seventy years is a priceless legacy. His hands were pure. The shadow of suspicion never fell on him. If he erred in his opinions (and that he did so he had the Christian grace and courage to own), no selfish interest weighed in the scale of his judgment against truth. As our thoughts follow him to his last resting-place, we are sadly reminded of his own touching lines, written many years ago at Florence. The name he has left behind is none the less ‘pure’ that instead of being ‘humble,’ as he then anticipated, it is on the lips of grateful millions, and written ineffaceable on the record of his country's trial and triumph:—
Yet not for me when I shall fall asleepCongratulating the Society on the prospect of the speedy consummation of the great objects of our associate's labors,—the peace and permanent union of our country,— I am very truly thy friend.
Shall Santa Croce's lamps their vigils keep.
Beyond the main in Auburn's quiet shade,
With those I loved and love my couch be made;
Spring's pendant branches o'er the hillock wave,
And morning's dewdrops glisten on my grave,
While Heaven's great arch shall rise above my bed,
When Santa Croce's crumbles on her dead,—
Unknown to erring or to suffering fame,
So may I leave a pure though humble name.