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his power of expression great. His thoughts, often original, were robed in beauty from an imagination, which received fresh, genial, quickening influences from his moral nature. His intellect, however, had one quality, which, whether justly or not, prevented its extensive action on our community. It did not move fast enough for us. It was too deliberate, too regular, too methodical, too anxious to do full justice to a subject, for such an impatient people as we are. He did not dazzle men by sudden, bold, exaggerated conceptions. In bis writings he seemed coin pelled to unfold a subject in its order; and sometines insisted on what might have been left to the quick conception of the hearer. Hence he was thought by some to want animation and interest as a preacher, whilst by others his religious instructions and his prayers were felt to be full of life and power. The effect of his eloquence was often diminished by his - slow deliberate utterance; a habit, which, as a foreigner anxious to pronounce our language with perfect accuracy, he could hardly help contracting. Of late, however, bis freedom and earnestness had increased ; and his preaching was listened to with delight by those, who insist most on animation of thought and manner. Indeed to his last moment he was growing in the desire and the power to do good.
Thus he lived; nor is he to be compassionated, because in the midst of such a life, he was suddenly taken away. Our imaginations associate a peculiar terribleness with death, when it comes without warning, in the form of tempest, lightning, fire, and raging waves. But within and beneath these awful powers of nature, there is another and mightier power. These are only God's ministers; and through these he separates from earthly bonds the spirit, which he has watched over and prepared for nearer access to himself. Perhaps were our minds more elevated, it would seem to us worthier of a man, more appropriate to his greatness, to fall under these mighty powers, to find a grave in these unbounded elements, than to sink by slow disease and to be consigned to the dark, narrow tomb. Our friend lived the life of a man and a Christian to the last hour. His lise, though not prosperous in our common language, had yet yielded him the best blessings of the present state. If strangers had not heard his name, he was cherished, honored, as few men are, by those who knew him best; and if extensive possessions were denied him, he owned what is worth more than the wealth of worlds, a happy home, consecrated by intelligence, piety, and a celestial love. Who had greater cause than he to rejoice in life ? nor ought any tears, but those which we shed for ourselves, be called forth by bis death.
I have thus, my friends, spoken of a good and noble man, and I have spoken not to give relief to a full heart, nor chiefly to soothe the wounded hearts of others. This house is consecrated to God. This excellent, honored man was still a ray, and a faint ray, from the Uncreated Light. What we loved in him was an inspiration from God; and all admiration, which does not rise above him, falls infinitely below its true object. Let us thank God, who has manisested himself to us in this his servant, who speaks to us in all holy and noble men. Let us not stop at these. If we do, we bury ourselves in the finite, we lose the most precious influences, the holiest ministry of living and departed virtuous friends. We say of the good man whom we have lost, that he has gone to God. Let us too go to God. Let us humble ourselves before him for our past impiety, irreverence, unthankful insensibility to his infinite perfection; and with new affection and entire obedience, let us consecrate ourselves to Him, from whose fulness all that is beautiful and glorious in the human soul and in the universe is derived.
I have spoken of the friend we have lost, that through him we should the more honor God. We may learn from him, now that he sleeps in the ocean, another lesson. We may learn the glorious power of virtue, how it can throw a brightness over the most appalling scenes of human life, and can rob the most awful forms of death of their depressing influence. To the eye of sense, what a sad spectacle was the friend we have lost, first circled with flames, then weltering in the cold, lonely sea. At the moment of hearing the sad news, a feeling of horror oppressed me; but soon a light beamed in this darkness, and it beamed from his virtues. The thought of the spirit, which I had communed with, gradually took the place of the body, which had been taken from us under circumstances so appalling. I felt that the spirit, which had informed that body, had spoken through those lips, had beamed from that benign face, was mightier than the elements. I felt that all the waves of ocean could not quench that spark. I felt how vast, how unutterable the transition from that burning deck and pitiless sea to the repose and life of a better world. I felt, that the seal of immortality had been put on the virtue, which we had seen unfolding on our earth. Still more, his virtues
a feeling of nely sea. "At circled with i sad spectacksing influ
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have gradually brought back to my mind his outward form divested of painful associations. As I now think of the departed, his countenance is no longer defaced by death. It rises to me in the sweetest, noblest expression which it wore in life. Thus the body, through which virtue has shed its light, becomes hallowed and immortal to the memory and the heart. And if this be true, if goodness be so Divine, as to gain and shed glory in that awful change, which dissolves the outward frame and tears us away from the earth, — shall we go on to live to the earth, to outward, material, perishing good ? Shall we continue to slight, and refuse to secure imperishable virtue ?
Once more, a solemn teaching comes to us from this day's meditation. Our friend was called in the midst of life, and so may we be called. How thin the barrier between time and eternity! We think this earth firmer than the sea in which he found a grave. But one false step on this firm earth may precipitate us into the tomb. Human life is not so strong, that waves and fires must join for its extinction. One ruptured artery may suspend the breath as suddenly as an ocean. From that awful scene, where so many have perished, a voice comes to us, saying, Prepare to die. So live that sudden death may only be a swifter entrance into a higher life. So live, that survivors may shed over you tears of hope as well as of sorrow, that they may find, in their remembrances of you, springs of comfort, testimonies to religion, encouragements to goodness, and proofs and pledges of immortality. So live, that the injured and oppressed, the poor and forsaken, may utter blessings on your name. So live, that if by God's mysterious Providence you also are to die in flames or in the sea, you may commit your departing spirits to Him who gave them, with humnble trust, with filial prayer, with undying hope.
The following brief Sketch of the Life of Dr. Follen, is drawn
up from Documents submitted to the Editor by his Friends.
Dr. FOLLEN was born in Romrod, 1795, in the Grand Duke. dom of Hesse Darmstadt. He received his first public education in the College of Giessen, where he studied the Greek, Latin, Hebrew, and some of the modern languages. After having passed the regular examination, he eniered the University at Giessen, in 1813, where he directed his attention first to theology, and then to jurisprudence. But after the first half year he entered as a volunteer the military service of his coun: try, in the war of German independence against Napoleon. Peace being concluded at Paris in 1815, he returned to the Universiiy of Giessen, and there pursued his study of law. He finished his studies in 1817, and received his diploma, as Doctor of boih the Civil and Ecclesiastical Law. He then delivered lectures at the same University on various parts of jurisprudence, while he studied the practice of law. He was at this time employed as counsellor by “the communities of towns and villages ” in a cause which sprang up belween them and the Government of Hesse Darmstadt, by whose measures their liber. ties and rights were seriously threatened. His entire success in the management of this cause exposed him to the hatred of influential men in his native Province. Dr. Follen afterwards drew up the first of those petitions to the Government of the Grand Duke, which unitedly had the effect to introduce what had the appearance at least of a constitution, a promise of which had been solemnly given at the Congress of Vienna. In the autumn of 1818, Dr. Follen accepted an invitation to deliver lectures at the University of Jena. Here he taught, in 1819, the Pandects, and the History of the Roman Law. Political persecution drove him from Jena, and induced him to accept, in 1820, a call as professor of the Cantonal School of the Grisons, in Switzerland. He left Chur in the Autumn of 1821, and was appointed public lecturer at the University of Basil, – newly organized in 1817, — where he taught the natural, civil, and ecclesiastical law, besides some branches of metaphysics. He edited here, together with Dr. De Wette and others, the literary journal of the University, which contains two treatises of his, on the Destiny of Man, and on the Doctrines of Spinoza. From this position he was driven by the persecutions of the Holy Alliance. The government of the Canton of Basil — by a repeated interference of Russia, Prussia, and Austria, joined, in the last instance, by Berne, Zurich, and Lucerne, — was at length overawed ; and although contrary to their ideas of justice, compelled him, by passing a resolution of arrest, to leave the country. He embarked for the United States. In consequence of a letter from Lafayette, introducing him to Mr. Ticknor, he was appointed in 1825, a year after his arrival, as German Instructer in the University at Cambridge, and in the winter of the same year delivered a course of lectures on the civil law in Boston.
Art. VI. — Scenes in JUDEA.
the friendshal' I now finds, the vapor death
“BEFORE this reaches you, my mother, you will have heard of my safety ; which earlier knowledge you will owe to the friendship of the Greek, who, as he has said, not, as I believe, simply because he had no other employment, has not ceased to devote himself to my interests. It is solely too by reason of the friendship, which so strangely and suddenly he conceived for me, that I now find myself on the way to Beth-Harem, having liberty, for bonds, the vault of the heavens above me, for that of Pilate's dungeon, life, for death. I can never know, indeed, that Pilate would not in some other manner, — though Zeno had not interposed, — have obtained a knowledge of the circumstances to which I am beholden for my liberty. Zeno himself declares that it would certainly have been so; for that the governor, seeing how many lives had been already sacrificed, and that he might be called to account for that day's confusion, would have gladly seized upon any pretext to set free his prisoners, which yet it was by no means easy to do and preserve his own dignity and authority. However this may be, I can feel none the less my debt to the Greek, who has shown in these affairs, that however he may affect to have been moved in what he has done, by that restless temper that must be busy somewhere, and about somewhat, he nevertheless possesses a heart which is not only no stranger to kind affections, but overflows with a wide and generous humanity.
“My reflections, when upon awaking out of the insensibility caused by the blows I had received, I found myself in a Roman prison, all went to convince me that I should there end my days. I had been taken in arms against the reigning power; and, though I had not been long in Cæsarea, could probably easily be proved both to be a Jew, and to have been intimate with Philip and Simon, the leaders in the affray. Add to this the circumstance, that my judge was Pilate, and you too will acknowledge, my mother, that my days must have seemed to me to be numbered. That certainly was my conviction. Yet was it not attended by any self-crimination for the part I had taken, as I doubt not you will suppose it was, or for the cause in which, as it seemed, I had offered myself up.
VOL. XXVIII. — 30 S. VOL. X. NO. I.