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A. Thomas Fuller and his descendants.

[From the New England Historical and Genealogical Register for October, 1859.]

In 1638 Thomas Fuller came over from England to America, upon a tour of observation, intending, after he should have gratified his curiosity by a survey of the wilderness world, to return. While in Massachusetts, he listened to the preaching of Rev. Thomas Shepard, of Cambridge, who was then in the midst of a splendid career of religious eloquence and effort, the echo of which, after the lapse of two centuries, has scarcely died away. Through his influence, Mr. Fuller was led to take such an interest in the religion of the Puritan school, that the land of liturgies and religious formulas, which he had left behind, became less attractive to him than the ‘forest aisles’ of America, where God might be freely worshipped. He has himself left on record a metrical statement of the change in his views which induced him to resolve to make his home in Massachusetts. These verses were collected by the Rev. Daniel Fuller of Gloucester from aged persons, who declare that the author was urged, but in vain, to publish them. Now, after the lapse of two centuries, we will favor the world with a few of them, which will serve as a sample:— [1356]

In thirty-eight I set my foot
     On this New England shore;
My thoughts were then to stay one years
     And here remain no more.

But, by the preaching of God's word
     By famous Shepard he,
In what a woful state I was,
     I then began to see.

Christ cast his garments over me,
     And all my sins did cover:
More precious to my soul was he
     Than dearest friend or lover.

His pardoning mercy to my soul
     All thought did far surmount;
The measure of his love to me
     Was quite beyond account.

Ascended on his holy hill,
     I saw the city clear,
And knew 'twas New Jerusalem,
     I was to it so near.

I said, My mountain does stand strong,
     And doubtless 'twill forever;
But soon God turned his face away,
     And joy from me did sever.

Sometimes I am on mountains high,
     Sometimes in valleys low:—
The state that man's in here below,
     Doth ofttimes ebb and flow.

I heard the voice of God by man,
     Yet sorrows held me fast;
But these my joys did far exceed;
     God heard my cry at last.

Satan has flung his darts at me,
     And thought the day to win;
Because he knew he had a friend
     That always dwelt within.

But surely God will save my soul I
     And, though you trouble have,
My children dear, who fear the Lord,
     Your souls at death he'll save. [1357]

All tears shall then be wiped away;
     And joys beyond compare,
Where Jesus is and angels dwell,
     With every saint you'll share.

If these verses do not give evidence of the highest poetical culture and finish, they yet prove genuine Puritan blood, and hand down through the centuries the very laudable reason which induced Lieut. Thomas Fuller (so we find him styled in the probate proceedings on his will) to purchase and settle upon a large tract of land in New Salem, (afterwards Middleton;) and this land, we will say in passing, is still mainly owned and improved by his descendants. He built a house on it near a stream, about half a mile below Middleton Pond, and about the same distance west from Will's Hill. He did not reside continuously at Middleton; but for some years dwelt in Woburn, and was one of the first settlers and most active citizens of that town, as its records manifest. He died in the year 1698, bequeathing his remaining land to his youngest son, Jacob, having previously, in his lifetime, conveyed lands to his other children, by way of advancement. The last named (Jacob) was born in 1655, and continued to reside on the farm in Middleton till his death in 1731. He married Mary Bacon, and they had five children. His fifth child and second son was likewise named Jacob, who was born in 1700, and died October 17, 1767. He married Abigail Holton, and they had ten children—six sons and four daughters.

Timothy Fuller, the sixth child and third son of the second Jacob Fuller, was born at Middleton, on the 18th of May, 1739. He entered Harvard University at the age of nineteen, and graduated in 1760. His name over that date may still be seen on the corner-stone of one of the college buildings. He applied himself to theology; and in March, 1767, received from the church and town of Princeton, Mass., a nearly unanimous invitation to become their pastor, having previously supplied their pulpit for two years. Here [1358] he was ordained the first minister of Princeton, 9th September, 1767. In 1770 he married Sarah Williams, daughter of Rev. Abraham Williams, of Sandwich, Mass. He was successful as a preacher, and his people were united in him till the war of the revolution broke out. He declared at the time, and ever afterwards, that he was friendly to the principles of the revolution, and anxiously desired that his country should be liberated from its dependence on the British crown; but he was naturally a very cautious man, and believed this result would be certain to come, if the country reserved itself for action till its strength was somewhat matured, and its resources in a better state of preparation. Resistance at the time he believed to be premature, and hazarding all by too precipitate action. Such views, however, were by no means congenial to the heated zeal of his townsmen. He first gave dissatisfaction by a discourse he preached to the ‘minute men,’ at the request of the town, choosing for his text 1 Kings XX. 11: ‘Let not him that girdeth on the harness boast himself as he that putteth it off.’ He was not a man to swerve from his own cool and deliberate views through the pressure of public opinion; and his persistence in them led to his dismissal, in 1776, from the pastorate by an ex parte council, his parish refusing to agree with him upon a mutual council. He removed soon after to Martha's Vineyard, and preached to the society in Chilmark till the war was ended. He then removed to Middleton, and brought a suit against the town of Princeton for his salary. His dismissal had been irregular, and the law of the case was in his favor; but the jury had too much sympathy with the motives that actuated the town to render a verdict in his behalf. It was supposed this result would be crushing to him, and that he would not be prepared to pay costs recovered by the town; and some were malignant enough to anticipate with pleasure the levy of the execution. But they were disappointed; for, when the sheriff called upon him, he coolly counted out the amount of the execution in [1359] specie, which, in his habitual caution, he had carefully hoarded to meet this very exigency. He soon after returned to Princeton, where he applied himself to the careful education of his children, in connection with the cultivation of a large farm, which embraced within its bounds the Wachusett mountain.

None of his children attended any other than this family school; all were carefully taught, and several fitted for college at home. Those in the town who had been opposed to him, soon became reconciled, and even warmly attached. He was very active in town affairs, and represented Princeton in the convention which approved and adopted the present federal constitution. He himself, with his characteristic firmness, voted against the constitution, mainly on the ground of its recognition of slavery; and he has left his reasons on record. In 1796, he removed to Merrimac, N. H., where he continued to reside till his decease, on the morning of the 3d of July, 1805, at the age of sixty-seven, leaving a wife and ten children to mourn his loss. His wife deserves more than a passing notice, as she must have had no small influence in moulding the character of the children. Her father, Rev. Abraham Williams, was a person of genuine piety, a warm patriot, and an ardent friend of the revolution. His letter accepting his call at Sandwich, which is still carefully preserved, breathes a pure Christian spirit; as also a subsequent communication, in which he kindly expresses a willingness to dispense with a portion of his salary to accommodate himself to the narrow means of his people. His will is likewise very characteristic. He emancipates his slaves, and requires his children to contribute to their support if they shall be destitute; and ‘deprives any child who may refuse to give bonds to perform this duty of his share of the estate, giving to such child in lieu thereof a new Bible of the cheapest sort, hoping that, by the blessing of Heaven, it may teach them to do justice and love mercy.’ He married Anna Buckminster, of Framingham, aunt of the distinguished clergyman, Rev. Joseph Buckminster, [1360] D. D., of Portsmouth, N. H., who was father of Rev. Joseph Stevens Buckminster, of Boston. Rev. Mr. Williams graduated from Harvard University in 1744, and died 12th of August, 1784, aged fifty-seven. His daughter Sarah, wife of Rev. Timothy Fuller, possessed a vigorous understanding and an honorable ambition, which she strove to infuse into her children. She died in 1822. Rev. Timothy Fuller left five daughters and five sons. The sons were Timothy, Abraham Williams, Henry Holton, William Williams, and Elisha; of these we shall speak more in detail.

Timothy Fuller, the fourth child and eldest son, attained great distinction. The chief steps in his career may be thus summarily stated: He was born in Chilmark, Martha's Vineyard, 11th of July, 1778: graduated at Harvard University with the second honors in his class, 1801. He was a member of the Mass. Senate from 1813 to 1816; Representative in Congress from 1817 to 1825; Speaker of the Mass. House of Representatives in 1825; a member of the Executive Council in 1828; and died suddenly of Asiatic cholera, at his residence in Groton, Mass., October 1, 1835. In the narrow circumstances of his father, he was obliged to work his way through college, and be absent much in teaching; but such were his talent, industry, and scholarship, that it is believed he would have borne off the first honors had he not countenanced a rebellion of the students, caused by certain college rules regarded as oppressive. He was always an ardent advocate for freedom and the rights of man, and even while in college made himself marked as a Democratic Republican, in contradistinction to the Federalist party. After graduating, he taught in Leicester Academy, till he had acquired funds to complete his professional study of the law, which he did in the office of Hon. Levi Lincoln, of Worcester, and afterwards practised law in Boston. We copy the following description of the monument erected to his memory in Mount Auburn, which is taken from the Mount Auburn Memorial:— [1361]

In the centre of the foreground, on Pyrola Path, is the chaste and beautiful marble sarcophagus, on which are inscribed the names of Hon. Timothy Fuller and two of his children, who departed life in infancy. This is a fitting memorial of a distinguished man. Mr. Fuller was a member of Congress from Massachusetts from 1817 to 1825, and was noted for reasoning power and eloquence. Among his marked speeches are his addresses upon the Seminole war, and in opposition to the Missouri Compromise, in 1820. Mr. Fuller was eminent among the Democratic Republicans of his time, and very influential in securing the election of John Quincy Adams to the presidency. His services as chairman of the Committee on Naval Affairs are not forgotten. Mr. Fuller had great distinction at the bar, and a large professional practice. He was untiring in his industry, grudged the hours nature demands for sleep, was a fine classic scholar, and an extensive reader. These were traits in his character which won much public honor; but there were others—a strict integrity, a warmth of heart, and a liberal benevolence, endearing him to the humble and needy, and a tender and faithful attachment to his children and friends, which make his memory widely cherished. In the pressure of business, having to prepare many briefs by his evening fireside, he yet found time to instruct his daughter Margaret, to cultivate her rare intellect, and to incite her to a noble ambition. Having practised many years in Boston, with his residence in Cambridge, he in later years removed to Groton. Here, in his beautiful residence, he designed to write a history of his country, for which he had been long collecting materials, and to educate his younger children with the advantages of due physical development. Perhaps, too, in the afternoon of his life he was drawn, as many are, nearer the scenes of his childhood and youth, attracted towards the blue Wachusett and the range of New Hampshire hills. Here he died the 1st of October, 1835. Circumstances prevented his daughter Margaret from [1362] completing a memoir of him which she designed, and which, we believe, would have been a worthy record of a high-minded and distinguished man.

Mr. Fuller's published writings are, ‘An Oration delivered at Watertown, July 4, 1809;’ ‘Address before the Massachusetts Peace Society, 1826;’ ‘The Election for the Presidency considered, by a Citizen;’ Speeches on the Seminole War, Missouri Compromise, &c.

Hon. Timothy Fuller married Margaret Crane, daughter of Maj. Peter Crane, of Canton, Mass., May 28, 1809. She died Sabbath morning, July 31, 1859. A character like hers—so sweet and amiable, gifted, yet unpretending, with a rare intellect and ardent imagination, with warmth of sentiment and affectionate benignity of heart, together with tender susceptibilities and the love of a sympathetic nature for flowers and every beautiful type of the great Creator— is, indeed, one of the fairest ornaments of existence. Her life was one of habitual self-denial and devotion to duty in the various relations of her lot. We know not that she ever made an enemy; and, on the contrary, we believe that she has drawn towards herself the heart of every one with whom she has come in contact. In youth she was possessed of great personal beauty, and was much admired in the Washington circles when her husband was in Congress. She had a rare conversational gift, aided by a lively fancy and a well-stored mind, which made her society much valued by the educated and the gifted. Above all, she was a sincere and devoted Christian.

Margaret Fuller, the first child of this union, is well known to fame. After her father's death she was her mother's chief stay; for, though of very little business experience, and with a natural aversion to financial affairs, she had a strength of mind and courageous firmness which stayed up her mother's hands when the staff on which she had leaned was stricken away. It had been the life-long desire of the daughter Margaret [1363] to go to Europe and complete her culture there, and arrangements with this view had been matured at her father's death. Her patrimony would have still sufficed for the destined tour; but she must have left her mother sinking under a sense of helplessness, with young children to educate. Margaret, after a struggle between a long-cherished and darling project and her sense of duty, heroically resolved to give up her own brilliant hopes, and remain with her mother. She applied herself personally to the academic training of the children, who learned from her the rudiments of the classic languages and the first reading of some of its great authors. We extract from the ‘Mount Auburn Memorial’ the following brief sketch of her and of the monument erected to her memory:—

We have not yet mentioned the monument forming the chief attraction of the lot, and that by which so many feet are drawn thither: we allude, of course, to that commemorative of Madame Ossoli, her husband, and child. It contains a medallion likeness of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, a star, which was the signature to many of her literary contributions, and a sword, indicative of the Italian struggle, in which her husband fought, and where she herself ministered to the wounded, the whole surmounted by the cross, indicative of their Christian faith. It would certainly be foreign to our purpose, and quite inconsistent with the limits of this sheet, to attempt any sketch of her life. Nor is it necessary. She lives, and will, while life lasts, in the memory of a large circle of friends and admirers. Her journey in a foreign land, and what she did and suffered there, engaged the attention and sympathy of a large number of still living witnesses. Her melancholy death with her husband and child, returning home, just entering the haven of her native land, sent a thrill through this country, and caused tears to flow in other lands, and has not been, nor is to be, forgotten. The brightness of her genius, the nobleness and heroism of her life, are set forth in two volumes of Memoirs [1364] from the pens of R. W. Emerson, Horace Greeley, W. H. Channing, J. F. Clarke, and other friends, which have been widely circulated, and have presented the story of an extraordinary life. Her thougths, committed to paper by her own eloquent and industrious pen, not only through the columns of the New York Tribune, for a series of years, but in several literary works, still express her genius, and breathe her noble aspirations. Woman in the Nineteenth Century, At home and abroad, Art, literature, and the drama, Life without and life within, embalm much of the mind of Margaret Fuller; but her wonderful power of conversation lives in memory alone. It is said that there has been no woman like her in this respect since Madame de Stael; but while Margaret Fuller's conversation, in eloquence and effect, in sparkle and flow, was fully equal to that of the gifted French woman, it had, superadded, a merit which the latter could not claim. There is hardly upon record one with her power to draw out others. She not only talked surprisingly herself, but she made others do so. While talking with her they seemed to make discoveries of themselves, to wonder at their own thoughts, and to admire the force and aspiration of their character—hitherto latent to their own consciousness. She made those who conversed with her forget to admire her in wondering at themselves. As a friend, Margaret Fuller Ossoli is, and must be, tenderly and devoutly remembered by the very large and miscellaneous class who knew and loved her. What an assemblage they would make if gathered together! The rich and the refined, the poor and the humble, the men and women of genius struggling with destiny, and demanding audience for new and noble thoughts; the poet, with his scorned and broken lyre, to whose lays how few would stop and listen, and still fewer echo in sympathy,—all these found in her a confidant to soothe their sorrows, and a friend to encourage and point onward. She had a wonderful way of winning unsolicited confidence. All ran to her with their secrets; and she [1365] was a storehouse of confidential disclosures. The servants about her, and all with whom she came in contact, found her a ready friend. There was but one thing needed to admit to the friendship of Margaret, and that was a pure purpose and a noble aim. Those who did not possess this instinctively shunned her. She had a penetrating eye to see through, and a power of satire to strip off, masks and pretences. She hated shams, hypocrisies, falsehoods, and outside show. Characters artificial and not genuine strove to keep at a safe distance from her; they dreaded the sting of her satire, the eagle look of her eye, and the eloquence of her tongue.

Margaret Fuller Ossoli lived above the world, while she lived in it. She was one of those exaltadas who are described in her Woman in the Nineteenth Century; which description has been thus thrown into a poetical dress:—

Who are these that move below,
Often glancing as they go,
With their homage-speaking eyes,
Rapt looks upward to the skies?
Such exalted ones they name—
Characters of heavenly frame,
Walking on the pilgrim road,
Living, moving still in God.
‘Tell me why their eye intent
Fastens on the firmament;
Or where, in the gilded sky,
Embers of the daylight die.’
In this world another lies,
Glorious as paradise;
And their souls have eyes to see,
Vision, undisclosed to thee.’

‘Tell me why they oft appear
Listening with attentive ear,
While emotions seem to glance
On the speaking countenance,
Though no being breathes a word,
Nor has aught the stillness stirred.’
‘Tis because their ears have caught
Hidden harmony of thought, [1366]
Music high, and deep, and broad,
Making melody to God!
World of sight and world of sound,
Close that clasp the earth around,
These exalted ones discern,
And with heavenly ardor burn.’

We have not yet spoken of Margaret as the representative of woman. Nor can we, in these limits, allude to what she said, and what she strove to do, to vindicate the honor of her sex. We cannot close, however, without quoting the lines of the celebrated Walter Savage Landor. Her husband, the Marquis Ossoli, was captain of the Civic Guard during the Italian revolution, in 1848, and was not only a, Roman noble, but, what is much higher, a noble Roman.

On the death of Marquis Ossoli and his wife, Margaret Fuller.

Over his millions death has lawful power;
But over thee, brave Ossoli! none—none!
After a long struggle, in a fight
Worthy of Italy to youth restored,
Thou, far from home, art sunk beneath the surge
Of the Atlantic; on its shore; in reach
Of help; in trust of refuge; sunk with all
Precious on earth to thee—a child, a wife!
Proud as thou wert of her, America
Is prouder, showing to her sons how high
Swells woman's courage in a virtuous breast.
She would not leave behind her those she loved:
Such solitary safety might become
Others—not her; not her who stood beside
The pallet of the wounded, when the worst
Of France and Perfidy assailed the walls
Of unsuspicious Rome. Rest, glorious soul,
Renowned for strength of genius, Margaret!
Rest with the twain, too dear! My words are few,
And shortly none will hear my failing voice;
But the same language with more full appeal
Shall hail thee. Many are the sons of song
Whom thou hast heard upon thy native plains,
Worthy to sing of thee; the hour has come;
Take we our seats, and let the dirge begin.


Of Eugene Fuller, the second child, the following notice taken from the annual obituary college record, by Joseph Palmer, M. D., published by the Boston Daily Advertiser, gives some account:—

Eugene Fuller, the eldest son of Hon. Timothy and Margaret (Crane) Fuller, was born in Cambridge, Mass., May 14, 1815. After leaving college in 1834, he studied law, partly at the Dane Law School in Cambridge, and partly in the office of George Frederick Farley, Esq., of Groton, Mass. After his admission to the bar, he practised his profession two years in Charlestown, Mass. He afterwards went to New Orleans, and was connected with the public press of that city. He spent several summers there, and, some two or three years ago was affected by a sun-stroke, which resulted in a softening of the brain, and ultimately in a brain fever, which came very near proving fatal, and left him in a shattered condition. His friends hoping that medical treatment at the north might benefit him, he embarked, with an attendant, on board the Empire City for New York. When one day out, June 21, 1859, his attendant being prostrated with seasickness, Mr. Fuller was left alone, and was not afterwards seen He must have been lost overboard. The New Orleans Picayune of the 30th June, with which he was some time connected, says, ‘His industry, reliability, and intelligence were equalled only by his invariably mild, correct, and gentlemanly demeanor, and he was liked and respected by all who knew him.’ ”

The second son of Hon. Timothy Fuller was William Henry Fuller. He applied himself to mercantile pursuits, first in New Orleans, afterwards in Cincinnati; and at present resides in Cambridge, Mass. He married Miss Frances Elizabeth Hastings, February 28, 1840.

The third1 daughter was Ellen Kilshaw Fuller, who married William E. Channing, author of several volumes of [1368] poetry. In the account of the Fuller lot in Mount Auburn, already quoted from, we have the following in reference to her:—

Near by, on a simple and elegant monument, is inscribed “Ellen Fuller Channing.” These words may mean little to a stranger, but they speak volumes to all who knew her, and are capable of loving and admiring an elevated and ideal character. Of great personal beauty, she was herself a poem. With a nature largely ideal, her whole life was a beautiful and poetic composition. In family love, in the refinement and elegances of domestic life, in the tender nurture and care of her children, she had a charm like music. The following lines, written by one who honored her, but faintly portray her to the mind:—

Hers were the bright brow and the ringlet hair,
     The mind that ever dwelt i the pure ideal;
Herself a fairer figure of the real
     Than those the plastic fancy moulds of air.

Rev. Arthur Buckminster Fuller,2 the third son of Hon. Timothy Fuller, was born August 10, 1822. He was early instructed by his father and his sister, Margaret Fuller. At the age of twelve, he spent one year at Leicester Academy; and, subsequently, studied with Mrs. Ripley, the wife of Rev. Samuel Ripley, of Waltham. In August, 1839, he entered college, at the age of seventeen, and graduated in 1843. During his college course he united with the church connected with the University. Immediately on graduation he purchased Belvidere Academy, in Belvidere, Boone Co., Illinois, which, assisted by a competent corps of instructors, he taught for the two subsequent years. During this time, Mr. Fuller occasionally preached, as a missionary, in Belvidere [1369] and destitute places, and also to the established churches, having been interested in theological study during his senior year at college. He was a member of the Illinois Conference of Christian and Unitarian ministers, and by them licensed to preach. His first sermon was preached October, 1843, in Chicago, to the Unitarian church then under the charge of Rev. Joseph Harrington. In 1845 Mr. Fuller returned to New England; entered, one year in advance, the Cambridge Theological School, whence he graduated in August, 1847. After preaching three months at West Newton, to a society of which Hon. Horace Mann was a principal founder and a constant attendant, Mr. Fuller accepted a call to the pastorate of the Unitarian Society in Manchester, N. H., and was subsequently ordained, March 29, 1848. In September, 1852, Mr. Fuller received a call from the New North Church, on Hanover Street, in Boston, one of the most ancient churches in the city, being founded in 1714, and a church built that year on the spot where the present one now stands. This call Rev. Mr. Fuller refused, the relation between himself and the Manchester Society being a most happy one. The call was, however, renewed, and ultimately accepted, and Mr. Fuller was installed in Boston, June 1, 1853. Failing health, and the fact that the Protestant population was rapidly leaving the North End, induced Mr. Fuller to resign his city pastorate, and close his labors there July 31, 1859. He accepted at once, however, a call for a six months charge of the Unitarian Church in Watertown, Mass., having preferred this temporary settlement to one of longer duration. In November, 1853, Mr. Fuller was chosen by the citizens of Ward 1, in Boston, a member of the School Committee, then a much smaller body than now, consisting of only twenty-four members. In January, 1854, Mr. Fuller was chosen by the Massachusetts House of Representatives chaplain of that body. In 1858 he was elected by the Massachusetts Senate their chaplain, both of which appointments he accepted, and discharged [1370] their duties. In 1855 Rev. Mr. Fuller was selected by the citizens of Groton, Mass., to deliver a bi-centennial oration, it being the two hundredth anniversary of the settlement of that ancient town. This oration was delivered October 31, 1855. In 1857 Mr. Fuller was nominated, by the republicans of Suffolk District No. 2, for the Massachusetts Senate, but, with the other candidates of his party in that district, failed of an election. In 1858 Mr. Fuller was chosen by the State Temperance Convention a member of the Executive Committee, and in the same year was elected a director of the Washingtonian Home, better known as the Home for the Fallen. Mr. Fuller's published writings are, ‘A Discourse in Vindication of Unitarianism from popular Charges against it,’ Manchester, 1848; ‘Sabbath School Manual of Christian Doctrines and Institutions,’ Boston, 1850; ‘A Discourse occasioned by the Death of Hon. Richard Hazen Ayer, delivered in the Unitarian Church, February 18, 1853;’ ‘An Historical Discourse, delivered in the New North Church, October 1, 1854;’ ‘A Discourse occasioned by the Death of Miss Mercy Tufts, delivered in the Unitarian Church in Quincy, Mass., January 24, 1858;’ ‘Liberty versus Romanism, or Romanism hostile to Civil and Religious Liberty,— being two Discourses delivered in the New North Church, Boston,’ Boston, 1859. Mr. Fuller has also edited four volumes of his sister Margaret's works, and has prepared for the press a complete and uniform edition of her works and memoirs.3

Richard Frederick Fuller was the fourth son. He graduated at Harvard University, 1844, studied law in Greenfield, Mass., afterwards a year at the Cambridge Law School, and, having completed his studies in the office of his uncle, Henry H. Fuller, Esq., in Boston, was admitted to the bar on examination in open court, December, 1846, at the age of twenty-two, and became, and continued for two years to be, [1371] the law partner of his uncle; and has subsequently practised law without a partner, in Boston. Having been fitted for college, at the age of sixteen he entered a store in Boston, at the solicitation of his family; but mercantile life proving distasteful to him, he relinquished it at the end of one year. By severe application, he in six months made up for this lost year, at the same time keeping pace with the studies of the Sophomore class, and was admitted to college in the middle of the Sophomore year. He graduated the second or third scholar of his class.

This ends our account of those who have been noted in the family of Hon. Timothy Fuller. His brothers likewise attained distinction, and deserve now to be mentioned.

Abraham Williams Fuller, the second son of Rev. Timothy Fuller, applied himself, on reaching manhood, to mercantile life. His strict application to business, his sagacity and integrity, speedily won the confidence of his employer, who, retiring from business about the time Abraham became of age, lent him an adequate capital, and set him up as his successor. The embargo, occurring at this time, caused a great rise in prices, and Abraham very soon acquired a large fortune. He at once relinquished mercantile business, and studied the law, and had an office in Boston till he died, April 6, 1847, unmarried, leaving a large property. A granite obelisk has been erected to his memory, near the tower, in Mount Auburn.

The third son was Henry Holton Fuller, who graduated at Harvard College, 1811, the second scholar in his class, Edward Everett being the first, and was admitted to the Suffolk bar September 19, 1815. He went into partnership with his brother Timothy, and attained great distinction at the bar. He was a thorough and careful lawyer, a sound logician, and had a sparkling flow of wit and humor, which made him a great favorite with juries. When he could not answer arguments, he could almost always throw a grotesque coloring over them, and bring them into ridicule, possessing a vein [1372] of very cutting satire. He had a great run of business in court almost immediately; and at thirty years of age it was said that he had argued more cases than any lawyer of his age in Massachusetts. He himself remarked that he never was counsel in a case where the jury did not wish to give him the verdict, if they could find a fair way to do so. In conversation he was genial and sprightly, affable and pleasant to all about him, and a universal favorite with his juniors. He was several years a representative from Boston in the Massachusetts legislature, and very efficient in its debates and the transaction of the public business. At his death, September 15, 1852, the bench and bar joined in a public tribute of eulogy to his memory. A granite obelisk in Mount Auburn, near the tower, beside the monument of Abraham W. Fuller, is erected to his memory.

William Williams Fuller likewise graduated at Harvard University, in 1813, and studied law. He practised several years in Hallowell, Me., afterwards in Lowell, Mass., and ultimately in Oregon, Ill. His mind was cool and deliberate, his judgment sound and reliable, and he obtained a very favorable reputation in his profession. He died at Oregon, Ill., 1849, leaving an infant child, who survived but a few months.

Elisha Fuller, the youngest son, graduated at Harvard University, 1815, and studied law. He practised at Lowell, and afterwards at Worcester, Mass. He had a keenness of perception, a ready wit, and a sound knowledge of law, which won for him much success in practice. He was a person of remarkably buoyant temperament, and so cheerful and social a companion, that his advent was sure to banish gloom and low spirits, as sunshine dissipates the darkness. In person he closely resembled Henry, whose vivacity of discourse he also shared. Both were of rather small stature, with lively black eyes, and great sprightliness of manner. Elisha died the last of the five lawyers, 1855. Seldom, in one generation has a family numbered so many successful professional men as were the five brothers we have described.


B. [from the Quarterly Journal.] Memorial of Mrs. Margaret Fuller,

by her son, Richard F. Fuller.
[The following interesting memoir of an excellent Christian woman was not prepared with any reference to being printed. It was written by one of her sons for the use of his children; but, having had the privilege of reading it, I requested to be allowed to print it in the Quarterly Journal, and my request was granted. I think the readers of the Journal will be interested in this sketch.—Editor Journal.]

Margaret Fuller, the daughter of Major Peter Crane, was born in Canton, Mass., February 15, 1789. Her father, though an artisan of moderate circumstances, was quite scholarly for his day and condition in life, and possessed an original turn of mind, as well as marked independence of character. He left some disquisitions, preserved by his family, of no literary excellence, but indicative of a strong and untutored mind, coping with the intellectual problems of life, and feeling after truth by the unaided light of individual thought. He was noted for going on in his own course, with utter disregard of popularity, and of the view which others might take of his conduct. He served in the revolutionary war, and at one time, when there was no chaplain, performed the duties of that office for his regiment. Though belonging to no church, and entertaining, perhaps, rather crude views of his own in religious things, yet he had an influence over the minds of others, which induced his counsel and his prayers to be sought for in circumstances of distress. He died before I was born; but my grandmother lived till after I attained manhood. My father and mother often visited her at Canton, riding in a chaise, and carrying one of the children, [1374] sitting on a cricket at their feet; and my turn for these journeys came often. My father was an ardent lover of nature, which he doubly enjoyed in his escapes from the pressure of public and professional business; and his enjoyment of it, and the points of interest he called attention to, heightened my relish for this pure gratification. He drove slowly, and sang with my mother on the way. These journeys are ever memorable with me; and the visits were always celebrated in sacred song among the Canton kindred, which my father accompanied with the flute, enjoying music with almost passionate delight. Arriving at Canton, we were always joyously greeted by the bright and sunny face of my aged grandmother, who lived with a maiden aunt, and the uniformity of whose life was very agreeably varied by these visits, while my father never neglected to bring generous supplies for her rather meagre larder. She was a very pious woman, in the simplicity and devotion of the Baxter school, whose ‘Saint's Rest,’ as well as the works of Watts and Doddridge, were very familiar and precious to her, and formed, with her ever-diligently conned and well-worn Bible, almost the whole range of her literary acquirement. She was very fond of singing devotional hymns. Among others, I remember ‘China’ was a great favorite, sung even with her last failing voice upon her death bed. As she sang it, the minor cadence and its reference to the grave rather affrighted and repelled my childish taste; but I have since been able to appreciate the sentiment which made it attractive. My grandmother had great sweetness of temper and a sunshine of disposition, which may have been received by my mother as an hereditary gift.

In childhood and youth, my mother was marked not only for rare bloom and personal beauty, but for an almost irrepressible gayety and buoyancy of temper. She was as full of the elasticity of life, and her heart as overflowing with the music of nature, as the early songsters of spring. She was [1375] above the medium height of woman, being in stature about five feet and nine or ten inches, and considerably taller than my father. She had blue eyes, a fair, white complexion, not liable to tan or freckle, and a rich bloom, like that of the peach, in her cheeks. This bloom was a very marked characteristic of her face, and one that she retained to quite mature life. It was transmitted to her daughter Ellen, and its rose has reappeared undiminished in the blooming cheeks of some of her grandchildren.

My mother had a very happy childhood. Her own temper, with its rare elasticity, was then, and ever through life, a fund of happiness for herself as well as others. As a child and maiden, she had a wild exuberance of spirits, regulated, however, by as strong a benevolence, and a tenderness of feeling and sympathy, which made her generally beloved. Her fondness for flowers was ever a passion with her, if so gentle and refined a sentiment may be thus denominated. I have heard her speak of her mother as one who, though sweet and loving, was determined not to spoil the child by sparing the rod, when occasion required its exercise, which, happily, was seldom. On one occasion, however, her mother had forbidden the children to eat certain grapes, and Margaret had yielded to the temptation of the luscious fruit, and despoiled the vine of some of its clusters. Her mother inquired of Abby, a younger daughter, if she had done it, and was answered, ‘No.’ On being further interrogated if she knew the offending party, Abby would not reply; and her mother attempted with the rod to compel her to answer. Abby bore it with heroic endurance, and continued mute, till Margaret, unable to endure the sight of this vicarious suffering, confessed the deed, and thereby transferred the rod to her own more deserving shoulders. Before she was out of her teens, she taught school in the district where she resided. One large boy presumed upon his familiar acquaintance and her well-known playfulness of disposition, [1376] which he could hardly believe it possible for her to lay aside, and showed a disinclination to submit to her sceptre in the school room. She displayed her characteristic energy and courage, called the boy out upon the floor, and, ere he could collect his forces for resistance, ferruled him soundly. The dismayed youth quailed and submitted, and her authority was afterwards unquestioned.

My mother has given some rather grotesque accounts of riding to church on a pillion; and of being sometimes taken up behind a rustic cavalier, whose invitation she had unwillingly accepted, to spare him the mortification of a refusal. It was at church that my father first saw her, she happening, through some chance, to be in Cambridge on the Sabbath. He loved, and his love was returned. He soon led her to the altar, a blooming girl of twenty, and ten years younger than himself. Father was not blind to worldly advantages of family and position; and such were readily within the reach of a rising young lawyer, whose talents had already become favorably known. But it was well for him that he yielded to a softer and a better sentiment. ‘His love for my mother,’ says Margaret in her autobiographical sketch, ‘was the green spot on which he stood apart from the commonplaces of a mere bread-winning, bread-bestowing existence.’ She adds, in describing her mother, ‘She was one of those fair and flower-like natures which sometimes spring up even beside the most dusty highways of life—a creature not to be shaped into a merely useful instrument, but bound by one law with the blue sky, the dew, and the frolic birds. Of all persons whom I have known, she had in her most of the angelic—of that spontaneous love for every living thing, for man, and beast, and tree, which restores the golden age.’ Not only was this union a blessing to father, but favorable to the character of his children. Margaret used to say that we derived our ideal sentiment mainly from our mother. And certainly she had a good store of refined fancy and delicate [1377] feeling, though coupled, as they but rarely are, with a ready and and a willing mind for useful effort, graced by uninterupted benignity and sweetness, and not marred by the moody and irritable temperament which are not unfrequently the blemish of an imaginative mind. None of her sons can fail to be grateful for sentiment, from whichever parent derived, since it is not only the most satisfactory evidence of a divine and immortal germ within, but affords that purer gratification of thought and fancy, which, better than any thing in life, deserves the name of pleasure, being a satisfaction to which memory can ever revert without self-reproach. It is true that such a temperament is apt to be more sensitive to the thorns in life's pathway; but, when religiously developed, which is its best and most congenial bias, it furnishes itself a corrective for its fault, and opens to the soul fountains of even heavenly consolation.

My mother's Cambridge years rather antedate my recollection; but in Groton her character and life are fresh in my memory. A picture of her is very prominent in my mind, as she stooped over her flower-bed, and toiled long sunny hours over its extensive border. Her unwearied labors in the heat attracted the admiration even of the hardy farmers. Her expression, as she knelt by the flower bed and bent her nearsighted gaze close to a plant, and, discovering some new unfolding promise of beauty, turned round to announce it with a child-like simplicity and a delighted smile, I think can never fade from the memories of her children. This image has often been renewed; and though latterly her hair, no less beautiful than before, has been gray, yet never thinned by years, her smile has gleamed ever with the same sunshiny, child-like triumph, her countenance never hardened or saddened by life's experience, nor her joy abated with the declining vigor of life. The flowers were ever new and ever young, and they kept her spirit still child-like in freshness of sentiment, simplicity of taste, and purity of soul, showing her ever [1378] guileless, single-hearted, and such as are of the kingdom of heaven.

My father's death was a dreadful stroke to my mother. It bowed her to the earth; but it did not break her spirit, and she rose again, leaning on the arm of her beloved Lord. My father had been a man of strength and of success, and on him she had entirely relied, never cognizant of the practical financial problems of life. His property was in unproductive real estate, and, with young children to be educated, it was necessary to change and straiten our style of living. The arithmetic of the business appalled my mother; she was as naturally inapt for it as the lilies that neither toil nor spin. But she was always remarkable for indefatigable industry; and she applied herself to the dairy, and the farm, and the economy of the table with heroic determination, while she was aided and encouraged by Margaret's firm and courageous, though far from financial or business-like, mind. She ever rose early, and her voice with the morning birds roused the rest of the household. Well do I remember the night of my father's death, when I was ten years of age. The solemn tones of the minister's voice in prayer, in the chamber of death, have not been—can never be—forgotten. Very soon after I was confined to my bed for a fortnight, with fever. Mother feared it might prove fatal. She never faltered; she was with me night and day. I remember well her voice as she called me her ‘dear lamb.’ Her soothing, gentle hand had no ornament but her simple wedding-ring of gold, without any stone, which she always wore, and which was buried with her. After my father's death she devoted every energy, with untiring self-sacrifice, to her children. Her economy in respect to herself was most rigorous. Her dress was as plain and simple as propriety would permit, and it was preserved with great care. She always persevered in this self-denial, wishing to husband what was hers for others. Her annual income from her share of the property was five or six hundred [1379] dollars, and she invariably saved about half of it, till the lot was purchased at Mount Auburn, which was obtained to commemorate the dear departed, and to testify her perennial remembrance. She contributed largely and principally toward its marble memorials, and adorned it with flowers, whose growth she assiduously fostered with her own hand. We think this was a great solace to her; and it evidently furnished her satisfaction, not merely to keep green and fresh holy memories, but to express in the language of flowers her never doubting Christian faith.

At Groton she was active in the efforts of the religious society to which she belonged. Indeed, from the time she united with the Unitarian Church in Cambridge, soon after her marriage, till her last sickness, and even during it, as far as possible, she was much and actively engaged in religious effort. Loving and full of charity towards those of every Christian name, she was herself an earnest and devoted Unitarian, through evil report and good report. She was among the first who formed the Lee Street Church and Society, in Cambridge; nor can her efforts in its behalf be soon forgotten. When her son, Rev. Arthur B. Fuller, was settled in Manchester, N. H., she was, with him, actively devoted to the interests of his society, and tenderly loved by all its members. When he left Manchester, to accept the call of the New North Church in Boston, she accompanied him, and there continued till her last sickness. Her sympathy for all, her teaching in the Sabbath school, her interest, always cordial and as laborious as her years would permit, in the benevolent organization of the society, and her Christian graces, which shone with so mild and lovely a light, won affection as well as respect from all who came in contact with her, no matter how variant their theological creed from her own.

Benevolence, of a sympathetic and hopeful cast, overflowed from the pure fountains of her Christian heart. The bad awoke in her much pity and little reproach. No one could [1380] desire a kinder judge than she to pass upon character or determine destiny. In the large charity of her soul, she hoped from the divine benignity a place for repentance would ever be preserved for all. She never spoke against others— dwelt much upon their virtues, gently and charitably upon their faults. She reproved her children if they spoke unfavorably of the absent, and always advocated their cause, and endeavored to excuse what was alleged against them. We sometimes held up the faults of others merely to notice the ingenuity with which she would seek for excuse, or strive to throw the veil of charity over them. I shall never forget her efforts by the bedside of a large, coarse man, a tenant of ours in Groton, who lived ‘without God and without hope in the world,’ until he took opium to end his wretched existence. Mother used every exertion to rescue him from death, and staid by him during the hours of fearful struggle between a powerful frame and the working of the poison. In the early part of it, before his mind entirely wandered, he said, ‘It will be all in vain; but you may try all means.’ The memory of this scene is in one view appalling, as representing a gross and sensual nature meeting the fearful fate itself had invoked; but, on the other hand, is beautiful as exhibiting one, like an angel, exerting every power to snatch him from his self-elected doom.

Mother's sympathy was sometimes taken advantage of to induce her to lend money which she could ill spare. One case in particular we used to jest a little about, of a man who induced her to lend him, on the plea that he ‘wanted to pay his debts, and become an honest man.’ We thought it would only change his creditor, and doubted if it would not make him a less honest man, not only by the pretext he used, but by his employing the money for other objects than that alleged. But in her readiness of sympathy she exhibited the charity that ‘believeth all things.’

My mother's piety was as truly genuine as any I have ever [1381] witnessed. It was meek and unpretending; it had a faith which buoyed her up in all the stormy passages of life, which drew the gleam of heaven down upon the earth, and surrounded her with its sanctifying light. Duty was her daily food—not a burden, nor an artificial action, but the spontaneous movement of her life. Self-sacrifice was as natural to her as self-gratification is to many others. When I say natural, I refer to that acquired nature which was the fruit of her Christian experience. She never attached any merit to self-sacrifice, nor regarded herself as having any claim to consideration with God orman founded on it. She took spiritual nourishment as regularly as physical. Prayer was habitual—a frequent, regular, and delightful exercise to her. God was her best friend. His book was read and re-read, to her last hours, with ever fresh satisfaction; it was not only inscribed on her memory, but written on the tables of her heart. The Psalms and the Gospel of John were, perhaps, especial favorites, though not to the disparagement of the rest. What I say of her Christian character may seem like extravagant eulogy to those who did not know her; but it will not to those who knew her well, (for whom this is especially written,) since her religion was not only sentimental and devotional, but lived out in all the little and large things of life, which ever showed her mindful of the things of others, and not of her own, and always denying herself and taking up the cross. What heightened it was her humility, she having no idea that she had any such grace of character, and the sunshiny cheerfulness with which she constantly bore the crosses of life, without the gloom or austerity which sometimes stamp the Christian self-conquest with something like servitude.

Early in the year 1839, our family moved to Jamaica Plain, a part of Roxbury, having succeeded in selling our Groton farm. My brother Arthur had, the autumn previous, gone to Waltham to complete his college preparatory studies, under [1382] the teaching of Mrs. Ripley. At Jamaica Plain, Margaret had two pupils from Providence in the house. I attended the school of Mr. S. M. Weld, in Jamaica Plain. I think mother had a good deal of rest here, now the cares and responsibilities, as well as the drudgery, of the farm were over. She had ever great enjoyment in Margaret's society. It was beautiful to see the relation between them—the noble, strong-minded, and courageous daughter sustaining and cheering the heart of that holy and loving parent. Our house in Jamaica Plain was elevated, with a fine view, near a brook, then called Willow Brook; and in the rear were rocks, at times almost covered with the wild columbine.

After I entered college, Margaret, to have me at home, as well as to be with my mother, took a house in Ellery Street, Cambridge. As I record this, memory seems to rush back upon me like a mighty wind, freighted with a mother's and sister's love. Here we resided till I graduated; and in the constant intercourse of my mother and sisters, I enjoyed a noble and elevating society, such as rarely can be expected this side of heaven. Not but there are many pure and noble natures, and often side by side; but they are not often fluent and expressive. Their souls rarely speak and flow forth from one to the other with benignant activity, as they might and should. We kept house in Cambridge till I graduated, in 1844. On my entering the Law School, we purchased the Prospect Street House, in Cambridge, and there resided till I went into the practice of my profession in Boston. This sojourn in Cambridge is marked in memory by the farewells we here took with Margaret on her departure for Europe. O, such a mother and sister! May life be so unselfish, noble, and aspiring that we may obtain admission into such companionship, when these years of fleeting change are passed away!

On my brother Arthur settling in Manchester, N. H., our mother went to live with him, and subsequently, after five [1383] years' residence there, removed with him to Boston, residing with him and her loving daughter-in-law4 till the departure of the latter to ‘the better land,’ in 1856. During this mournful year, our pure and noble sister Ellen was also called to the higher divine life of heaven. Excepting these bereavements, these were sunny years for our mother. She was able to do much good in the parish, and she was the object of much attention. Mother had, for Margaret's sake, a particular sympathy for Italians. She would hear the poor man with his organ, and invariably give; which made the street of my brother's residence quite a common resort for these poor sons and daughters of the land of music. She also visited the suffering Italian women in their homes of penury, more, perhaps, than those of other poor, though she delighted to ‘lend to the Lord’ by bestowing her widow's mite to the destitute of whatever kindred and nation.

We notice in the above narrative that mother had three different successive homes while father lived, and after his death five. But her flowers went with her every where; they were certain to spring up and bloom around her wherever she was. From first to last, as types of the Creator's infinite goodness, beauty, and perfection, she loved them with ardent and undiminished tenderness. Washington said his biography could not be written without the history of his country. Neither could mother's be expressively written without the history of flowers. Families and generations of plants adhered to her, year after year, like the tenantry of a feudal lord. When she left one residence, they accompanied her, or perhaps were set out in the hospitable garden of a friend till she acquired another home. There was a family of lilies, in particular, which adhered to her fortunes for a quarter of a century; and some of them she left in my garden. Mother felt much this frequent change of home. No longer, God be praised! is she tossed to and fro. She is [1384] now in an eternal mansion—a home never to change—in the heavens. She is with her Saviour, her loved ones. Shortly before her death, when she could hardly articulate, she joined me in singing,—

There, at my Saviour's side,
     I shall be glorified—
Heaven is my home!
     There are the good and blest,
Those I love most and best;
     There, too, I soon shall rest—
Heaven is my home.

Even later, she sang with Arthur,—

We are passing away, passing away!
Let us hail the glad day.

Another favorite and oft-repeated hymn with her was that beautiful one by Montgomery, commencing,—
Forever with the Lord!
     Amen, so let it be!
Life from the dead is in that word—
     Tis immortality.
Within this body pent,
     Absent from thee I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
     A day's march nearer home.

Mother had the truest delight in sacred music. When she taught our infant lips to pray, she also encouraged us to join her sweet voice in singing. She accompanied the tune with a gentle motion of one hand. Her love for tunes, like her affection for friends and flowers, was constant and unchanging. ‘Safely through another week,’ how often, from my first to my last recollection of her, did I hear her sing! ‘While with ceaseless course the sun,’ was another favorite. ‘Softly now the light of day,’ she sang constantly. ‘Brattle Street,’ ‘While thee I seek, protecting Power,’ she loved to sing, especially because Margaret sang it often on her [1385] home voyage. Tappan's beautiful hymn, ‘There is an hour of peaceful rest,’ she seemed to feel a rest in singing. She was not exclusive, but loved all beautiful hymns, and often bade me sing by the bedside in her last sickness.

In September, 1858, mother came to our house in Wayland to pass her last days. She was suffering from most painful disease, and a fatal result was inevitable. She was sick from that time, and confined to her bed seven months, till she left us on Sabbath morning, July 31, 1859, at half past 8 o'clock. Such faith I never witnessed. She had a trust in her Saviour which took away every sad aspect from mortality. She rested in his love. Every day she pursued the even tenor of her Christian life, till she at last ‘fell asleep’ as peacefully as an infant, so that the moment of departure was hardly distinguishable. She told Arthur, shortly before her decease, that she felt she had done with earth, and wanted to go home now. She was only solicitous lest her sickness should be a burden to others. She thanked even the hired nurse for what she did. She took the same heavenly interest in the world—that regard which those have for it who live above it—to the last. All that interested others, their plans, their hopes, their improvement, interested her to the very end of life. She suppressed groans and sighs of weariness, and rarely yielded to her pains any outward manifestation. She said she ‘believed God would give strength to a firm mind to bear whatever he imposed.’ Her sweetness, resignation, trust, and sympathy were such as to draw to her bedside young children, instead of frightening and repelling, as such scenes usually do. They loved to resort to her sick room. She sought to be useful after she could sit up no longer, by encouraging them in their studies; and as we had a family school, she had them study in her room. When she died, I felt that she had gone to be with Christ, which is far better. But such a spirit as hers enriched life, made it elevated and noble. To live was Christ, and to die was gain. Fitting [1386] was it that on that calm and beautiful Sabbath morning her endless day, her glorious Sabbath, her peaceful rest should begin. Fitting that, as gently she had lived, she should as gently the.

We watched her breathing through the night,
     Her breathing soft and low,
is in her breast the wave of life
     Kept heaving to and fro.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
     Our fears our hopes belied;
We thought her dying when she slept,
     And sleeping when she died.



[The following poetical tributes, by Mrs. J. H. Hanaford, to the memory of Margaret, of our mother, and our noble and true-hearted brother Eugene, seem to me deserving of a place in this Appendix. No such tribute of affection and honor can fail to be grateful to those who cherish in holy remembrance the members of my family now so fast gathering on the eternal shores. In the closing part of ‘At Home and Abroad’ I have collected other tributes to my sister, both in prose and verse, which the reader who desires can there find.—Ed.]

The ascended saint.

[Suggested by the recent death of Mrs. Margaret Fuller, the honored mother of the late Margaret, Countess d'ossoli.]

Brightly the morning of the Sabbath dawned,
     And swiftly vanished all the stars of night;
Like them to be unseen, but still shine on,
     A Christian spirit took its upward flight.

Her years on earth were many, and those years
     All filled with usefulness and holy love;
Sorrow had disciplined her soul for heaven,
     And trials fitted her for rest above.

Shall we in sackcloth mourn when such depart-
     Freed spirits, like fair uncaged birds, to soar
Far up and on toward wisdom infinite,
     Mid glories mortal minds may not explore?

O, no! we'll lift on high a triumph song;
     Jubilate! all her griefs are o'er.
Loved ones are left; but O! she greeteth now
     The loved and wept for who had gone before.

Death hath removed each dark veil from her eye,
     And radiant spirits walk with her in white;
No sea in heaven shrouds their beloved forms,
     No sorrow there, no weary, gloomy night. [1388]

Strike, strike your harps! sing loud, ye angel choir,
     And welcome gladly this companion new,
New in the courts of heaven, with youth renewed,
     But long ago, it may be, known to you.

The saint ascending to her own ‘sweet home’
     Claims from no sorrowing hearts a tear or sigh;
We mourn for those who tread earth's pathway still,
     But not for saints triumphant called to die.

Peace to the weary dust whose pain is o'er I
     Joy to the spirit whose long race is run!
God comfort those who wait the summons home,
     Hoping to meet her when their work is done!

Eugene Fuller.

[Lines suggested by the recent death by drowning of Eugene Fuller Esq., brother of Margaret, Countess d'ossoli.]

I knew him not; mine eye had never gazed
     Upon his thoughtful brow:
His name, so musical, I scarce had heard
     To recognize till now.

But neither years nor space will now erase
     From out my heart his name,
For with his sister's it will e'er be linked
     And share her deathless fame:

Since both have found, when homeward tending, rest
     Beneath the foamy wave,
Whereon no marble monument may stand
     To mark their watery grave.

O Sea! wert thou not satisfied to take
     The sister, good and wise,
And bear her with her loved ones to their home,
     Above the starry skies?

Why shouldst thou rend again those mourning hearts,
     O dark and treacherous Sea?
Why bid those hearts forevermore be sad,
     Ocean! at sight of thee? [1389]

Hush! gentle voices to my soul are calling,
     And, whispering, they tell—
‘The Ocean is the Lord's; it doth His bidding.
     Repine not; all is well.’
Beyond the confines of terrestrial regions

There is a better shore;
     God's love unfathomed, as the only sea,
Flows round it evermore.

There parted friends shall meet, and Death's dark wing—
     Like sea-birds, screaming shrill—
Shall never flap above the drowning forms
     Of friends beloved still.

God speed the dawning of that glorious day,
     When, sin-freed, we shall be
Where tears are wiped from every grief-dimmed eye,
     And where is no more sea.

Margaret Fuller Ossoli.

Friend of humanity! whose warm, true heart
     Throbbed ever to redeem a fallen race,—
Alas! that thou from earthly scenes shouldst part,
     Ere thou hadst reached in joy thy native place.

Thy noble husband, too, whose manly soul
     Longed for fair Freedom in his native land,—
Alas! that ocean's waves o'er him should roll,
     Ere he could view, in peace, Columbia's strand.

And that sweet ‘bud of promise,’ whose fair bloom,
     Evoked from out thy paradise of love,
Once made so fragrant thine Italian home,
     He, too, went with thee to the land above.

An undivided circle! nevermore
     Will tears of sad farewell your cheeks bedew;
For on that other, that celestial shore,
     Our God unites for aye pure hearts and true.

Margaret! thy name hath long been to my soul
     A talisman of influence pure and strong;
Though born a woman, born to have control
     O'er human hearts for virtue far and long. [1390]

Thy name shall be remembered when shall die
     The name of many a warrior of renown,
For thou on nobler fields gain'dst victory,
     And won from history a glorious crown.

O for the day when Italy shall know
     How to be truly free, in virtue strong!—
We wonder not that thou didst love her so—
     Home of the classics, and the land of song!

When dawns that day on fair Italia's shore,
     Thou shalt be well remembered by the free;
America and Europe evermore
     Shall, as the friend of Freedom, think of thee.

And happier thought! where souls, from every chain
     Made free, forever sing redeeming grace,
There shall thy loved ones hear thy voice again,
     And look with deepest joy upon thy face.

They who love man love God; and they who toil
     To break the chains from men and minds below,
Win, through the Lamb, a right to heaven's soil,
     Where boundless progress each glad soul may know.

God make me worthy, Margaret, to meet thee,
     And list to thy rich converse on the shore
Where holy love from heart to heart flows free,
     And weary spirits rest forevermore.

1 An older daughter, Julia Adelaide, died in childhood.

2 Rev. Mr. Fuller has collected most of the ancient records pertaining to the Fuller family. He has also in his possession an ancient chair, which tradition declares to have been brought from England to this country by the first Thomas Fuller, in 1638; and also a chair owned by Rev. Abraham Wilhams, of Sandwich.

3 [These volumes are now published simultaneously with these memoirs. They are Woman in the Nineteenth Century, At Home and Abroad, Art, Literature, and the Drama, and Life Without and Life Within.—Ed.]

4 Mrs. Elizabeth G. Fuller.

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Gloucester (United Kingdom) (1)
France (France) (1)
Framingham (Massachusetts, United States) (1)
China (China) (1)
Chicago (Illinois, United States) (1)
Charlestown, Mass. (Massachusetts, United States) (1)

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