thousand dollars toward the Winthrop Church edifice, from whose Sabbath services he was but one day absent for the last fifteen years of his life. For defraying the current expenditures of the society, he paid annually from a thousand to thirteen hundred dollars. During the last fifteen years of his life, he gave away the sum of eighty-five thousand dollars. He intimated to us a readiness to do more, and named the objects on which he expressed a willingness to bestow his benefactions. Had his life been longer spared, or the premonitions of its sudden close been earlier given, unquestionably more would have been done in the execution of purposes which he cherished. In reference to the munificent donation of fifty thousand dollars to the new town, which it was then proposed to incorporate out of a portion of Randolph, he said he did not give it for the sake of his own name, but as it was that of his father, he did not object to it, as the people were united in the selection. His money he gave, he said, that in case of a division, the people of the new town might be permanently benefitted, and begin their history as a municipality free from debt, and consequently in more propitious circumstances than most of the other debt encumbered towns of the Commonwealth.

So strict was the attention of our friend to his own affairs, that he had little to do with those of his neighbors. Yet, when a friend or a neighbor was known to succeed and prosper, he was pleased, and never withheld the expression of his satisfaction. No bitter sarcasm ever fell from his lips against a neighbor or an acquaintance, or anything that wore the aspect of a calumny or slander. He was no lover of pre-eminence, and in his own character had no relationship to a single member of the Diotrophean family. He was open, frank, not secret,

subtle, and undermining. As "innocence is ever simple and credulous, and conscious of no designs itself, suspects none in others," it was difficult for him to conceive of the artful malignity that often lurked under a cynic smile or a canting innuendo. He had settled opinions of his own, yet disliked collisions, avoided controversies, and would often seemingly yield something, rather than contend with an overbearing and impudent aggressor.

He was courteous, refined in his tastes, modest, unassuming, and never obtrusive in the statement and defence of his opinions. He was genial, affectionate, humorous, and eminently fitted to receive and impart that which elevates, refines, and adorns, in social intercourse.

Nature had gifted him with an elegant person, with a pleasing presence, a genial countenance, a black and sparkling eye, so that amid a crowd on Washington Street, Boston, he would attract notice and fix attention.

In conversation, he was never loud or boisterous; always calm, mild, but decided, and a contrast to those who in business life deem noise and bustle an index of ability and success, and assertion without proof as demonstrative evidence of sound sense and matchless wisdom.

He was, moreover, the sun in the sanctuary of home, and deep was the darkness in that dwelling when that sun went down and set forever. He was the faithful, the affectionate husband, the kind, the tender father, the loving grandparent, and the sympathizing brother. He was beloved in all the relations of life, and keen was the anguish and deep the gloom that settled on the hearts of the domestic circle and friends at the hour of his departure.

No sketch of his character and work could do him

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justice, or meet an enquiry that will be made as long as this beautiful Hall shall stand, and the volumes of this Library be read, that passes unnoticed his religious views and sentiments. They were inwrought into the whole texture and webwork of his thoughts and feelings, and diffused their influence over the whole conduct of his life. He was a firm believer in the Christian Scriptures as the inspired Word of God, and in all the fundamental doctrines of the living oracles. He kept a copy of them in his counting-room and on his centre-table, and few were the days that were allowed to pass without his perusal of them, either at his fireside, or at his place of business. He admired and loved the simplicity and beauty and pathos of patriarchal scenes, and could never but be moved, he said, by the matchless compositions of the bard of Israel. He often referred to a change of heart, by the renewing influences of the Holy Spirit, as indispensable to a preparation for heaven. Without it, he often said, there could be no taste, no relish, or capacity for the fruitions of that world of joy.

He believed that men condemned, and utterly and hopelessly condemned, by the law of God, needed a Saviour; and that Christ, being both God and man, was the only Saviour of this impenitent and lost world. He believed all the truth that centred in' and around the cross of Christ, and said that he never would support, and would never aid in supporting, any exhibitions of so-called religious truth that failed to unfold the cross of the invisible and glorified Redeemer. His sincerity and deep personal interest in all this were evinced, by his voice in seasons of religious awakening being heard in public prayer, by a family altar that was not neglected, and by the thousands and tens of thousands of dollars which he

must have paid during the fifty years of his active life, for the support of religious institutions in the community in which he lived. This sincerity and deep personal interest again were evinced by his clinging to the invisible hand of the great Shepherd of Israel, when the world receded from his view, and he found himself suddenly entering and treading the vale of death.

Such, briefly, was the character of him whose princely benefactions have been so liberally bestowed on the place of his birth and name.

"Admiratione te potius, temporalibus laudibus, et, si natura suppeditet, amulatu decoremus."

HOLBROOK, July 1, 1874.