CT I, 
 
 ^75 III 
 
 CO 
 
 CM 
 
 O 
 >- 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/eulogydeliverediOOrussrich 
 
EULOGY, 7^ 
 
 DeliTered in the Chapel of 
 
 iiE®wii wira'fffimsirf 'S's 
 
 OS 
 
 MR. HENRY SMITH, f/P^^i^,,, ,,/»./)//t 
 
 Member of the Senior Class, who died, December 28, 1820. 
 
 BY GEORGE R. RUSSELL, 
 Classmate of the Deceased. 
 
 Omnes eodem cogimur : omniuoi ifj^ 
 
 Yersatur urna, seiius/dMjtt 
 3or8 exittira. ^H^H^^^* 
 
 PROriDEJ^CE, 
 
 Printed bj Miller & Hutchens, No. I, Market- Square 
 
 d82l. 
 
 .^■' 
 
^ 
 
 Mr Russell, 
 
 Sir — As a Ccmtnittee from the Senior Clasa, we present you their 
 most sincere thanks, for your appropriate and sympathetic Eulogy on 
 our late Glassnaate, and again request a copy for the press, hoping, 
 though you have declined to grant a copy, that, upon farther delibera- 
 tion, you will conoply with the reiterated solicitations of the Class, and 
 gratify the wishes of the afflicted family of the deceased. 
 Most respectfully yours, &c. 
 
 LEVI HAILE, 
 AMOS BINNEY, 
 DANIEL FISHER. 
 Brown University y March 25, 1821. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 pergonal feelings prompted me to give a refusal to your request. My 
 inadequate services were amply rewarded by the approbation of my 
 Classmates ; and, although their appointment might consequently imply 
 a right to its results, I hoped that the imperfection of the performance 
 would plead an excuse for my denial. But your renewed solicitations, 
 accompanied with the wishes of the afflicted family of the deceased, 
 have induced me to accept the advice of friends, and, reluctantly, to 
 hand you a copy of a production little calculated to pass the eye of the 
 critic. 
 
 I am, gentlemen, with respect, &c. 
 
 GEORGE R. RUSSELL. 
 Messrs Levi Haile, 
 Amos Binnev, 
 vT' Daniel Fisher. 
 
 Brown University, M^ch 28, 1821- 
 

 TO THE AFFLICTED 
 
 MOTHER AND RELATIVES 
 
 OF 
 THIS FEEBLE TRIBUTE TO HIS MEMORY, 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED^ 
 By their Humble Servant, 
 
 GEORGE R. RUSSFXry. 
 
 «t 
 
 ^ 
 
 ivi534088 
 
Wften tlie jgravebas closed over a respected an(l dearly 
 beloved friend, and the first efTect of grief, that attended 
 his departure, is tranquilized, it is with mournful sat- 
 isfaction, we call his character to remembrance, and 
 check the falling: tear, by reflecting on the virtues with 
 which it was adorned and dignified. With melancholy 
 pleasure, we dwell on the hours we passed in his soci- 
 ety ; on the talents, which acquired our esteem ; and on 
 the amiable qualities, which endeared him to us. The 
 thought that he is happy, affords us consolation ; and 
 while we lisp his name with veneration, and feel that 
 one of the strongest links which bind us here below, is 
 severed, we calm our broken spirits, with the hope, 
 that he has left us for a place, where sorrow ceases, and 
 where the vexatious troubles of the world cannot molest 
 him. 
 
 The man, whose publick services have rendered his 
 name illustrious, and whose active exertions for the wel- 
 fare of his country have entitled him to its gratitude 
 and admiration, may afford an ample theme for pane- 
 gyrick. The private individualj who has revealed to 
 few the emotions of his heart, who has kept within him- 
 self those qualities which draw respect and love, who, 
 to the world, has apparently been wrapt in apathy, and 
 whose cold exterior does not disclose the generous fire 
 which burns within him, may present extensive subject of 
 encomium, to those who knew and cherished him. For 
 they mny then expose the lender sensibility and deep 
 feelings of affection, which dwelt in the breast of the 
 departed, and of which, those, who were but slightly 
 connected with him, had not oven dreamt. They may 
 
 d'v' 
 
show, !hat he, who passed through the world, seemingly 
 heedless of its frowns or caresses. ^riW felt them deeply^ 
 that he had a soul which harboured all the finer feelings 
 of humanity, and that his distant manner covered vir- 
 tues, well worthy the pen of the eulogist. Thus, attention 
 may be excited by novelty, and the interest of an audi- 
 ence be engaged, by the enumeration of the virtues of 
 one, of which they were before ignorant. But, arduous 
 is the task and hazardous the attempt, to eulogize a 
 character, which is well known to those whom the 
 speaker is addressing, when they feel that ev^ry truth 
 he utters, was before familiar to them. And feeble must 
 the sketch appear to those who have beheld the brilliant 
 original. 
 
 We have met together, to mourn the loss of a re- 
 spected fellow-student, of an esteemed and beloved 
 companion. Of one whose distinguished talents com- 
 manded our highest regard, and whose open and gener- 
 ous disposition acquired ©ur love and admiration. The 
 day of his life had but dawned, when the slow yet sure 
 precursor of death, seized upon his slender frame. No 
 power could compel the unerring minister to relax his 
 grasp; the tender care, and mournful anxiety of a pa- 
 rent could not avail ; the sympathy of friendship was in 
 Tain ; and earthly skill and science could not crush his 
 stern inveteracy. 
 
 In the innumerable ways, in which death visits man- 
 kind, there is none more trying to the heart, or which 
 requires a greater share of fortitude, than that which 
 attacked our lamented Smith. It is a scourge, which 
 clothes our land in continual mourning, and sweeps from 
 it its pride and ornament. Youth, beauty and genius 
 seem its peculiar victims. The gay votary of the world 
 pursues the unvaried course ofdissipation, little suspect- 
 ing, while surrounded by taste and fashion, that the de- 
 stroyer lurks within him ; that soon, the rose which 
 blossoms on his cheek, will be exchanged for the hectic 
 flush, and the eye, which sparkles most when nearest 
 to the grave, denote that his period of existence is fast 
 closing. For the monster comes in secresy, while the 
 bloom is yet upon the countenance, and the flash of mer- 
 riment brightens the features. He creeps into the warjii 
 
trurrent of lil'e, unnerves the strength of manhood, and 
 blights the dazzhng parade of grace and elegance. 
 
 The student consumes the day with laborious appli- 
 cation, and suffers the hour of midnight to find him, still 
 bending over the page of science. Deluded man ! Does 
 not experience leil him, that it is a fearful thing to 
 plunge into the mybteries of wisdom ; that the price, 
 which must be paid for the lost hour of rest, is terrible ; 
 and that there is a barrier to literary eminence, which 
 few can pass ? Already does the emaciated form, the wan 
 and sunken countenance, and the thin bloodless lip, 
 proclaim, that the silent enemy has visited him ; that 
 the lamp, which lights him to his doom, must shortly be 
 extinguished, and the eye, which seeks to penetrate the 
 recesses of philosophy, be glazed with death. Why 
 does he pursue, so ardently, a road that has no end, and, 
 in which, although he may advance beyond the farthest 
 limits, that have as yet bounded the researches of the 
 human mind, still there will be before him an immeasur- 
 able distance. He should know, that it is suicide, thus 
 to abuse the powers which God has given him ; and 
 should be content with the acquisition of that share of 
 knowledge, which lies within his strength. 
 
 Among the variety of diseases to which the human 
 form is incident, it is this, which calls most for energy 
 and courage. 
 
 In battle, man may viev\ the mangled heaps of his 
 fellow beings, may see the mutilated wretch writhing 
 in agony, may hear the groan which marks protracted 
 suffering; and yet meet death with unconcern. For in 
 that hour, when the blood boils with madness, and the 
 soul is wrapt in lire, the love of country, the thirst for 
 military fame, the disgrace and infamy which attend the 
 recreant, and the blaze of glory, which flashes from the 
 crimsoned couch of the hero, all combine to render it 
 indifferent. 
 
 In the pestilence, which hurls its victim to eternity, 
 before the quivering lip can confess the pangs, which 
 rend the convulsed and bloated frame; in «he delirium 
 of fever, when the burning brow throbs with anguish, 
 and the wild, glaring eye, knows not on whom it gazes ; 
 the sufferer sinks comparatively happy. For he sees not 
 the affliction of those, who watch his dying agonies. 
 
But in the slow, deadly consumption, when he sees thai 
 he is sinking, gasp, by gasp; when eac|> sucessive day 
 finds him still more debilitated ; when the solicitous in- 
 quiries of alarmed connexions, continually torture and 
 harass him ; when he feels, that he is gradually leaving 
 them, and that all his brightning prospects, his plans for 
 future eminence, and his hopes of earthly happiness are 
 soon to be buried in the sleep of death ; Oh it well 
 requires such fortitude, as the noble Smith possessed, to 
 meet this host of painful circumstances ! 
 
 In a thousand shapes, and on all animated beings^ 
 does the angel of dissolution exercise his irresistible do- 
 minion. Decrepitude and infancy are alike his subjects. 
 Ai his approach, the prattling child falls trom the breast 
 of the mothtT, and the hoary- headed veteran drops from 
 his crutches. Youth, blooming youth, is not exempt 
 from his unrelenting mandate ; but, in the morning of 
 existence, it comes 5 when all is sunshine, when the 
 heavens beam pleasantness, and the world is strewed 
 with flowers, when the miseries of life appear the fa- 
 bled offspring of the misanthrope, and when treachery, 
 ingratitude, and the long list of vice , which degrade 
 the image of the Deity, seem visionary tales, wrung in 
 a dark hour, from the gloomy, soured ascetic. 
 
 It is a blessed period in the age of man, when he 
 can look without suspicion on his fellow-mortals, before 
 experience has revealed their frailties, or disappointment 
 made him loathe their society ; when earth appears a 
 lovely paradise, crowded with cheerful hopes and flat- 
 tering prospects ; when the wreath of honour and im- 
 mortality seems of easy acquisition, and all nature 
 offers inexhaustible resources of enjoyment. Alas, that, 
 in the midst of this enchanting dream, he should be hur- 
 ried to the tomb; that when surrounded by all that is 
 affectionate and friendly, by all that makes life dear to 
 him, he should receive the dreadful summons ; that 
 when he scarce has lived, he should be called upon to 
 die. 
 
 The man, whose silver hairs and bended form an- 
 nounce the extremity of age, may view, with calm se- 
 renity, the approach of the destroyer. If his life ha& 
 been a life of virtue, if he fears not to appear at the judg- 
 ment seat of his Maker, can he wish to linger in thi& 
 
9 
 
 poor world, where all are strangers to him ? can he wish 
 to protract those years, which will bring him no return 
 of happiness, when, alone and unfriended, he totters 
 with infirmity, and looks in vain for joy or consolation ? 
 No ! Death is a kind deliverer. The bonds, which 
 hold the human mind to earth, with him, are broken ; 
 the voice of affection has long been sunk in silence ; and 
 those, with whom his heart once beat with love and 
 sympathy, have mouldered in the grave. He stands 
 like an aged tree, from whose trunk, lime has succes- 
 sively rent the withered branches. Society can have 
 no charms for him : the cheerfulness of youth reminds 
 him of his loss, and the feelings of kindness, which oth- 
 ers interchange, show him his own dreary and desolate 
 condition. The beauties of nature may unfold them- 
 selves before him ; the bird may carol, the floweret 
 may blossom, but to him the earth is a wide deserted 
 waste ; it covers the companions of his youth, it hides 
 the friends of his bosom. One by one, they have left 
 him, and he has moistened their burial turf with the 
 tear of anguish. To him, the grave is a welcome home ; 
 it offers his grey head eternal rest ; it tells him, that 
 there, all trouble ceases ; that the follies of the world 
 must stop at its threshold ; that there, ambition, vanity, 
 power and beauty, all find a resting place; that the 
 monarch and the vassal, the master and the slave, the 
 christian and the infidel, the noble-minded, the debased, 
 the brave and the fearful, must all become its inhabit- 
 ants. 
 
 But, how different the case, when the grim tyrant 
 calls on one, who is wrapt in all the endearing ties, 
 which can bind the young and virtuous heart to exist- 
 ence ? When the victim, stretched in the last pangs of 
 ti protracted illness, beholds the expressive sorrow of 
 surrounding friends ; finds his least want anticipated, 
 and all the tender assiduities, which a hoping parent 
 can bestow, offered to alleviate distress. It must be 
 agonizing, to have the pillow of the death- bed smoothed 
 by those, who would willingly repose on it; to hear the 
 half-stifled groan, which tells him that his loss will 
 make them wretched ; to see the deep affliction of those 
 who arc dearest to his heart ; and to feel the trembling 
 hand of affection, wiping the cold d^alh-dew from tlie 
 2 
 
10 
 
 forehead ; to know, that the stroke, which ushers him 
 to eternity, is to overwhehn with grief aN that he most 
 loves, is to destroy the hopes, upon which their hap- 
 piness is founded, and burden their remaining years of 
 life, with bitter sorrow and lamentation. 
 
 Our departed Smith was young and virtuous. He was 
 the hope of a fond mother, and the pride of an extensive 
 circle of affectionate relatives. In the long, tedious 
 sickness, which preceded his decease, no complaint es- 
 caped him, which could show the anguish of his mind, at 
 the idea that he was soon to abandon them. He con- 
 cealed within himself every thing which he thought 
 might add to their affliction. For a time, he did no! dis- 
 close the symptoms, which he feared foretold a fatal 
 termination, but endeavoured to impress the belief upon 
 his friends that he should soon recover. Delusive hope ! 
 The hand of death was upon him. His increased de- 
 bility constrained him to relinquish his classical pur- 
 suits, and retire to his family. But it was too late ; no 
 earthly power could save him, for the bloom of health 
 had fled from his cheek for ever. He lingered until the 
 commencement of our last collegiate vacation. He 
 then saw his companions, joyfully throw off the re- 
 straints and privations, necessarily attendant on 
 academic retirement; and, bounding in the elasticity 
 of health and vigour, about to seek a temporary repose, 
 in the bosom of family and friends. He turned to him- 
 self. Oh, what a fearful change, a few short months 
 had wrought on him. The hopes, the spirit, the flush 
 of youth had departed. Feeble, emaciated and broken, 
 he knew, that his long home was soon to welcome him ; 
 he knew, that he had heard the last farewell of those 
 who loved him ; that when they again returned, his ears 
 would be deaf to their inquiries ; his eyelids would be 
 sealed ; the shroud would enwrap his worn and wasted 
 form. He knew, that the hope of a family was sinking ; 
 that the widowed mother was about to lose her only 
 child. Yet he repined not. The will of heaven was, 
 with him, too sacred to meet with reprehension ; he 
 bowed, with patience and humility, to the impending 
 blow ; he feared not to resign his soul to the justice of 
 his God. The night of that day on which his fellow-stu- 
 lients left him, the noble-hearted Smith expired. 
 
il 
 
 How useful, how instructive, was his short career! 
 From the lime, when he tottered round the cradle, to 
 the day which saw him extended on the hearse, his life 
 was one continued scene of virtue and morality. 
 
 The days of his boyhood were characterized with 
 qualities, which seldom attend that age of vivacity. 
 The amusements, in which he cheerfully partook, were 
 never marred with altercation ; for his mildness checked 
 the burst of passion in his youthful comrades, and his 
 manly conduct acquired their esteem and veneration. 
 They assiduously courted his approbation, and regard- 
 ed him as a pattern of excellence, which it should be 
 their pride to imitate. 
 
 To those, who were acquainted with him, when he 
 was verging on manhood, it may be useless to mention 
 his virtues or his talents, for they must already be well 
 known. 
 
 The God of nature had given him a mind clear, ener- 
 getic and penetrating, and with industrious application, 
 he had strengthened it with sound knowledge, and embel- 
 lished it with works of fancy. His manners were polish- 
 ed and free from affectation. His conversation was live- 
 ly, interesting and instructive. Possessing distinguish- 
 ed talents, without pride, and genius, without its eccen- 
 tricities, he rose, apparently with little exertion, above 
 the reach of comparison. His suavity crushed all envi- 
 ous feelings, which could arise from his superiority ; and 
 those who could not equal, were obliged to love him. 
 His disposition was mild, open and generous ; anger 
 never distorted his features, but the affable and refined 
 feelings of his heart always beamed on his counte- 
 nance. He was invulnerable to the allurements which 
 vice employs, to seduce and bewilder youth, and with 
 virtuous abhorrence, he scorned her blandishments, and 
 despised her votaries, 
 
 in the relations of social life, he was kind, dutiful and 
 attentive. In fact, every thing which constitutes the af- 
 fectionate son and the faithful friend, the gentleman 
 and the scholar, was combined in the character of 
 Henry Smith. 
 
 The death of this accomplished, this amiable young 
 man, should deeply impress all those who knew him. 
 It is a melancholy instance, added to the many which 
 
12 
 
 we constantly behold, of the instability of worldly hap- 
 piness, and the uncertainty of human life. It is strange, 
 that man, with such proofs always before him, should 
 still continue the ceaseless search for power or opulence. 
 But such is his nature. To-day, the conqueror waves 
 the blood-stained sword, and the tyrant scourges his 
 fellow-reptiles. But soon, the oppressed will find re- 
 lief; the slave will have his hour of vengeance ; for the 
 guilty great must perish equally with those on whom 
 they trample. Vain is all precaution. 
 
 ^' Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, 
 Regumque turres.'* 
 
 The Gallic Monarch* could not bear to view the tombs 
 of his ancestors, because they reminded him of his own 
 mortality. He chose his place of residence, where the 
 hated dome, which rose over their crumbling ruins, 
 should not for ever preach to him, how trifling and ephe- 
 meral was his glory. He forbade the name of death to 
 be mentioned in his presence ; for he could not think, 
 that he was made like the frail beings who fell around 
 him. Mistaken mortal ! Did he suppose, that his ap- 
 prehensions would retard its march ; that all his bril- 
 liant conquests could prolong his life a day, and that 
 the leveller of human pride could not reach him, in his 
 lurretted mansion ? He found, at last, that death knew 
 no impediment. Many years have vanished since he 
 mouldered with those, who flattered him with immortal- 
 ity. 
 
 It is a solemn thought, that in a few fleeting years, 
 there will be not one remaining, of the busy myriads, 
 which now throng this earth. Another generation, an- 
 other race, will fill the places of the insects, who are 
 fluttering after wealth and honour. The glory of iho 
 very nation, of which we are but particles, will depend 
 on the historian. Our manners, our venerated customs, 
 will become objects of mockery and ridicule ; and we, 
 who arrogate to ourselves, the perfection of elegance 
 and urbanity, will be styled barbarians. Yes, when 
 the grave- stone, which marks the place where we are 
 bleeping, shall have fallen, and the little heap of earth. 
 
 * Louis the Fourtcentk 
 
13 
 
 which rises over us, shall be levelled, the proud stran- 
 ger will trample on our ashes, as careless, as indiffer- 
 ent, as we are, with regard to those, who lived the age 
 before us. It is humbling to know, that we shall be for- 
 gotten ; that those who mourn for us, soon must follow ; 
 and that others will occupy the stations, we now hold, 
 who will be ignorant, that we ever existed. 
 
 Let him, who is tormented with ambition, visit the 
 solitary grave-yard ; let him wander amidst the lowly 
 dwellings of the dead, and meditate upon the glory, 
 which all his cares and vexations are to bring him. 
 Will the honour of the world then appear to him, 
 tbe grand aim of life, and will he leave that mournful 
 place, eager for its plaudits ? No ! He will be humbled. 
 For there, the passions must cool ; the thirst of fame 
 must vanish ; man must lay aside all vain and idle 
 speculations, It will tell him, that there, is no distinc- 
 tion ; that the idiot sleeps as quietly as the philosopher, 
 and the serf requires as much extent of ground as his 
 crested master. Oh, it is melancholy to view the me- 
 morials, which chequer that lonely spot, and which af- 
 fection has reared, to prolong, for a little time, the char- 
 acter of a friend or relative ; to read their various in- 
 scriptions, denoting that infancy, youth and age are 
 there assembled ; and to behold the fresh-laid turf, 
 which announces a new inhabitant ; while on the ad- 
 joining tomb-sione, time has obliterated even the en- 
 graven letters, which were intended to perpetuate the 
 name and actions of the poor mortal, who has decayed 
 beneath it ! This sad, yet interesting place, imparts 
 consolation, which can no where else be found. Who, 
 while lingering there, does not feel a religious hope 
 thrill through his breast, and a comtemptuous aversion 
 for the foibles of the world ! And who, on leaving it, 
 does not resolve to act that part through life, which will 
 enable him to revisit it with jcy and safety ? 
 
 Go, then, go to the spot, where the youthful Smith re- 
 poses. One glance at the little hillock will give you 
 more instruction, than the volume of the moralist. It 
 will tell you, that soon for i/om, will be performed the 
 last solemnities of nature ; that soon, the funeral proces- 
 sion will attend you to your narrow bed, and the cold 
 turf arise over your pallid and senseless form. It will 
 
14 
 
 remind you of the inestimable virtues of its possessor, 
 and b} exciting you to emulate them, will at last, pre- 
 pare you to meet the dreaded foe, with his tranquillity 
 and resignation. 
 
 With those, who have been bereaved of an affection- 
 ate relative, we sincerely sympathize. The ornament of 
 their circle, the joy of their fireside, has been wrested 
 from them, when the chain, which bound him to them, 
 was the most strongly rivetted. But Avhy should they 
 lament ? Why should the mother weep for her son, when 
 God has taken him, when, with a heart free from de- 
 pravity, he left this abode of wretchedness, to become 
 an inmate of that happy country, where misery is a 
 stranger ; where the angel of death can never enter ? 
 
 Respected Instructors, 
 
 To you, who watch, with parental care, over those 
 who are intrusted to your nurture and instruction, pain- 
 ful must it be, to behold the blank, which death has 
 made in our family. You must lament the loss of 
 one, who has bui recently enrolled himself under your 
 protection, when you have not had time to learn his 
 character or to appreciate his talents. But much great- 
 er must be your grief, when you are robbed of him, who, 
 for a long time, has been your pupil in science, who has 
 carefully received the treasures, which you have offered 
 him, and has given fair promise of future brilliancy and 
 usefulness. 
 
 You saw, with joy, the rising powers of the youthful 
 Smith. You saw them, daily expanding under your di- 
 rection, and hailed them as ornaments, which were to 
 honour and adorn this Institution. You beheld biro, 
 about to enter on the world, eririched with knowledge 
 and glowing with virtue. You knew, that while his su- 
 periour abilities would entitle him to the respect and 
 attention of those, wFao revvaid and distinguish merit ; 
 that his generous character, his mild and endearing tem- 
 per, would screen him from the sneer of malice or the 
 detraction of envy ; that he was calculated to rise in 
 the estimation of all; that those, who saw, must be at- 
 tached to him, and that any one, who knew, and yet 
 could harbour feelings inimical to him, would be desti- 
 tute of every thing, which characterizes the man and 
 
l£r 
 
 the christian. But, no sooner was his mind matured, 
 his understanding disciplined, and those qualities about 
 to be shown to many, which hitherto had charmed and 
 delighted a selected few, than he was taken from you, 
 to the more immediate protection of his Heavenly Fa- 
 ther. For if, as you have taught us, goodness is re- 
 warded, if the worthy are recompensed for the actions 
 they have done on earth, he has now taken his eternal 
 residence, where worldly knowledge appears of little 
 value, where more is disclosed, in one short moment, 
 than can be reached, even from the proudest heights of 
 human philosophy, but, where he still remembers those, 
 whose wisdom and instruction, made the days of his ex- 
 istence happy, nnd the example and imitation of whose 
 piety, enabled him to meet his God in peace. 
 
 Classmates, 
 
 During our collegiate life, we have twice assembled 
 in this place, to pay the la^t sad tribute of respect to a 
 departed brother. We had scarcely formed our alli- 
 ance, scarcely commenced our literary labours, 
 when one* was taken from ns. We had hoped, that 
 death was then satisfied, and that we should not again 
 be visited. We had hoped, that the tear of sorrow was 
 suppressed, never again to burst forth; that the badge 
 of grief was thrown aside, never to be resumed ; that 
 the few remaining days we were to spend together, 
 would not be clouded with affliction ; and that when 
 the time of separation arrived, we should find our number 
 undiminished. Heaven has otherwise ordained, and it 
 is our duty, to bow to its wise decrees with submission. 
 
 We flattered ourselves, that time would check the dis- 
 ease, which attacked our beloved companion ; that soon 
 he would rejoin us, and again mingle in our studies and 
 amusements. We had long been united, and we hoped 
 that the friendship we had contracted in youth, would 
 cheer and solace us in manhood ; that, although we left 
 him feeble and dejected, we should, when we returned, 
 find him blooming in activity and beauty. With hopes, 
 with promises like these, we, for a few weeks, separated. 
 
 We met again, in health, but not in gladness ; there 
 wa? one missing, and for him, we looked in vain. His 
 
 * Nfr. Ezra Baity, who died October 7th, 1818. 
 
16 
 
 seat' was empty ; his room was desolate; the book of 
 science lay on his shelf unopened. And where was the 
 hand, whose cordial grasp had always bid us wel- 
 come ? Where was he, who was always first to greet us ? 
 Why did he linger ? Had he forgottten those who were so 
 dear to him ? Could the short period, we had been 
 absent, estrange a heart so noble and so tender ? Alas ! 
 The sun that rose on our return, gleamed on his grave : 
 that hand was cold and stiff; that heart had ceased to 
 beat. Was it not fiction ? Could it be, that he, who was 
 our pride ; that he, whose wisdom charmed, and whose 
 wit enlivened, was never more to gladden our social cir- 
 cle ? We found, that it was a sad reality. 
 
 He has departed, but he has left us an invalu- 
 able legacy. — It is the picture of his life; the example 
 of his virtues. We should receive it with veneration ; 
 we should cherish it with lasting affection. 
 
 The hour, which is to sever the bond, which encircles 
 us, is fast approaching. In a little time, we shall be 
 scattered, and other scenes, and other attachments, will 
 call for a share of our attention. But forgetfulness never 
 shall rise on the sod, which covers the remains of our 
 amiable classmate. Often shall reflection bring him to 
 remembrance. Often shall the tear of sensibility flow, 
 at the recollection of his manly, yet unassumed de- 
 portment; of his dignified, yet artless simplicity. 
 
 Wherever fate shall hereafter disperse us ; in whatever 
 situation it may place us, we will remember him ; we will 
 keep him buried in our hearts ; we will endeavour to im- 
 itate his character. That at last, when all is finished : 
 when the dead are summoned, and the archangel's 
 voice announces the day of retribution, we may arise, 
 with joy and gratitude ; and in firm expectation of the 
 reward of virtue, we may all meet together, a band of 
 brothers, at the throne of the Almighty. 
 
GAYLAMOUNT 
 
 PAMPHLET BINDER 
 
 Manu/adureJ Ay 
 
 iSAYLORD BROS. Iik. 
 
 Syr«cuf», N. Y. 
 
 Stockton, Calif. 
 
 YC 29638 
 
 M5ai088