EVERETT, EDWARD.
We have many records of great men, born in poverty, and with limited
educational advantages, rising from obscurity to eminence, by their own
efforts. Such we style "self-made men," and in these sketches of great
men we shall have occasion to speak of some of these, but our "E" is not
such an one. Edward Everett was the son of a clergyman, and had in his
youth the best of educational privileges. That these were not
misimproved may be inferred from the fact that he was twice the
"Franklin Medal Scholar" in the Boston public schools. He graduated from
Harvard University when not quite eighteen years old. That was in 1811.
You will observe that I have not gone far back in the history of the
world for a subject. This man lived in the present century, indeed, it
is only about twenty years since he died. Young as he was, he was made
Professor of Greek Literature at Harvard, a very few years after his
graduation. But he went abroad before taking the professor's chair, in
order to prepare himself better for the duties of the position. However,
this preparation was to serve him in other capacities. Not very long did
he serve the University in that way; his countrymen had other work for
him. He had delivered some brilliant lectures at Harvard, but an oration
delivered during the last visit of Lafayette to this country, settled
the question, if any doubt yet remained as to his eloquence; it was on
that occasion pronounced matchless, and the people of Massachusetts
determined that such powers ought and should be made to do service in
the political world. At the call of the people he left the seclusion of
college walls and entered public life as a Representative in Congress.
Later he was recalled from Washington to be the Governor of his State.
Afterwards he travelled again in Europe, and settled himself in an
Italian villa, with the purpose of carrying out a fondly cherished
scheme of writing history. But again he was called into public life;
first as United States Minister to the Court of St. James; then when he
again hoped to settle to private life he was prevailed upon to accept
the Presidency of Harvard College, which he held for three years; then
before he could set about his cherished scheme of labor he was chosen
Secretary of State under President Fillmore. This was his last official
service, though he was not permitted to retire into private life. For
ten years he used his wonderful oratorical powers in the promotion of
public good; now, it was a lecture in behalf of some benevolent
enterprise, now, in commemoration of some historical event, or again, a
eulogy upon some eminent personage. When the scheme was afoot of
securing Mount Vernon to be held by an association for the people of the
United States, Edward Everett devoted his time, his energies and his
unequalled eloquence to the accomplishment of that purpose. He travelled
over the length and breadth of the land, and spoke thousands of times to
appreciative audiences upon the "Character of Washington," and as the
results of that long and wearisome journeying, he contributed to the
cause over sixty thousand dollars. But with the first peal that heralded
the beginning of the war a theme yet more inspiring was given him. The
shot fired at Sumpter reached his ear, and on the twenty-seventh of the
same month he was ready with a speech that rang out from Chester Square
with no uncertain sound. But before the bells rang out "peace" he had
ceased to speak--his lips were mute in death. Less than a week before he
died--in January, 1865--he spoke in Faneuil Hall on behalf of Freedom.
In Boston, where his death occurred, there were demonstrations of
profound sorrow; the flag at Bunker Hill, as well as all the flags of
the city, was hung at half-mast. The church where the funeral services
were held was crowded and the streets near the church were thronged with
those anxious to pay respect to the memory of the gifted man; "the
minute guns at the Navy Yard and on the Common boomed slowly. The church
bells solemnly tolled, and the roll of muffled drums and the long,
pealing, melancholy wail of the wind instruments filled the air."
Why the mourning? And why do we call him a great man? His country had
honored him by choosing him to fill positions of trust, he was a
scholar, a brilliant writer and eloquent speaker. Perhaps any one of
these things would have made him what men call great, but this which has
been said of him is worth more than position, scholarship, or eloquence:
"he will longest be remembered as one whose every word and gesture was
untiringly and grandly employed in animating his hearers to the best and
loftiest ends."
There have been other men gifted in speech, with power of swaying the
minds of the multitudes who came to listen to their eloquence, of whom
this could not be said. Men who when called by their countrymen to use
their power for the country's good, have thought more of furthering
their own selfish purposes than of a nation's honor and prosperity, have
thought more of the applause of the admiring throng than of the
uplifting of the human race. Shall we not then give honor to one who so
cheerfully laid aside his own cherished plans, ever ready to serve the
public, doing his work so well in varied capacities, and of whom it
could be said that "the annals of the country must be searched in vain
to find one who had done more to advance every public interest and
patriotic cause?"