Dealings With The Dead Volume I Part 25

"_Canonized to-day and cursed to-morrow_"--such seems to have been the fortune of William Penn. His only prudent course seemed to be to bow down, before the wrath of that popular hurricane, which swept furiously over him, and went upon its way. This good and great man was not wholly forgotten. He had never forfeited the affectionate respect of some persons, who have left bright names, for the admiration of future ages.

Such were Locke and Tillotson. They marked their time, and moved in behalf of the oppressed. Lords Ranelagh, Rochester, and Sidney went to King William--they "_considered it a dishonor to the Government, that a man, who had lived such an exemplary life, and who had been so distinguished for his talents, disinterestedness, generosity, and public spirit, should be buried in an ign.o.ble obscurity, and prevented from rising to future eminence and usefulness, in consequence of the charge of an unprincipled wretch, whom Parliament had publicly stigmatized, as a cheat and an impostor_."

King William replied to these truly n.o.ble lords, "that William Penn was _an old friend of his, as well as theirs_, and that he might follow his business, as freely as ever, for he had nothing to say against him." The princ.i.p.al Secretary of State, Sir John Trenchard, and the Marquis of Winchester bore these joyful tidings to William Penn. And how did he receive them? He went instantly, of course, to tender the homage of his humble acknowledgments to King William--not so. He was then greatly embarra.s.sed in his pecuniary affairs. Foes were on every side. The wife whom, in his parting letter, he bade remember, that she was _the love of his youth and the joy of his life_, was on her death-bed, prostrated there, according to Clarkson, in no small degree, by her too keen sympathy for her long suffering husband. His _heart_ was broken--his _spirit_ was not. He preferred rights before favors, and desired permission publicly to defend himself, before the King in council. This was granted, and he was abundantly acquitted, after a deliberate hearing.

The last hours of his wife, Gulielma Maria, were cheered by this intelligence. In about a month after this event, she died. "She was an excelling person," said he, "as wife, child, mother, mistress, friend, and neighbor."

In 1694, a complete reconciliation took place between Penn and the society of Friends; and, in the same year, he was restored to the Government of Pennsylvania. In 1696, he married Hannah Callowhill, of Bristol. These gleams of returning happiness were soon obscured. A few weeks after this marriage, he lost his eldest son. This young man was upon the eve of twenty-one. His father's simple narrative of the dying hour is truly affecting. "His time drawing on apace, he said to me--'My dear father, kiss me. Thou art a dear father. How can I make thee amends?' He also called his sister, and said to her, 'poor child, come and kiss me,'

between whom seemed a tender and long parting. I sent for his brother, that he might kiss him too, which he did. All were in tears about him.

Turning his head to me, he said softly, 'Dear father, hast thou no hope for me?' I answered, 'My dear child, I am afraid to hope, and I dare not despair, but am and have been resigned, though one of the hardest lessons I ever learned.'" When the doctor came, he was very weak, and the narrative continues thus. "He said--'Let my father speak to the doctor, and I'll go to sleep,' which he did and waked no more; breathing his last upon my breast, the tenth day of the second month, between nine and ten in the morning, 1696. So ended the life of my dear child and eldest son, much of my comfort and hope, and one of the most tender and dutiful, as well as ingenuous and virtuous youths I knew, if I may say so of my own dear son, in whom I lost all that any father can lose in a child; since he was capable of anything, that became a sober young man, my friend and companion, as well as most affectionate and dutiful child."

About this time Penn was sorely grieved, by the conduct of George Keith, the apostate Quaker, who had been excommunicated, and now spent his time, in abusing the society.

Penn had become well convinced of many solemn truths, presented in the last chapter of Ecclesiastes, and of none more fully, than that there is no end of making books. He continued to pour forth pamphlets, on various subjects. In this year, 1696, he became acquainted, and had several interviews, with Peter the Great, who was then working, as a common shipwright, in the dock yards at Deptford. In 1699 he once more visited Pennsylvania. In 1701 he returned to England. In 1702 and 1703 he continued to preach and publish, as vigorously as ever.

In 1707 he became involved in a lawsuit, with the executors of one Ford, his former steward, or agent. Ford was undoubtedly a knave. Penn suffered severely from this cause. The decision was against him; and, though Chancery could not relieve, many thought him greatly wronged. He was compelled, in 1708, to live within the rules of the Fleet. This, doubtless, was the occasion of Mr. Burke's erroneous statement, many years after, that Penn died in the Fleet Prison. An amusing anecdote may be referred to this period, which, though not mentioned by Clarkson, nor in the life by Chalmers, may be found in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, of 1798, and is repeated, in Napier's edition of 1842. Penn is said to have had a peep-hole, through which, unseen, he could see every visitor. A creditor, having often knocked, and becoming impatient, knocked more violently; "will not your master see me?" said he, when the door was opened--"He hath _seen_ thee, friend," the servant replied, "but he doth not like thee."

In 1709, his necessities were such, that he mortgaged his whole Province of Pennsylvania, for 6600. This necessity, as Oldmixon says, in his "Account of the British Empire in America," arose from "his bounty to the Indians, his generosity in minding the public affairs of the Colony more than his own private ones, his humanity to those, who have not made suitable returns, his confidence in those, who have betrayed him."

In 1712, he had three apoplectic fits, followed by those painful effects, which are usual in such cases. His friend, Thomas Story, the first recorder of Philadelphia, made him yearly visits, after this period, till his death, which took place July 30, 1718. It is impossible to read the account of these visits, as given by Thomas Story himself, and presented by Clarkson, vol. ii. chap. 18, without emotion.

It has too often befallen those, whose lives have been devoted to the benefit of mankind, to be outraged, after they were dead and buried.

Malice delights to meddle with their ashes. Political prejudice and priestly bigotry seek, in graves, undisturbed by ages, for something to gratify their unnatural appet.i.tes, and satisfy the gnawings of a mean, vindictive spirit.

Penn had not long been committed to the tomb, when a wretch, Henry Pickworth, an excommunicated renegade, spread abroad, with all the industry and energy of a malicious spirit, the report that Penn had died a raving maniac, at Bath. This rumor became so general, that it was thought necessary to destroy it, by the publication of certificates from those, who had ministered about his dying bed.

For one hundred and thirty years, William Penn has slumbered in the grave.

That _hutesium et clamor_, that spirit of persecution, by which this excellent man was pursued, vilified, impoverished, and exiled, has long been hushed. The high churchman, the bigot, the Quaker renegade, the false accuser, have worn out their viperous teeth upon the file. All, that bore the primeval impress of human weakness, in William Penn, had well nigh perished, and departed from the minds of men. All, that was excellent, and lovely, and of good report, had become case hardened, as it were, into a sort of precious immortality. That his spirit had found a celestial niche, among the just made perfect, was the firm faith of all, who believe, that their Father in Heaven is a G.o.d of toleration and of mercy. I have paid my imperfect tribute of affectionate respect to the memory of William Penn.

Notwithstanding Mr. Macaulay's efforts to disturb the popular opinion, in regard to William Penn, his History of England is one of the most amusing books, in the English language. Relationship is worth something, even in a library; I have placed the two volumes, already published, between the works of Sir Walter Scott, and a highly prized edition of the Arabian Nights.

No. LXXII.

Death has taken away, within a brief s.p.a.ce, several of our estimable citizens--Mr. Joseph Balch, an excellent and amiable man, who filled an official station, honorably for himself, and profitably for others--Mr.

Samuel C. Gray, a gentleman of taste and refinement, who graduated at Harvard College, in 1811, and, at the time of his death, was President of the Atlas Bank--Mr. John Bromfield, a man of a sound head, and a kind heart. Having bestowed five and twenty thousand dollars, in his life-time, upon the Boston Athenaeum, he modestly left the more extended purposes of his benevolent heart, to be proclaimed, after his decease; and, by his will, distributed, among eight charitable inst.i.tutions, and his native town, the sum of one hundred and ten thousand dollars.

The features of these good men are still upon the retina of our memories; the tones of their voices yet ring in our ears; we almost expect their wonted salutation, upon the public walk. But there is no mockery here--they are gone--the places, that knew them, shall know them no more!

Death has laid his icy hand upon these men, as he has ever laid the same cold palm upon their fathers, since time began. Such exits are common.

Disease triumphed over the flesh, and they ceased to be.

But Death has done his dismal work, of late, in our very midst, by the hand of cruel violence--not sitting like the King of Terrors, in quiet dignity, upon his throne, and casting his unerring shafts abroad; but darting down upon his unsuspecting victim, and, with a murderous grasp, crushing him at once. I allude, as every reader well knows, to the fate of the late Dr. George Parkman.

As the Coroner's Inquest, after long and laborious investigation, has declared, that he was "_killed_," we must a.s.sume it to be so. I have known this gentleman, for more than forty years; and have had occasion to observe some of the peculiarities of his character, in the relations of business, as well as in those of ordinary intercourse--I say the _peculiarities_ of his character, for he certainly must be cla.s.sed in the category of _eccentric_ men. Having heard much of this ill-fated gentleman, for many years, before the late awful occurrence, and still more since the event--for he was extensively known, and all, who knew him, have something to relate--I am satisfied, that those very traits of eccentricity, to which I refer, have led the larger part of mankind, to form erroneous impressions of his character.

Dr. George Parkman was the son of Samuel Parkman, an enterprising, and successful merchant, of Boston, who was a descendant of Ebenezer Parkman, who graduated at Harvard College, in 1721, and was ordained Oct. 28, 1724, the first minister of Westborough; and who, after a ministry of sixty years, died, Dec. 9, 1782, at the age of 79, and whose wife was the daughter of Robert Breck, minister of Marlborough, who was the grandson of Edward Breck, one of the early settlers of Dorchester, in 1636.

Dr. George Parkman graduated, at Harvard College, in 1809. When he commenced his junior year, John White Webster, now Erving Professor of Chemistry and Mineralogy, entered the University, as freshman. Dr.

Webster, who is now in prison, charged with the "_killing_" of Dr.

Parkman, will, in due time, be tried, by a jury of his countrymen. Will it not be decorous, and humane, and in accordance with the golden rule, for the men, women, and children of Ma.s.sachusetts, to permit the accused to have an impartial trial? Can this be possible, if, upon the _on dits_ of the day, of whose value every man of any experience can judge, this individual, whose past career seems not to have been particularly bloodthirsty, is to be morally condemned, without a hearing?

Hundreds, whose elastic intellects have been accustomed to jump in judgment, are already a.s.sured, that we believe Dr. Webster innocent. Now we _believe_ no such thing--nor do we _believe_ he is guilty. His reputation and his life are of some little importance to himself, and to his family; and we should be heartily ashamed, to carry a head upon our shoulders, which would not enable us to suspend our judgment, until all the _true facts_ are in, and all the _false facts_ are out.

How much beautiful reasoning has been utterly and gratuitously wasted, upon premises, which have turned out to be not a whit better, than stubble and rottenness! The very readiness, with which everybody believes all manner of evil, of everybody, furnishes evidence enough, that the devil is in everybody; and goes not a little way, in support of the doctrine of original sin.

Let us, by all means, and especially, by an avoidance of the topic, give a.s.surance to the accused of a fair and impartial trial. If he shall be proved to be innocent, who will not blush, that has contributed to fill the atmosphere, with a presentiment of this poor man's guilt? If, on the other hand, he shall be proved to be guilty of an incomparably foul and fiendish murder--let him be hanged by the neck till he is dead, for G.o.d's sake--aye, for G.o.d'S SAKE--for G.o.d hath said--WHOSO SHEDDETH MAN'S BLOOD, BY MAN SHALL HIS BLOOD BE SHED.

The personal appearance of Dr. Parkman was remarkable--so much so, that his ident.i.ty could not well be mistaken, by any one, who had carefully observed his person. His body was unusually attenuated, and I have often, while looking at his profile, perceived a resemblance to Hogarth's sketch of his friend Fielding, taken from memory, after death.

The talents of Dr. George Parkman were highly respectable. His mind was of that order, which took little rest--its movements, like those of his body, were always quick; more so, perhaps, upon some occasions, than comported with the formation of just and permanent judgment. He was a respectably well read man, not only in his own profession, but he possessed a very creditable store of general information, and was an entertaining and instructive companion. In various ways, he promoted the best interests of medical science; and nothing, probably, prevented him from attaining very considerable eminence, in his calling, but the accession of hereditary wealth; whose management occupied, for many years, a large portion of his time and thoughts.

By some persons, he has been accounted over sharp and hard, in his pecuniary dealings--mean and even miserly. No opinion can be more untrue.

Dr. Parkman's eccentricity was nowhere so manifest, as in his money relations. The line was singularly well defined, in his mind, between charity, or liberality, and traffic. He adhered to the time-honored maxim, that _there is no love in trade_. There are persons, who, in their dealings, give up fractions, and suffer petty encroachments, for the sake of popularity; and who make, not only their own side of a bargain, but, in a very amiable, patronizing way, a portion of the other. Dr. Parkman did none of these things. He gave men credit, for a full share of selfishness and cunning--made his contracts carefully--performed them strictly--and expected an exact fulfilment, from the other party.

It is perfectly natural, that the promptness and the pertinacity of Dr.

Parkman, in exacting the punctual payment of money, and the strict performance of contracts, should be equally surprising and annoying to those, whose previous dealings had been with men, of less method and vigilance. But no man, however irritated by the daily repet.i.tion of the dun, has ever charged, upon Dr. Parkman, the slightest departure from the line of strict integrity. He was a man of honor, in the true acceptation of that word. His domestic arrangements were of the most liberal kind--his manners were courteous--and he possessed the high spirit of a gentleman--and, with all the occasional evidences, which his conduct _openly_ supplied, of his particular care, in the gathering of units; he could be _secretly_ liberal, with hundreds.

It may well be doubted, if any individual has ever lived, for sixty years, in this city, whose real character has been so little understood, by the community at large. The reason is at hand--he exposed that regard for pittances, which most men conceal--and he concealed many acts of charity, which most men expose. He had many tenants of the lower order--he was frequently his own collector, and brought upon himself many murmurs and complaints, which are commonly the agent's portion.

The charities of Dr. Parkman wore an aspect, now and then, of whimsicality, and were strangely contrasted with _apparent_ meanness.

Thus, upon one occasion, he is said to have insisted upon being paid a paltry balance of rent, some twenty-five cents, by a poor woman, who a.s.sured him it was all she had to buy her dinner. "_Now we have settled the rent_," said he, and immediately gave her a couple of dollars.

A gentleman, an old college acquaintance of Dr. Parkman's, told me, a day or two since, that the Dr. came to him, after this gentleman's failure, some years ago, and said to him, with great kindness and delicacy--"You want a house--there is mine in ---- street, empty and repaired--take it--you shall pay no rent for a year, and as much longer, as may suit your convenience."

In 1832, this city was visited by the cholera. Mr. Charles Wells was Mayor, and a very good Mayor was he. Had his benevolence induced him to labor, for the more extensive diffusion of the blessing of alcohol, among the poor, the liquor trade would certainly have voted him a punch-bowl, for his vigorous opposition to the cholera. Upon the occasion, to which I refer, Dr. Parkman said to the city authorities--"You are seeking for a cholera hospital--take any of my houses, that may suit you, rent free, in welcome. If you prefer that, which I occupy, I will move out, with pleasure."

When Dorcas died, the good people of Joppa began to display her handiwork.

I am surprised, though much of it was known to me before, at the amount of evidence, which is now produced, from various quarters, to prove, that this unfortunate gentleman was a man of the most kind affections, and of extensive, practical benevolence.

Let me close these remarks, with one brief anecdote; which, though once already related of Dr. Parkman, by the editor of the Transcript, is worthy of many republications, and is not at all like news, on the stock exchange, good only while it is new.

"A politician stopped the Doctor in the street and asked him to subscribe for the expense of a salute, in honor of some political victory. The Doctor put his arm in his, and invited him to take a little walk. He led him round the corner into a dismal alley, and then up three flights of rickety stairs into a room where a poor woman was sitting, propped by pillows, feebly attempting to sew. Some pale, hungry-looking children were near. The Doctor took six dollars out of his pocket-book, and handed it to the politician, and, simply remarking, "do with it as you please," he darted out of the room in his usually impulsive way."

I must close this feeble tribute of respect to the memory of one, who truly deserved a milder fate and an abler pen. Had we the power of recall--how well and wisely might we pay his ransom, with scores of men, quite as _eccentric_ in their way, but whose _eccentricity_ has very rarely a.s.sumed the charitable type!

No. LXXIII.

When I was a very young man, I had the honor of a slight acquaintance with a most worthy gentleman, my senior by many years, who represented the town of Hull, in the Legislature of our Commonwealth. As I marked the solemn step, with which he moved along the public way, towards the House of Representatives, and the weight of responsibility, which hung upon his anxious brow--if such, thought I, is the effect, produced upon the representative of Hull--what an awful thing it must be, to represent the whole United States of North America, at the court of the greatest nation in the world!

In harmony with this opinion, every nation of the earth has selected, from the _elite_ of the whole country, for the high and responsible employment of standing before the world, as the legitimate representative of itself, a man of affairs--I do not mean the affairs of trade, and discounts, and invoices, and profits--I use the word, in its most ample diplomatic sense--a man of great wisdom, and knowledge, and experience--a man familiar with the laws of nations--a man of dignity--not that arrogated dignity, which looks supremely wise, while it feels supremely foolish--but that conscious dignity, which is innate, and sits upon the wearer, like an easy garment--a man of liberal education, and great familiarity, not with the whole circle of sciences, but with the whole circle of historical and correlative knowledge--a man of cla.s.sical erudition, and a scholar, competent to bear a becoming part, in that elevated intercourse of mind, which forms the dignified and delightful recreation of the diplomatist, in the first society of Europe.