the imm 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY IN CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 AT THE INTERMENT 
 
 professor jfrisirie* 
 
 JULY XII. MDCCCXXIf. 
 
 BY ANDREWS NORTON, 
 
 DEXTER PROFESSOR OF SACRED LITERATURE. 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 CAMBRIDGE : 
 
 PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 BY HILLIARD AKD METCALF. 
 
 1822. 
 
a: 
 
 The relations between man and man cease 
 not with life. The dead leave behind them 
 their memory, their example, and the effects 
 of their actions. Their influence still abides 
 with us. Their names and characters dwell 
 in our thoughts and hearts. We live and com- 
 mune with them in their writings. We enjoy 
 the benefit of their labours. Our institutions 
 have been founded by them. We are sur- 
 rounded by the works of the dead. Our 
 knowledge and our arts are the fruit of their 
 toil. Our minds have been formed by their 
 instructions. We are most intimately con- 
 nected with them by a thousand dependencies. 
 Those whom we have loved in life are still 
 
 795779 
 
 BURTON H'^T. COLLECTION 
 
4 
 
 objects of our deepest and holiest affections. 
 Their power over us remains. They are with 
 us in our solitary walks ; and their voices 
 speak to our hearts in the silence of midnight. 
 Their image is impressed upon our dearest 
 recollections, and our most sacred hopes. 
 They form an essential part of our treasure 
 laid up in heaven. For above all, we are 
 separated from them but for a little time. We 
 are soon to be united with them. If w 7 e fol- 
 low in the path of those whom we have loved, 
 we too shall soon join the innumerable com- 
 pany of the spirits of just men made perfect. 
 Our affections and our hopes are not buried 
 in the dust, to which we commit the poor 
 remains of mortality. The blessed retain their 
 remembrance and their love for us in heaven ; 
 and we will cherish our remembrance and our 
 love for them while on earth. 
 
 Creatures of imitation and sympathy as we 
 are, we look around us for support and coun- 
 tenance even in our virtues. We recur for 
 them most securely to the examples of the 
 dead. There is a degree of insecurity and 
 uncertainty about living worth. The stamp 
 
has not yet been put upon it, which precludes 
 all change, and seals it as a just object of 
 admiration for future times. There is no ser- 
 vice which a man of commanding intellect can 
 render his fellow creatures, better than that of 
 leaving behind him an unspotted example. If 
 he do not confer upon them this benefit ; if he 
 leave a character, dark with vices in the sight 
 of God, but dazzling with shining qualities to 
 the view of men ; it may be that all his other 
 services had better have been forborne, and he 
 had passed inactive and unnoticed through life. 
 It is a dictate of wisdom, therefore, as well as 
 feeling, when a man eminent for his virtues 
 and talents has been taken away, to collect the 
 riches of his goodness, and add them to the 
 treasury of human improvement. The true 
 Christian liveth not for himself, and dieth not 
 for himself; and it is thus, in one respect, that 
 he dieth not for himself. 
 
 We have come together now for the purpose 
 of such recollections. We have come together 
 to give each other the consolation and support 
 of our sympathy. We have come to be made 
 better by the considerations, which an event 
 
the most solemn, and of general and deep 
 concern to us all, and to many more than to 
 us, presses upon our minds. We have come 
 together to pay, certainly not the last tribute, 
 but the first, to the memory of one, whose 
 remembrance will never pass away from the 
 hearts of those who have loved him. We 
 have come to recollect those virtues which are 
 now lost to us, but which are safe in the 
 keeping of God. 
 
 I cannot venture, if I would, to excite your 
 feelings, for I must repress my own, as I can. 
 But there is no danger that you will not hear 
 me with sufficient interest. The grave is just 
 about to close upon all that now remains in 
 this world of one whose genius was as rich, 
 whose heart was as warm, whose virtue was 
 as firm, whose understanding was as clear 
 and vigorous, as we may ever hope in the 
 intercourse of life to find thus united again. 
 There is an eloquence in the dumb show that 
 surrounds us, to which all words are weak. 
 
 The last recollections, which are left upon 
 my mind of him whom we have lost, are of 
 his expressions of deep religious feeling, and 
 
of those strong but humble hopes, which are 
 now changed into certainty. These recollec- 
 tions connect themselves at once with all that 
 I know of his character and life. 
 
 He was a religious man ; in the high and 
 true sense of the words ; and to say that one 
 is truly a religious man, is to say, that he 
 comprehends and feels those relations by 
 which, and by which alone, our nature is 
 ennobled ; that all which is most glorious and 
 exalting in our conceptions of infinity and 
 eternity, has become to him a matter of habit- 
 ual belief ; that he knows himself to be the 
 creature of God, holding a rank in the uni- 
 verse, immeasurably higher than what the 
 mere man of this world can imagine ; and 
 that he is under the uniform control of expec- 
 tations and motives, the tendency of which is 
 to raise him above all vulgar and selfish feel- 
 ings, and to invigorate all that are pure and 
 generous. The religion of him whom we 
 mourn, was not of that spurious kind, which 
 borrows its heat from the meaner passions. 
 They furnished no fuel for its support. It 
 burnt clear and steadily upon the altar of his 
 
8 
 
 heart, and the temple within was filled with 
 its fragrance. His religion was the controlling 
 principle of his life. It manifested itself, as it 
 always does, when it thoroughly pervades and 
 forms the character, not in artificial exhibi- 
 tions for the view of mankind, not unseason- 
 ably and impertinently, but by that natural 
 recurrence to its motives and sanctions, which 
 appears, whenever the occasion demands it, in 
 the conduct and conversation of a sincere and 
 rational Christian. He had studied the evi- 
 dences of our religion, with a very acute and 
 clear mind, whose natural tendency, from his 
 high integrity, and from his dread of all 
 unfairness, was to admit objections and difficul- 
 ties in at least their full strength ; and there is 
 no one whose faith was more firm than his. 
 He perceived the force of its external proofs, 
 he understood its infinite value, he felt the 
 divinity of its character, he made it the founda- 
 tion of his hopes. His views of religion were 
 very serious; and he was earnest that it 
 should always be presented to men as incom- 
 parably their most solemn consideration. The 
 feelings of no one could be more abhorrent 
 
from all levity and indifference upon this 
 subject ; and from regarding it under a mere 
 worldly aspect. 
 
 If those who knew him best, were called 
 upon to mention any virtue by which he was 
 particularly distinguished, I believe they would 
 unite in naming integrity. He was a man, 
 who, if ever any one could, might have told 
 the world his purposes, and have risen in their 
 respect. If you were to determine, whether 
 he would pursue any particular course of 
 conduct, or aim at any particular object, you 
 had only to determine, whether he would 
 think that object right, and that course of 
 conduct his duty ; and you were sure that no 
 selfish or mean passion, and no sinister pur- 
 pose, would interfere to lead insensibly his 
 judgment astray. You knew and felt that 
 you could rely in perfect security upon his 
 truth, sincerity, and openness. There were 
 no false appearances about him. He had 
 nothing of that disguise and cunning which is 
 sometimes mistaken for policy. His conduct 
 lay before you in broad day-light ; and you 
 never were at a loss for his motives, and you 
 2 
 
10 
 
 never perceived any but what were honourable. 
 I know the force of the language I am using. 
 It is the last occasion on which I should suffer 
 myself to indulge in idle and unfounded praise. 
 It is an occasion far too solemn and painful. 
 I will speak of him with the truth which he 
 loved. If it were possible I should not, his 
 image, which is continually recurring to my 
 mind, would bring admonition and shame 
 along with it. 
 
 His notions of right and wrong were founded 
 upon the laws of religion and of God, and not 
 upon the maxims of the world. He compared 
 his actions not with the opinions and senti- 
 ments of the day, but with the eternal princi- 
 ples of morality. He was not an harsh censor 
 of men ; he was ready to perceive what might 
 be pleaded in excuse for their follies, and errors, 
 and imperfections ; but he never treated vices 
 with levity. There is a passage of Tacitus, 
 to which I have heard him repeatedly allude 
 with strong approbation ; and his reference to 
 it shews the character of his own moral senti- 
 ments. It is where that historian, speaking 
 of the manners of the Germans, says, that ' no 
 
II 
 
 one among them laughs at vices, nor is cor- 
 rupting and being corrupted called the way of 
 the world.' Nemo illic vitia ridet, nee cor- 
 rumpere et corrumpi sseculum vocatur. 
 
 He was a public man. His life was spent 
 in public services, and he was interested in 
 every thing, by which the public welfare could 
 be promoted. Natural weakness of consti- 
 tution, and disease, as you know, affecting his 
 eyes, and almost depriving him of their use 
 for the purposes of study, opposed a constant 
 obstacle to his efforts to do good, which it 
 required more than common resolution to 
 overcome. But he did overcome it. He made 
 the best use of all the high intellectual powers 
 which God had given him, and of all the 
 bodily faculties which God, in his providence, 
 permitted him to retain. He was a most 
 faithful and valuable officer of this University. 
 No one has contributed more to its respecta- 
 bility and usefulness. No one had juster views 
 of the proper objects of such an institution, or 
 of the means by which they are to be attained. 
 No one could be more solicitous, that it should 
 be distinguished for religion and good morals, 
 
12 
 
 as well as for its literary character. For the 
 office which he formerly held, that of Profes- 
 sor of the Latin language, he was peculiarly 
 fitted by his fine taste, and by his just discrim- 
 ination of the meaning and force of language, 
 the result of accurate thinking. For the duties 
 which he last performed, as instructer in 
 Moral Philosophy, be was equally qualified 
 by his activity of mind, by his distinctness of 
 thought, by his clearness of expression, by 
 his metaphysical acuteness under the direc- 
 tion of strong good sense, and above all, by 
 the delicacy and purity of his moral prin- 
 ciples and feelings. But it was not only in 
 the performance of his professional duties 
 that he served the university ; he rendered 
 it as essential a service by the example of 
 his life, by the pervading influence of his 
 correctness of thought and sentiment, and by 
 giving the whole weight of a character, which 
 none could know without respecting, to the 
 advancement of moral and intellectual excel- 
 lence. This is an indefinite service, of which it 
 is not easy to estimate the exceeding value. 
 
13 
 
 As a writer, from the physical causes to 
 which I have before alluded, he gave to the 
 world, during his life, but few proofs and 
 memorials of his fine genius. You are well 
 acquainted with the manner in which these 
 have been estimated, by all to whom they 
 have become known. I will not now dwell 
 upon the condensation of thought, and the 
 beauty and richness of imagery which they 
 exhibit. They are marked by another charac- 
 teristic, in the consciousness of which he 
 w 7 ould himself have felt far deeper pleasure. 
 It is by their truth of sentiment, and high 
 moral feeling. Such is the unnatural love of 
 every sort of excitement which prevails among 
 a portion of readers at the present day, that it 
 appears to be sometimes forgotten, that the 
 moral character of writings is a matter of con- 
 sideration. But moral perfection is the highest 
 object of a correct taste, and the true and 
 complete exhibition of it in writing is scarcely 
 less difficult than its practice in life. There is 
 nothing false in that splendid revelation of 
 ancient philosophy, that perfect goodness and 
 perfect beauty are the same. It is not the 
 
14 
 
 work of a common intellect or vulgar taste, to 
 diffuse over its writings the holy charm of 
 moral loveliness. It is the result of a union 
 between genius and virtue. There are hun- 
 dreds of authors yet borne up by popular 
 fame, whose minds were of far too inferior an 
 order, to be conversant with those sentiments 
 and principles which are the living springs of 
 beauty. There are too, at the present day, as 
 there probably always have been, many writers 
 and many readers, who seem to think that cor- 
 rectness of sentiment is of little importance, 
 provided the expression be happily turned or 
 highly colored. Thus it is, that a great deal 
 passes for fine writing, which has very little 
 claim to the character, since truth and good- 
 ness are essential requisites to excellence, and 
 the first demands of a cultivated taste and 
 enlightened judgment. In whatever was writ- 
 ten by him whom we have lost, they were 
 found united. His writings corresponded to 
 his life. They reflected, as in a clear mirror, 
 his heart and his understanding. 
 
 I have thus given, faintly and imperfectly, 
 some sketch of the character of him whose 
 
15 
 
 loss we deplore. When sueh men are taken 
 from us, we are made to feel the instability of 
 life, and the insecurity of the tenure by which 
 we hold its dearest blessings. But this feeling 
 will be of little value, if it do not lead us to 
 look beyond this world, and if it be not thus 
 connected with a strong sense of the proper 
 business of life, to prepare ousel ves for happi- 
 ness in that world, where there shall be no 
 change but from glory to glory. It will be in 
 vain for us to contemplate such a character as 
 we have been regarding, if we do not feel that 
 its foundation was in that religion, which teaches 
 every one of us to regard himself as created by 
 God, to be an image of his own eternity. It 
 will be in vain for us to stand by the open 
 grave of departed worth, if no earthly passion 
 grows cool, and no holy purpose gains strength. 
 We are liable in this world to continual 
 delusion ; to a most extravagant over-estimate 
 of the value of its objects. With respect to 
 many of our cares and pursuits, the sentiment 
 expressed in the words of David, must have 
 borne with all its truth and force upon the 
 mind of every considerate man, in some 
 
16 
 
 moments at least of serious reflection : Surely 
 every one walketh in a vain shew ; surely they 
 are disquieted in vain. The events of the 
 next month or the next year, often assume in 
 our eyes a most disproportionate importance ; 
 and almost exclude from our view all the 
 other infinite variety of concerns and changes, 
 which are to follow in the course of an 
 immortal existence. The whole happiness of 
 our being seems sometimes to be at stake 
 upon the success of a plan, which, when we 
 have grown but a little older, we may regard 
 with indifference. These are subjects on 
 which reason too commonly speaks to us in 
 vain. But there is one lesson, that God 
 sometimes gives us, which brings the truth 
 home to our hearts. There is an admonition 
 which addresses itself directly to our feelings, 
 and before which they bow in humility and 
 tears. We can hardly watch the gradual 
 decay of a man eminent for virtue and talents, 
 and hear him uttering, with a voice that will 
 soon be heard no more, the last expressions of 
 piety and holy hope, without feeling that the 
 delusions of life are losing their power over 
 
17 
 
 our minds. Its true purposes begin to appear 
 to us in their proper distinctness. We are 
 accompanying one who is about to take his 
 leave of present objects ; to whom the things 
 of this life merely are no longer of any inter- 
 est or value. The eye which is still turned 
 to us with kindness, will, in a few days, be 
 closed forever. The hand by which ours is 
 still pressed, will be motionless. The affec- 
 tions which are still warm and vivid, — they 
 will not perish ; but we shall know nothing of 
 their exercise. We shall be cut off from all 
 expression and return of sympathy. He whom 
 we love is taking leave of us for an undefined 
 period of absence. We are placed with him 
 on the verge between this world and the 
 eternity into which he is entering ; we look 
 before us ; and the objects of the latter rise to 
 view, in all their vast and solemn magnificence- 
 There is, I well know, an anguish which may 
 preclude this calmness of reflection and hope. 
 Our resolution may be prostrated to the earth, 
 for he on whom we were accustomed to rely 
 for strength and support has been taken away. 
 We return to the world and there is bitterness 
 3 
 
18 
 
 in all it presents us, for every thing bears im- 
 pressed upon it a remembrance of what we 
 have lost. It has one, and but one, miserable 
 consolation to offer : 
 
 " That anguish will be wearied down, I know. 
 What pang is permanent with man ? From th' highest. 
 As from the vilest thing of every day, 
 He learns to wean himself. For the strong hours 
 Conquer him." 
 
 It is a consolation, which, offered in this 
 naked and offensive form, we instinctively 
 reject. Our recollections and our sorrows, 
 blended as they are together, are far too dear to 
 be parted with upon such terms. But God 
 giveth not as the world giveth. There is a 
 peace which comes from him, and brings heal- 
 ing to the heart. His religion would not have 
 us forget, but cherish, our affections for the 
 dead, for it makes known to us, that these 
 affections shall be immortal. It gradually 
 takes away the bitterness of our recollections, 
 and changes them into glorious hopes; for 
 it teaches us to regard the friend who is with 
 us no longer, not as one whom we have lost 
 on earth, but as one whom we shall meet, as 
 an angel, in heaven. 
 
©llffiSl SWISS 
 
 EXTRACTED FROM THE BOSTON DAILY ADVERTISER OF JULY 13 
 
 [written by prof, farrar.] 
 
 The interests of literature and religion have 
 sustained a loss in the death of Mr. Frisbie, 
 fully known only to those who were particu- 
 larly acquainted with him. He sought retire- 
 ment, and avoided those occasions by which 
 uncommon endowments are ordinarily brought 
 into public estimation. It is difficult to speak 
 of his powers and attainments, without seeming 
 extravagant to those who had not the oppor- 
 tunity of judging for themselves. But there is 
 no apprehension of a want of sympathy from 
 any who have seen him intimately. To his 
 classmates, to his associates in office, to his 
 pupils, to all whose lot it has been to fall 
 within the circle of his familiar walks, the 
 
20 
 
 appeal is made with confidence. To these, in 
 a greater or less degree, but more especially to 
 such as were favoured with his confidence and 
 affection, the treasures of his mind were 
 poured forth with a richness and abundance 
 that have been rarely equalled. It was not in 
 maintaining striking paradoxes, in a useless 
 display of argument and eloquence, that his 
 talents were exerted. Truth and virtue were 
 always held sacred ; and nothing was so sure 
 to feel the severity of his rebuke, as a departure 
 from either. Disputed questions in theology, 
 morals, and metaphysics, the peculiar merits 
 and defects of recent publications, were 
 among his favourite topics. On these it was 
 his delight, not to harangue those around 
 him, but to converse with them, to excite a 
 disposition to join in a free and unreserved 
 interchange of thought, and many have found 
 themselves drawn unawares into a discussion 
 by the novel and interesting view presented to 
 them. 
 
 He endeavoured always to give a phi- 
 losophical turn to whatever subject came 
 before him, and although his mind was full of 
 
21 
 
 resources for maintaining and enforcing a 
 cause which he chose to espouse, he habitu- 
 ally regarded the splendid schemes and 
 hypotheses of inventive genius with distrust, 
 and was inclined to pay great respect to the 
 sober judgment of the uneducated, and to 
 what may be called the philosophy of common 
 sense. He possessed uncommon acuteness 
 and discrimination, and would sometimes 
 appear to speculate with great freedom, but 
 he was cautious and guarded in an uncom- 
 mon degree, as to what he himself adopted. 
 He ventured to depart from the prevailing 
 sentiments of the learned on some speculative 
 points of intellectual and moral philosophy. 
 Among the improvements which are consid- 
 ered as doing so much honour to Brown, his 
 pupils will recognize doctrines which he has 
 long maintained with great ingenuity and elo- 
 quence. 
 
 Besides an originality and justness in his 
 views and speculations, there was a clearness 
 and lucid order in the arrangement of his 
 thoughts, even on the most abstruse and diffi- 
 cult subjects, which he seldom failed to impart 
 
22 
 
 to his hearers, while at the same time he fixed 
 their attention by the energy of his manner, 
 the copiousness and propriety of his language, 
 the fertility and aptness of his illustrations. 
 
 On account of weakness of sight he was 
 obliged to depend on others for his knowledge 
 of books. Still his knowledge was various 
 and accurate. — Beside the subjects more im- 
 mediately connected with his profession, he 
 was familiar with English literature, especially 
 w'ith the more recent authors. He was par- 
 ticularly fond of the best works of fiction, and 
 had a high opinion of their utility. But he 
 carefully distinguished between those that 
 maintained a pure and elevated morality, and 
 such as were designed merely to amuse an 
 idle fancy. His pointed reprobation of cor- 
 rupt sentiments united with poetry of what- 
 ever excellence, his high but qualified praise 
 of Miss Edge worth, as expressed in his inau- 
 gural address, are, we doubt not, fresh in the 
 recollection of many who heard him on that 
 occasion for the first and only time. 
 
 Mr. Frisbie's decided belief in the truth of 
 the Christian religion was not the result of 
 
23 
 
 education. He had read and thought much 
 on its evidences and its doctrines. He took a 
 lively interest in the theological discussions of 
 the day, and made up his mind upon contro- 
 verted points, with great candour and delibera- 
 tion, and was exerting the happiest influence 
 in the theological school, in which he took an 
 important part. 
 
 He was, moreover, a practical, as well as a 
 theoretical Christian. This was manifest from 
 his uniform sobriety of mind and conduct, 
 his inflexible integrity, his purity, sincerity, 
 and conscientiousness, in all the relations he 
 sustained, his fidelity in his public duties, 
 his observance of the Christian ordinances, 
 and respect for all the institutions of religion. 
 It was particularly conspicuous in his last 
 sickness. Few have had brighter pros- 
 pects to resign. He was surrounded with 
 friends in whom he took the greatest delight. 
 He had but just entered upon the ripe period 
 of manhood. He held an office peculiarly 
 suited to his taste and talents, and of great 
 importance to the cause of truth and virtue, 
 and which he filled with distinguished honour 
 
24 
 
 to himself and benefit to the community. 
 He resigned all, and resigned all cheerfully. 
 He bowed, in quiet and calm submission to 
 the will of God, with a firm hope, through 
 his mercy in Jesus Christ, of a better inher- 
 itance in another world. 
 
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