do occasionally have compassion on those in distress, we pour in oil and wine, we leave two pence with the host, and do it hoping that this will suffice and that we shall hear no more of the matter. But our friend whom we have lost not only came again to reimburse the host, but henceforth made the road to Jericho her favorite drive, lavishing upon others the fortune which could have purchased for her immunity from care and other indulgences. Family, relatives, friends, strangers, all partook of her bounty; she was a prodigal; near or remote, absent or present, grateful or ungrateful, all were remembered and cared for. Of course, like the sower in the parable, much of the seed fell on the rock, or among thorns, or by the wayside, but she was not discouraged.

Benevolent people are sometimes, nay often, lugubrious, but our friend had inherited from her Irish grandfather, Captain Callahan, a merry heart, so that, just as the robins who strewed the leaves over the babes in the wood sang at their work, so her mingled tenderness and gaiety healed more wounded and cheered more sad hearts than even her bounty.

She had, what is with us a rare gift, social genius; her house was the home of good cheer. She was a natural leader, undaunted and energetic; execution followed fast upon conception; the confidence, which in her youth had impelled her to rash deeds, was now," with more advised watch," exercised wisely in conducting the footsteps of others. “Whenever I visit her," said a young lady who had settled in Boston a stranger, "as I come away my eyes fill with tears of joy that I too have a home." "She was the most human person I ever knew, but I

never saw a human failing in her, and it was wonderful that anybody could be at once so at home on earth, and so fit for heaven."

How can I bid farewell to my friend of three-score years and ten, how can I better close my memorial of her than with this tribute from the daughter of one of her oldest and dearest friends; expressing, as it does, the charm of one whose sweet humanity lifted her above meaner things, and prompted her, chastened by trials, to bestow on others the happiness which had not been fulfilled to her,

Hold firmly by the human ties,
But breathe in heavenly air.

27

MARTIN BRIMMER

I framed his tongue to music,
I armed his hand with skill,

I moulded his face to beauty

And his heart the throne of will.

THERE is not another man in Boston who would be so missed and so mourned as will be Martin Brimmer.

Most men are limited in their interests and their importance. The vestry, the charity bureau, the courtroom, the caucus, the exchange, - one and only one of these is their theatre, and elsewhere they are unknown and unregarded.

Martin Brimmer, freed from private cares, dedicated himself to the commonweal. He took his part in legislation, in charities, in education, in cultivation of art. He mingled in all public affairs, not only mingled, but led.

Nature had made him prepossessing. His dignity, his deliberation, his reserve, were imposing, his gentle courtesy was winning; and when at last he uttered a few pregnant words in a judicial tone, the majority of his hearers fancied that he was but expressing their sentiments, while the minority decided that opposition was vain. The fusion was complete.

"What others effect by talent or by eloquence, this man accomplished by some magnetism.”

"It lies in the man; that is all anybody can tell you about it."

"His mind has some new principle of order. Where he looks all things fly into their places."

In all companies his presence was acceptable, in all councils his advice was desirable. To the College and the Museum of Fine Arts it was indispensable. Among these carefully selected men, Fellows and Trustees, there are some as shrewd, some as courteous, some as earnest, but what one in either Board combines to such a degree strong sense, unfailing tact and personal ascendancy?

We are all bereft; our public-spirited citizen, our wise counsellor, our bountiful benefactor, our charming companion, our hospitable host, our faithful friend, has been taken from us.

SPEECH ON DEATH OF MR. WM. PERKINS

[Spoken before the Trustees of the Provident Institution for Savings for Seamen and Others in the Town of Boston]

MR. PRESIDENT:

Inasmuch as I am an old friend of Mr. Perkins, and he was mine, for he was wont to address me "my friend," it is natural that I should make a few remarks before passing these resolutions.

It is close upon fifty years since I made Mr. Perkins's acquaintance. The firm of which I was a member was engaged in the East India and South American trades, and we had several joint adventures to Brazil. The satisfactory business intercourse drew me into relations of friendship, made closer by my after-association with him as Director of the Boston Port Society and as member of our Board of Investment, where I served with him for a while. My affection led me sometimes to remonstrate with him upon his disproportionate gratuitous services to individuals and institutions, and to comment upon his course of life, until he got to fear that I should write his obituary, and to expostulate; whereupon I always replied: "I certainly shall, and it will be headed, Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile."