was a diamond; Kent was never more charming and witty; Mr.---- never more
stately and brilliant, and Verplanck was in his most genial mood, full of
his peculiarly interesting, graceful and instructive conversations. The
spirit of the hour was unrestrained and cordial. We had a good time, and
it was not early when the dispersion began. Verplanck and Kent remained
with us after the others withdrew, and as midnight approached Kent also
departed. After a while Verplanck and I went forth and sauntered along in
the darkness through the deserted streets, among the tenantless and gloomy
houses, till we reached the point where his path would diverge for
Broadway and up-town, and mine for Fulton Ferry and Brooklyn Heights.
Instead of leaving me the good philosopher volunteered to keep on with me
to the river, and when we reached the river, proposed to remain with me
until the boat arrived, and then proposed to cross the river with me. We
were, I think, the only passengers, and his conversation continued to flow
as fresh and interesting as at the dinner table until we reached the
Brooklyn shore. He declined to pass the rest of the night at my house, and
while I waited with him till the boat should leave the wharf to take him
back, the night editor of the Courier and Enquirer, a clever and
accomplished gentleman, came on board on the way to his nocturnal labors.
I introduced them to each other; they were at once in good accord; I saw
them off and went homeward. A day or two after I learned that when they
reached the New York shore, Verplanck volunteered to stroll down to the
Courier office with the editor, accepted his invitation to walk in,
ascending with him to his room in the attic, and, to the editor's great
delight and edification, remained with him, conversing, reading and
ruminating until broad daylight. There was a charm in Mr. Verplanck's
conversation that was distinctive and peculiar. It was 'green pastures and
still waters.'"
Our friend had, it is true, a memory which faithfully retained the
acquisitions made in early life, but, in some way or other, was
continually enlarging them. I think I have never known one whose thoughts
were so much with the past, whose memory was so familiar with the words
and actions of those who inhabited the earth before us, and who so loved
and reverenced the worthy examples they have given us, yet who so much
interested himself in the present and was so hopeful of the future. There
was no tendency of this shifting and changeful age which he did not
observe, no new discovery made, no new theory started, no untrodden path
of speculation opened to human thought, which did not immediately engage
his attention, and of which he had not something instructive to say. He
was as familiar with the literature of the day as are the crowd of common
readers who know no other, yet he suffered not the brilliant novelties of
the hour to wean his admiration from the authors whose reputation has
stood the test of time. He was generous, however, to rising merit, and
took pleasure in commending it to the attention of others.
His learning was not secular merely; his library was well stocked with
works on theology; he was familiar with the questions discussed in them;
the New Testament, in the original, was a part of his daily reading; he
had examined the dark or doubtful passages of Scripture, and they who were
much in his society needed no more satisfactory commentator. Not long
since he sent to the Society Library for a theological work rather out of
date. "It is the first time that work was ever called for," said the
librarian, smiling as he took it from the shelf, and aired the leaves a
little.
His kindness to his fellow men was shown more in deeds than in words--for
of words of compliment he was particularly sparing; and he loved to do
good by stealth. A letter from his pastor, the Rev. Dr. Shelton, says: "He
was very kind and affectionate when he thought he discovered merit in any
body however humble, and though he dropped never so much as a hint to the
individual himself, he was pretty sure to speak a good word for him in
quarters where it would have an influence. A great many never knew whom
they had to thank for this. Here he recommended some one for a place,
there he picked up a book or a set of books for some distant library. In
this way he went about doing good, and, not given to impulse, was
systematically benevolent." A letter from another hand speaks of the
clergymen whom he had put in the way of getting a parish, the youths for
whom he had procured employment--favors quietly conferred, when perhaps
the person benefited had forgotten the application or given up the
pursuit. He preserved carefully all that related to those persons in whom
he took a kindly interest. "Never," says Dr. Shelton, "did a juvenile
letter come to him that he did not carefully put away. Whole packages of
them are found among his papers; if they had been State documents they
could not have been more important in his eyes."
I have spoken of the hopefulness of his temper. This was doubtless in a
great degree constitutional, for he is said to have been an utter stranger
to physical fear, preserving his calmness on occasions when others would
be in a fever of alarm. He loved our free institutions, he had a serene
and steady confidence in their duration and his published writings are for
the most part eloquent pleas for freedom, political equality and
toleration. Even the shameless corruption which has seized on the local
government of this city, did not dismay or discourage him. He maintained,
in a manner which it was not easy to controvert, that the great cities of
Europe are quite as grossly misgoverned, and that every overgrown
community like ours must find it a difficult task to rid itself of the
official leeches that seek to fatten on its blood.
In looking back upon the public services of our friend it occurs to me
that his life is the more to be held up as an example, inasmuch as, though
possessed of an ample fortune, he occupied himself as diligently in
gratuitous labors for the general good as other men do in the labors of
their profession. In the dispensation of his income he leaned, perhaps, to
the side of frugality, but his daily thought and employment were to make
his fellow men happier and better; yet I never knew a man who made less
parade of his philanthropy. He rarely, and never, save when the occasion
required it, spoke of what he had done for others. I never heard, I think
no man ever heard, anything like a boast proceed from his lips, nor did he
practice any, even the most innocent expedients, to attract attention to
his public services. Not that I suppose him insensible to the good will
and good word of his fellow men. He valued them, doubtless, as every wise
man must, but sought them not, except as they might be earned by the
unostentatious performance of his duty. If they came they were welcome, if
not, he was content with the testimony of his own conscience and the
approval of Him who seeth in secret.
It may be said that in almost every instance the place of those who pass
from the stage of life is readily supplied from among the multitude of
those who are entering upon it; the well-graced actor who makes his exit
is succeeded by another, who soon shows that he is as fully competent to
perform the part as his predecessor. But when I look for one to supply the
place of our friend who has departed, I confess I look in vain. I ask, but
vainly, where we shall find one with such capacities for earning a great
name, such large endowments of mind and acquisitions of study united with
such modesty, disinterestedness and sincerity, and such steady and various
labors for the good of our race conjoined with so little desire for the
rewards which the world has to bestow on those who render it the highest
services. But though we sorrow for his departure and see not how his
honored place is to be filled, let us congratulate ourselves, and the
community in which we live, that he was spared to us so many years. His
day was like one of the finest days in the season of the summer solstice,
bright, unclouded, and long.
Farewell--thou who hast already entered upon thy reward! happy in this,
that thou wert not called from thy beneficent labors before the night.
Thou hadst already garnered an ample harvest; the sickle was yet in thy
hand; the newly reaped sheaves lay on the field at thy side, when, as the
beams of the setting sun trembled on the horizon, the voice of the Master
summoned thee to thine appointed rest. May all those who are as nobly
endowed as thou, and who as willingly devote themselves to the service of
God and mankind be spared to the world as long as thou hast been.
EVENING POST, 41 Nassau St., corner Liberty.