was, to receive their educa¬ 
 tion. For this purpose, John Gardiner went, at an 
 early age, to England, and having studied law at the 
 Inner Temple, and been admitted to the bar with 
 great prospect of success, was married to a lady of a 
 respectable Welsh family of the name of Harris ; and 
 their eldest son, the late Rev. John Sylvester John 
 Gardiner, D. D. was thus born, in the month of 
 June, as I am led to believe, in the year 1765, at 
 Haverford (or, as it is commonly called, Harford) 
 West, in South Wales. John Gardiner was a whig 
 in politics, and a dissenter in religion ; and finding 
 these circumstances an impediment to his advance¬ 
 ment at home, and having received the honourable 
 appointment of Attorney General of the island of St. 
 Christopher, removed thither, soon after the birth of 
 his son ; where, he continued to reside, until the war 
 between the Colonies and Great Britain ended. 
 
 *See Note I. 
 
8 
 
 From the West Indies, the son came, at five years of 
 age, and about the year 1770, to the grandfather, then 
 resident here—and having remained at school until his 
 eighth or ninth year, after a short visit to his father at 
 St. Christopher’s, was sent to complete his studies un¬ 
 der the direction of that eminent scholar,and extraordi¬ 
 nary disciplinarian, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Parr. 
 Placed here, within the reach of the best aliments of a 
 profound classical education, his mental growth was 
 rapid, healthy, vigorous; and the pupil then, and 
 in all after years, approved himself well worthy 
 of the master. Nor was the school at Norwich to 
 him an intellectual palcestra merely. “ The elements 
 were so mixed in him” that, while his mind was 
 wrestling with the mighty masters of philosophy and 
 of the lyre, and gathering force and grace from the con¬ 
 tinual struggle, the buoyant spirit of his youth, and his 
 inherited physical powers, made him foremost in all 
 sports of strength and skill, of prompt activity, and 
 of enduring patience—and, while the foundation was 
 thus laid of a healthful manhood, and deferred old 
 age, the firm and well-compacted frame became the 
 fair expression of the active and athletic mind that 
 had its residence within. From Dr. Parr’s school, 
 the subject of this notice returned to his father, in 
 the West Indies, and, about the year 1783, and pro¬ 
 bably in his eighteenth year, came with him to Bos¬ 
 ton ; thenceforward to be, for more than forty years, 
 his happy home. In compliance with the wishes of 
 his father, his attention was first turned to the study 
 of the Law; which, for a short time, he pursued, part¬ 
 ly with his father, and partly in the office of the late 
 Judge Tudor. But, his inclination leaning to the 
 
9 
 
 sacred office, he pursued, subsequently, with his fath¬ 
 er’s approbation, the study of Theology—and, having 
 officiated for some time as lay-reader at Pownalboro’ 
 in Maine, was admitted to holy orders in 1787, by 
 the Rt. Rev. Dr. Provoost, the Bishop of New-York. 
 His first labours in the ministry w ere in the parish of 
 St. Helena, Beaufort, South Carolina, but I am un¬ 
 certain of how great duration. The Greene Founda¬ 
 tion, for the support of a constant Assistant Minister 
 to the Rector of Trinity Church, established in 1763, 
 by the excellent Thomas Greene, Esq., and now 
 grown to be a noble monument of his wise and pious 
 generosity, being at this period vacant, the Rev. 
 Mr. Gardiner was, in 1792, unanimously elected 
 Assistant to the Incumbent, the Rev. Dr. Parker.— 
 The income of the Foundation being then inadequate 
 to his support, the Assistant Minister added to his la¬ 
 bours in the parish the arduous, but most honourable, 
 employment of a teacher—first, in a large and highly 
 popular classical school, and then, in a class of se¬ 
 lect pupils, taught at his own house. From the pe¬ 
 riod of the Revolution, classical learning had greatly 
 declined. The teachers were themselves imperfectly 
 instructed. The schools were few, and poorly 
 taught. He brought to the great work stores of 
 learning, an experience rich and ripe in the best 
 methods of instruction, and an ardent love of the 
 pursuit. His school soon acquired great reputation. 
 His pupils were numerous. They entered high at 
 the University. They commended to others the in¬ 
 struction and the discipline they had themselves en¬ 
 joyed. From the establishment of his school the 
 revival, in this community, of classical learning, may 
 2 
 
10 
 
 be dated.* The spontaneous tribute of two Univer¬ 
 sities, offering to the scholar of Parr their academic 
 honours—the one so near that its judgment could not 
 be uninformed, the other so remote that its appro¬ 
 bation could not be partial—were the immediate and 
 gratifying testimonies to his good service in the 
 cause of letters. Their living and enduring monu¬ 
 ment stands in the affectionate remembrance of his 
 still surviving pupils, and in the high and honourable 
 stations which some of them are now sustaining in 
 the public eye. Upon the death of Dr. Parker, who, 
 in the latter part of his most valuable life, was raised 
 to the Episcopate, the Rev. Dr. Gardiner, was, by 
 unanimous consent, made Rector, and inducted to 
 that office, on the fifteenth of April, in the year 1805. 
 The public school was now relinquished for the 
 course of private education. But the office which 
 he had left was, at his request, kept vacant, and he 
 himself continued to discharge alone the duties of 
 his arduous station; the fund being left to increase, 
 that his successor, might never be compelled to experi¬ 
 ence the privations,or to endure the double labour which 
 had fallen to his share. With what acceptance he dis¬ 
 charged these duties, how highly his services were 
 appreciated, how deep, and strong, and widely-spread 
 was the conviction of his talents, his attainments, 
 and his virtues, let this congregation, honouring him 
 when with them, sympathising with him when ab¬ 
 sent, lamenting him when dead, be suffered to bear 
 witness. Or, if the testimony of friends be partial, 
 let the public voice, the voice of all who were ad¬ 
 mitted to his acquaintance, the respect and reverence 
 
 *See Note II. 
 
11 
 
 of a whole community, be permitted to declare.— 
 That a man, holding so long an eminent and enviable 
 office, bearing himself in all its duties with perfect 
 fearlessness and independence upon person, rank or 
 station, expressing always with the utmost frankness, 
 and defending with the utmost ardour, sentiments and 
 claims which often were at variance with the convic¬ 
 tions of those with whom he had habitual intercourse, 
 should leave no enemy behind, should leave no one 
 acquaintance who did not mourn his loss, is evidence 
 to all mens’ minds, that cannot be disputed, either 
 of singular prudence to conciliate esteem, or of sin¬ 
 gular ability and virtue to command it. It was not 
 till our friend approached his grand climacteric, that 
 his physical energies began to fail—that an unwont¬ 
 ed cloud was seen to hang upon the brow that had 
 been always clear and radiant—that a weight, as of 
 accumulated years, seemed added to the step that had 
 been ever free and firm—and, evidence unquestion¬ 
 able to all who knew him, that he himself felt the 
 incipient failure,—that he was willing to share with 
 an Assistant the labours and anxieties of his great 
 charge. How promptly and assiduously he still con¬ 
 tinued to perform his part—how, till the last, he 
 cherished the fond hope of rallying again his wonted 
 energies—how, when the completion of this second 
 temple seemed to form a crisis in our condition, he 
 threw himself, feeble as he was, like an old Roman 
 soldier, into the imminent breach, and bore trium¬ 
 phantly the heat, the hazard, and the honour of the 
 day, all you who hear me know. But the desperate 
 struggle was unequal. He had an enemy to cope 
 with, who could sap as well as storm. He was 
 
12 
 
 compelled to yield. A winter’s respite from exertion 
 was submitted to. The best succours of the heal¬ 
 ing art were put in requisition. Still, there was no 
 relenting of the insidious malady. As a last resort, 
 a voyage to Europe was resolved on—and he sailed, 
 with the opening spring, with our best prayers, to 
 speed him on his way, and bring him back to us in 
 health and joy. But the God, by whom all prayers 
 are heard, answers them in his own wisdom, and 
 in his own way. He arrived at Liverpool, no 
 better. He hastened to London for advice—and 
 received there, from kind friends whom he found, 
 or made, every solace and attention which his 
 weakness needed, or their assiduity could yield. 
 —From London he was sent to Harrowgate, to try 
 its mineral waters. But God did not design 
 his restoration to us, and the healing angel could 
 not bless the wave. In vain for him, in vain for us, 
 were practised skill, or foreign climes, or friendly 
 assiduities, or filial piety, or conjugal devotion. His 
 days were numbered. His last sands trembled to 
 their fall. His lamp of life was flickering to go out. 
 The malady which mined in secret, reached at last 
 the seat of life. There was no strife, no struggle. 
 One by one, the cords were sundered, till the last gave 
 way. Drop by drop, the vital stream ebbed out, 
 until the channel was left dry. On the 28th of July, 
 he had been apparently as usual, but waking with a 
 sensation of faintness, sunk from that time grad¬ 
 ually away, and, at the hour of nine, on the morning 
 of the 29th, breathed out, without a struggle or a 
 groan, his parting spirit—and, on the 31st, all that 
 was mortal of our friend, was, by strange hands, con- 
 
13 
 
 signed to a strange grave, upon a strange and distant 
 shore. 
 
 Thus have I sketched, with melancholy hand, the 
 life, decline, and death, of the respected Rector of 
 this sorrowing Church. I have not feared that you 
 would think me tedious, for love is curious of all ac¬ 
 cidents and circumstances of the beloved ; and, most 
 of all, when death has consecrated, and the grave is 
 soon to set its seal upon them. As, then, we hasten to 
 catch one more glimpse of the familiar face—as, then, 
 we linger, as if to stay, vain hope ! the greedy coffin’s 
 fatal clasp—as, then, kind looks and gentle words and 
 generous actions float up upon the tide of recollection, 
 and we dwell upon them with a fondness that keeps 
 no consciousness of time or outward circumstance, so 
 let us now, before the dear remembrance of our brother 
 and our father is consigned to the deep, silent grave 
 of our affections, recall, as faithful memory shall sup¬ 
 ply them, the lineaments and features which stood out 
 in bold relief upon his character; giving their form and 
 impress to the community in which he moved, making 
 their mark, deep and indelible, upon the living ta¬ 
 bles of our hearts. 
 
 The striking points of Dr. Gardiner’s character 
 may be presented in a threefold light— moral , intel¬ 
 lectual , and religious. In what remains of this dis¬ 
 course he shall be regarded as a man, a scholar, and 
 
 a CHRISTIAN MINISTER. 
 
 As a man, the moral lineaments of our friend were 
 strongly marked. We might expect this, so far as char¬ 
 acter is inherited, from what is known of his father, 
 in whom great intellectual powers seem not always 
 to have been governed by prudence, or restrained by 
 
14 
 
 a due regard to the opinions of mankind. In the son, 
 whatever might be thus derived, circumstances 
 greatly contributed to develope and confirm. Sent 
 from home, as we have seen, at five years of age, he 
 was thrown early upon his own resources, and led, of 
 necessity, to think and act for himself; while the dis¬ 
 cipline of Parr’s school, a discipline of almost Spartan 
 tendencies, was eminently fitted to mature and fix 
 what nature had indicated, and accident encouraged. 
 Let it not be thought that this was a misfortune. It 
 is the hard wood that takes and holds the highest 
 polish; and from the fitful play of light and shade 
 upon the knots and curls of 44 the unwedgeable and 
 gnarled oak,” result the deepest and the richest co¬ 
 lours, and the tints most soft, and delicate. The 
 mind which yields to all impressions can retain none. 
 It is the stout and manly spirit that is great to endure, 
 and to achieve. And it is precisely upon such a tem¬ 
 perament, that high literary cultivation, and the influ¬ 
 ences of our holy religion, produce their finest and 
 most beautiful results. There was in Dr. Gardiner, 
 as illustrative of what I have attempted to describe, 
 great directness of purpose, great plainness of speech, 
 and great boldness of action. He said what he 
 thought pertinent to the occcasion, he pursued what 
 he thought right, without regard to opinions or to 
 consequences. He cared little for the external dis¬ 
 tinctions of the world, the mere trappings of circum¬ 
 stance and accident; having reference to the man, 
 rather than to his condition, and looking for the 
 true mint-mark in the endowments of the mind, 
 and the qualities of the heart. A sound con¬ 
 stitution, and long uninterrupted health, affording 
 
15 
 
 him but slight experience of pain, together with a 
 constant disposition to look upon the bright side of 
 every thing, allowed him but little sympathy with 
 those who whine beneath the stroke of sorrow, or 
 murmur at the ways of providence. Yet, to the claims 
 of real suffering, his ear, and heart, and hand were 
 ever open; and while others gave good words, his was 
 the liberal alms, or the efficient service. His par¬ 
 tialities were decided, consistent, permanent. So 
 too, it may be said, were his dislikes. They 
 were, at least, not disguised. Few men, indeed, 
 have loved their friends better, or attached them to 
 themselves by stronger ties. Of few such tempers can 
 it be said, that like his, they made no enemies. There 
 never lived a man more faithful in the discharge of 
 what he deemed his duty. He never rested with the 
 sense of an obligation unfulfilled. His attention to 
 business, whether public or private, was strict and 
 scrupulous—never slighting an engagement, never 
 procrastinating, never failing in punctuality. He 
 was as guiltless as a child of what the world calls 
 policy—and, could he have been tempted to engage 
 in it, like a child, he would have betrayed himself. 
 The love of money was not in all his thoughts. He 
 only used it because he must; and, with the necessity 
 for it, would gladly have been rid of it. He was 
 not born to affluence, but to something better—a 
 cheerful and contented spirit, that could make a sun¬ 
 shine in the shadiest place—and, having always, by 
 God’s blessing on his labours, possessed a competence, 
 he lived, till disease eat out the heart of his enjoy¬ 
 ments, one of the happiest of men. His fireside was 
 his throne. His home his palace. Here he delight- 
 
16 
 
 ed to feel himself a king; and, in the full exercise of 
 a most free and generous hospitality, to make others 
 feel it too. His social qualities were indeed pre¬ 
 eminent. And his ingenuous frankness, his never- 
 ebbing cheerfulness, his unostentatious kindness, had 
 knit him in bonds, which death cannot avail to sever, 
 to all with whom his private or official intercourse 
 was held. How shall we miss, brethren, from 
 all our paths of life the steady lustre of such virtues ! 
 What must the darkness be, of the domestic hearth, 
 where such a light is quenched ! 
 
 To his scholarship, I have before alluded, and to 
 his noble use of it. In that respect he was equalled 
 by few among us, excelled by none. It was deep, 
 accurate, comprehensive, tasteful. It was not a mere 
 verbal knowledge, laid up to rust in the storehouse 
 of his memory. He was imbued with it. It was in¬ 
 stinct through all his thoughts, and all his conversa¬ 
 tion. It gave vigour and grasp to his intellect.— 
 It elevated and refined his taste. It animated and 
 polished his style. His favourite studies were the 
 Greek, Latin, and English Classics—though he was 
 not ignorant of Italian and of French. His chosen 
 authors, Homer, the Augustan poets, Milton, and the 
 English writers of Elizabeth and Anne, were ever 
 in his hands. He had read them daily, through every 
 year of his long life, till they had become incorpora¬ 
 ted, as it were, with the very substance of his mind. 
 And, in him, these studies had completely verified 
 the beautiful eulogium of Cicero—as they had been 
 the aliment of his youth, and the delight of his man¬ 
 hood, so they proved to him a solace never failing in 
 his sickness and old age.f 
 
 t See Note III. 
 
17 
 
 As a Christian minister, the course of our de¬ 
 parted friend has had but few parallels. For nearly 
 forty years did he continue acceptably to min¬ 
 ister to this parish in holy things. He saw a whole 
 generation pass from these sacred walls before him. 
 He had enjoyed the confidence of the fathers, and he 
 still lived, fortunate old man! to retain the respect, 
 the gratitude, the affection of the sons. Dr. Gardiner 
 was a thoroughly read divine. “ There were giants 
 upon the earth, 5 ’ in the days when his principles were 
 adopted, and his habits of study and of thought were 
 formed ; and, in the contemplation of their sinewy 
 intellectual stature, he had enlarged, invigorated, and 
 matured his own. He had lived in the intercourse 
 of minds like Barrow’s, Taylor’s, South’s, and Hors¬ 
 ley’s, till he had caught the tone and temper of their 
 mighty and undaunted spirits. He was a true Pro¬ 
 testant Christian of the Church of England. From 
 “ the Bible, and the Bible only,” he drew, like the 
 illustrious Chillingworth, the whole of his religion. 
 Applying to the sacred volume the entire force of his 
 vigorous mind, strengthened and made acute by the 
 soundest learning, and most thorough discipline, he 
 found there the doctrines of the Trinity of persons 
 in the undivided and eternal Godhead, the true and 
 proper divinity of Jesus Christ, and the atonement 
 purchased for sinful man, by the effusion of his blood; 
 and, finding them there, he proclaimed them with all 
 boldness, and defended them with a plainness which 
 none could misunderstand, and with a firmness which 
 allowed no compromise. Founded on these great 
 principles of the Catholic faith, the superstructure of 
 his belief was made complete in all their cognate 
 3 
 
18 
 
 and consequential doctrines. And, if he insisted 
 less frequently than others upon man’s deep cor¬ 
 ruption, and utter inability to save himself, upon 
 the nature and necessity of justifying faith, upon the 
 offices and operations of the renewing and sanctifying 
 Spirit, it was because he knew and feared the abu¬ 
 ses of these doctrines—because, aware how often fa¬ 
 naticism had found its watch-word in the perversion 
 of the terms which teach them, he dreaded, lest, in 
 him, the havoc which has thus been made of truth 
 and charity, of virtue and good order, should find en¬ 
 couragement or countenance. The grounds of man’s 
 belief once settled, he was accustomed to regard it 
 as a sacred subject between the heart and God; 
 and his practice was from that time to go on, not 
 laying again the strong foundations, but building up, 
 in all its solid strength, its just proportions, and its 
 chastened beauty, the fair and glorious fabric of the 
 Christian life. His preaching, like his religion, was 
 thus eminently practical. The motto for his ser¬ 
 mons might have been the precept of the Saviour— 
 by their fruits ye shall know them . He enforced, with 
 eloquent earnestness, the relative and social duties. 
 He proclaimed, as if his spirit loved it, the angel’s 
 message, of good will and peace. He dwelt with 
 delight upon the beauty and desirableness of virtue. 
 He urged continually the Saviour’s perfect example. 
 He pointed ever to the rewards laid up for the obe¬ 
 dient and faithful, in the eternal kingdom; and sought 
 rather to win, than to alarm, his hearers to their pur¬ 
 suit and attainment— 
 
 u And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
 
 “ To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
 u He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 u Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.” 
 
19 
 
 Nor was he less decided and consistent as a 
 Churchman, than as a Protestant Christian. Hay¬ 
 ing planted his foot upon the ancient Apostolic plat¬ 
 form, not by virtue of his ancestral example, but from 
 his own conviction, he kept it ever firm and steadfast. 
 The doctrine, the discipline, and the worship of the 
 Church of England, had his intelligent preference, his 
 affectionate attachment, his able and unshrinking ad¬ 
 vocacy. And so tenacious was he of the old paths, 
 in which our fathers walked and found rest to their 
 souls, that he was sometimes tempted to fear as in¬ 
 novations, and to reject, from a most pardonable ab¬ 
 horrence of error, heresy, and schism, practices and 
 institutions, which were either revived from primitive 
 usage, or legitimate conclusions from primitive prin¬ 
 ciples. Thus firm, decided, and uncompromising, 
 in his own principles and convictions, he extended 
 to others the most liberal charity. He judged no 
 man. He condemned no man. He left all to their 
 own conclusions; for he knew that all, with him, 
 must stand before a common Master, an unerring 
 Judge. Nor was his that spurious virtue, which calls 
 itself liberality, while it is, in truth, indifference—but 
 the allowance of an enlarged and elevated mind for 
 human weakness, or for conscientious disagreement 
 —the true Christian charity, which not only does, 
 and says, but “ thinks no evil.” Extending to his re¬ 
 ligious views the cheerful radiance of his temper, our 
 friend was free from gloom, moroseness, and severity. 
 He felt that God had given us all things richly to 
 enjoy, and knew that the happiest innocent heart— 
 and without innocence there is no happiness—was 
 the most acceptable in His sight. Sincere, and un- 
 
20 
 
 ostentatious, as he was cheerful, in his views of pre¬ 
 sent duty, and of future destiny, if there was one 
 thing which he hated in others, it was hypocrisy and 
 cant; and upon this subject, it was his habit to speak 
 in terms of unmeasured, but surely not of unmerited, 
 reprobation. Not always proof against the assaults 
 of small vexations, he reserved his fortitude for occa¬ 
 sions worthy of its exercise,and endured great evils with 
 a most magnanimous and noble resignation. A pain¬ 
 ful and distressing malady embittered and harassed 
 his latest days. But, though the man felt keenly, 
 the Christian triumphed. Looking through the vista 
 of the grave, to Jesus his compassionate Redeemer, 
 he saw not its darkness nor its terrors, for the glory 
 that was revealed. He never faltered, he never 
 shrunk; but, waiting with composure, till the time of 
 his great change should come, fell tranquilly asleep. 
 Of the public performances of our friend, or of his 
 public character, it is not necessary to say much, in 
 this congregation, or in this community. Their tes¬ 
 timony is on record in all hearts. This noble edi¬ 
 fice is their enduring monument. The members of 
 this large and influential parish are living witnesses. 
 The public voice is an unbribed, impartial, and abid¬ 
 ing arbiter. How correctly, how beautifully, how 
 powerfully, how affectingly, he performed the various 
 admirable services of the church, I need not say. 
 There was not, by the consent of all who ever heard 
 him, in his day of glory, his equal in America. His 
 sermons, always sensible, always practical, beautiful 
 in their conception, finished in their execution, grace¬ 
 ful and forcible in their delivery, rendered him at all 
 times an acceptable and useful preacher. Promi- 
 
21 
 
 nent for years in the legislative councils of the 
 church, he was, by confession of all, the chief pres¬ 
 byter of the diocese. And, if he never attained to the 
 higher station of the Episcopate, it was because he 
 never aspired to it. In the discharge of all the du¬ 
 ties of his office, he was, beyond all men that ever I 
 have known, most scrupulous. For years he was 
 scarcely ever absent from his pulpit on the sacred 
 day. To the last moment of his ability, and, if the 
 truth were known, my brethren, long beyond it, he 
 continued to insist, against my most sincere and ear¬ 
 nest protestations, on discharging his portion of the 
 public duty; and the painful conviction, that he could 
 be no longer useful, was among the strong consider¬ 
 ations that drove him from his home, to seek for 
 health, in a far-distant land, and find a sepulchre. 
 
 Brethren, if I had been speaking to you of one 
 whose name you had never heard before, have I not 
 said more than enough to convince your understand¬ 
 ings that he was a great man, and to fill your hearts 
 with the satisfaction, far more endearing, far more 
 enduring, that he was also a good man ? How im¬ 
 perfect, how utterly inadequate must I feel that my 
 descriptions are, when I remember, that, for forty 
 years, he has continued to be your guide, your coun¬ 
 sellor, your friend—that, having received yourselves 
 from him the washing of the wave of baptism, you 
 have brought your children to him, to receive 
 its mystic seal—that your young have caught from 
 his lips the accents of their first instructions in the 
 knowledge that maketh wise unto salvation—that 
 your sick have received from his hands the last con¬ 
 solations of our most holy faith—that your dead have 
 
22 
 
 gone down to the grave beneath his solemn prayers! 
 Yes, brethren of the congregation, it is all too true. 
 The stroke of an afflictive providence has been brought 
 home to us; and we are all gathered here before 
 God, our altars clad in these habiliments of woe, our 
 eyes suffused, our hearts oppressed with grief, one 
 family of Christian mourners. Ah, yes! and there is 
 another circle, to which that providence comes still 
 more nearly home. Of that bereaved family, I will 
 not, for I cannot, speak. There is a consecration in 
 such sorrow, that repels the approach even of the 
 most tender sympathy. There is but one—the Holy 
 Ghost, the Comforter—that can fitly minister to 
 hearts so bruised, and broken. But, though I may 
 not speak to them, in their bereavement, I will pour 
 my prayers out for them—that they may be brought 
 together again in God’s good time in peace and safe¬ 
 ty—that they may be all restored to the arms of 
 their friends, and the bosom of the Church—and dwell 
 together beneath the protecting shadow of the widow’s 
 and the orphan’s God—that in all things He may 
 guide, protect and bless them—and that, in the multi¬ 
 tude of the sorrows that they have in their hearts, 
 His comforts may refresh their souls! 
 
 Brethren of the congregation, the time admonishes 
 us, that we must leave our friend, our brother, and 
 our father, in his distant lonely grave. Wherever we 
 go, let the voice of him, who, “ being dead, yet 
 speaketh,” linger in our ears. Let us hear it in the 
 paths he trod—and it shall animate us to the prompt, 
 faithful, punctilious discharge of all our duties. Let 
 us hear it in the services in which he delighted— 
 and it will quicken our piety, and elevate our devo- 
 
23 
 
 tion. Let us hear it from the altar which he served 
 —and it will influence us generously to support, ear¬ 
 nestly to defend, constantly to honour it. Let us 
 hear it in the Church, in which, like a true soldier of 
 Christ Jesus, he stood bravely to the last, and would 
 have gladly died—and it will encourage us to wait 
 patiently in its holy faith, its sacred worship, its ce¬ 
 lestial communion, till the voice of God shall call us 
 to depart. Let us hear it in the solemn, silent 
 grave—and it shall cheer us with the blessed, com¬ 
 fortable assurance, that, if we live to Jesus, we shall 
 also sleep with him, and pass, for his most precious 
 merits “ through the grave and gate of death,”to our 
 triumphant resurrection. Which, that we may all 
 attain, and, at the last, be all united, teachers and 
 taught, to that rejoicing throng, which stands with 
 palms, and crowns, and ceaseless praise before the 
 throne of heaven, may God Almighty, in his mercy, 
 grant; and to the blessed Three in One, immutable, 
 immortal, undivided, indivisible, be ascribed thanks¬ 
 giving, glory, honour, might, dominion, praise, now 
 and forever more ! Amen. 
 

 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
NOTES 
 
 i. 
 
 Dr. Sylvester Gardiner, born, in 1717, in Narraganset, R. I. was among 
 the most distinguished in his profession of the day in which he lived.— 
 Having spent eight years in the enjoyment of the best advantages which 
 England and France afforded, he returned to Boston a most accomplished 
 surgeon and physician. He not only practised successfully, but promoted 
 the knowledge of the healing art, by reading lectures, illustrated by ana¬ 
 tomical preparations. By these means, and by his success in a large es¬ 
 tablishment for the importation and sale of drugs, he acquired an immense 
 estate, a considerable portion of which he vested in uncultivated lands 
 in Maine, upon which he founded the now flourishing town of Gardiner. 
 He lived in great splendour, with a most generous hospitality ; and was a 
 decided and munificent supporter of the Church of England. Adhering 
 to the government of the mother country, in the struggle of the Revolu¬ 
 tion, his property was confiscated, and he was reduced to comparative 
 poverty. When the British army left Boston, he went to England : 
 where, in a memorial to Parliament for indemnification for the loss of his 
 property, he showed an amount of 48,000Z. Returning to this country, 
 in 1786, he died, at Newport, R. I., aged 69 years ; leaving a name dis¬ 
 tinguished by strict integrity, extensive benevolence, and exemplary 
 piety. 
 
 JohnGardiner was his eldest son—but,from a dislike of his principles, both 
 in politics and religion, his father, by will, settled the greater portion of 
 his estate upon his sister’s son, Robert Hallowell, now Robert Hallowell 
 Gardiner, Esq. of Gardiner, in Maine. The forfeited property in Maine, it 
 should be added, was chiefly recovered by the heirs, in consequence of 
 some informality in the legal process of the Attorney General. At the 
 close of the American War, the principles of which he had always openly 
 and warmly ’defended, even while holding office under the Crown, he 
 came from St. Christopher’s to Boston : where, for a time, he practised 
 law ; but, having settled afterwards upon an estate on the Kennebec Riv¬ 
 er, was drowned, on his passage to Boston, in 1793. 
 
 John Sylvester John Gardiner (so named, it is believed, from a fancyof his 
 father, to unite in him, his own name with those of his paternal and ma¬ 
 ternal grandfathers,) was first at school, in Boston, under the famous 
 Master Lovell. He was then sent to England ; and remained with Dr. 
 Parr from September, 1776, till December, 1782. He was ordained Dea- 
 
20 
 
 con in St. Paul’s Church, New-York, October 18, 1787 ; and Priest, De¬ 
 cember 4, 1791, by the Rt. Rev. Dr. Provoost. He received the honorary 
 degree of A. M. from Harvard University, in 1803—and his diploma as 
 D. D. from the University of Pennsylvania, bears date, July 30, 1813.—— 
 He was married, Sept. 29, 1794, to Mary Howard, who survives his loss ; 
 and has left one son, William Howard, and two daughters, Mary Louisa, 
 and Elizabeth. Two children, Charles Cotesworth, and Mary Allen, died 
 young.—Dr. Gardiner was accompanied to England by his wife and eldest 
 daughter ; whose mournful lot it was to solace his dying moments, and 
 honour his last obsequies. 
 
 II. 
 
 Of Dr. Gardiner’s school, in its effect upon the classical learning of the 
 day, it is not easy to speak too highly. His system, both of instruction 
 and discipline, was formed, in most respects, on the model of Dr. Parr.— 
 He taught the languages thoroughly, and—what had scarcely been at¬ 
 tempted here before—drilled them well in Latin and Greek prosody.— 
 While his exegesis of the classics was strictly, and critically accurate, his 
 fine taste led him continually to develope, and to dwell upon, their latent 
 beauties. Nor, in the formation of the intellectual, did he neglect the 
 physical, or moral, man. He encouraged athletic sports, and, on rare oc¬ 
 casions, and, as special marks ofhis approbation, would take part in them 
 himself. Idleness he held in utter contempt. His maxim was, to work 
 when they worked , and to play when they played. Cowardice, mean¬ 
 ness, tale-telling, bullying, were never tolerated. Manliness and inde¬ 
 pendence of character were encouraged by precept and example. Though 
 his discipline was very severe, his boys all loved him. And such was his 
 ascendancy over them, that while, at times, he permitted an almost sa- 
 turnalian freedom, he always held them at the controul of a look. For 
 the sportiveness of youth, he allowed wide range, but never overlooked 
 omissions or deficiencies of duty. 
 
 III. 
 
 Among the circumstances of Dr. Gardiner’s literary life, his connexion 
 with the Anthology Club, may be singled out, as most interesting, and 
 most important in its results. The Club, though projected by the late 
 Rev. Mr. Emerson, was formed at Dr. Gardiner’s house ; and he contin¬ 
 ued to be its President, and, as an old member of it recently expressed 
 himself, “ its very life and soul,” from its foundation, in 1805, to his re¬ 
 tirement from the Club in 1811 ; when he was succeeded by President 
 Kirkland, six months before its dissolution. By this Club, the " Monthly 
 Anthology and Boston Review,” was conducted—a work which was, at 
 its time, the ablest periodical of literature in the United States, and as¬ 
 sisted greatly in elevating the standard of letters in this country. Indeed, 
 the origin of the North American Review may be remotely traced to it.— 
 But the great glory of the Anthology Club consists in its having laid the 
 foundation of the Athenaeum. Among the objects of the Club was a read¬ 
 ing-room for the use of the members. This was first put in execution at a 
 
meeting held, October 23,1805, at the Rev. Dr. Gardiner’s ; he himself set¬ 
 ting the example, by the donation of a large number of volumes of the 
 “Gentleman’s Magazine.” By degrees, the plan was enlarged ; the 
 property of the books was vested in trustees, for the use of the members, 
 and other subscribers; the name was changed; and, from this humble be¬ 
 ginning, originated the noble institution of the Boston Athenaeum, now 
 numbering 25,000 volumes. 
 
 J. H. Eastburn, Printer.