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I hear the quiet voices around me. know where and what I am, but I cannot resist the feeling that there are more forms in the room than are visible to my eyes. I do not look up, but to me my library is full. Those who are gone cannot have lost their interest in those who remain, and those who are gone outnumber us two to one. My own, I am sure, are close about me, looking over my shoulder, and tracing with me these closing words. Their arms are intertwined, they exchange their thoughts about me all unheard by my coarse senses, and I am thrilled by an influence which I do not understand. My sister sits by the side of her husband unseen, and listens to the words which he is speaking to my wife, and hears her own name pronounced with grateful tenderness. Mr. Bradford has a companion older than the little one that sits upon his knee and plays with his great gold chain, but sees her not. There are wistful, sympathetic faces among the children, and they cannot know why they are so quiet, or what spell it is that holds them. A severe, restless little woman watches her grandson with greedy eyes, or looks around upon those she once had within her power, but regards us all in impotent silence. Of them, but apart,

companions in the new life as they were in the old, are two who come to visit their boys again--boys growing old in labor and preparing to join them in another school, among higher hills and purer atmospheres, or to be led by them to the tented shores of the River of the Water of Life. The two worlds have come so near together that they mingle, and there are shadows around me, and whispers above me, and the rustle of robes that tell me that life is one, and the love of kindred and friends eternal.

To-morrow, ah! golden to-morrow! Thank God for the hope of its coming, with all its duty and care, and work and ministry, and all its appeals to manliness and manly endeavor! Thank God, too, for the long dissipation of the dreams of selfish ease and luxury! Life has no significance to me, save as the theater in which my powers are developed and disciplined by use, and made fruitful in securing my own independence and the good of those around me, or as the scene in which I am fitted for the work and worship of the world beyond. The little ones and the large ones of my own flock are crowding me along. Soon they will have my place. I do not pity, I almost envy them. Life is so grand, so beautiful, so full of meaning, so splendid in its opportunities for action, so hopeful in its high results, that, despite all its sorrows, I would willingly live it over again. Good-night!

"CALL no man happy until he is dead." It is our painful privilege to sum up and contemplate the grand, useful, and finished life of Francis Lieber; and viewing it as we do any completed work, from far and near, with the eye of criticism and the eye of affection, we cannot but consider it a fortunate, happy, and well-arranged life.

His youth was full of adventure; of hardship which he conquered; of noble and romantic effort; and in all circumstances he was able to come out successfully in the end. What more does youth ask than this?

His middle life, full of usefulness, and an enormous industry, devoted to the work he

loved best, having always a happy home,-that consideration amongst his fellows which is so dear to all of us-surely this was a successful middle age.

His old age serene and composed, surrounded by "love, honor, obedience, troops of friends," still useful and thoughtful, still commanding all the resources of his mighty mind,-not living to "assist at his own decay," but to the last moment of his life enjoying the great consolation of noble thoughts, brought to him by the voice he loved best,— surely this was an old age of surpassing beauty. He had known sorrows deep and trying, but he bore them with the philosophy of a

thinker, and the humility of a Christian. Nowhere in Francis Lieber's great mind lingered that arid unbelief which makes Gibbon say that "all religions are equally true in the eyes of the people, equally false in the eyes of the philosopher, and equally useful in the eyes of the statesman." Francis Lieber was a Christian, and when the angel of sorrow brushed his heart with her wing, she but added a new tenderness and a profounder faith to that which was there before. Sorrow, to such a mind, is but a visit from the gods. Great and terrible is the honor; may we none of us be found unequal to it!

In his life, and since his death, the world has conspired to do him honor. All nations knew him as a great, patient scholar, a man who knew all that other men had thought, and who originated great and good thoughts for other men.

Voltaire says of D'Alembert, "Humanity had lost its title-deeds, but he recovered them." We might alter the epigram, and say that "what humanity had forgotten, Lieber remembered for them."

As Sydney Smith

says wittily of Whewell, "Omniscience was his foible;" he knew everything; his mind was a catalogued library; he could walk into it, and find whatever he wanted. And around this colossal intellect-so profound, so serious, and so useful-played the rainbows of poetry, fancy and wit; from the composition of a great political paper, he would turn to a bit of note-paper, and write a billet to a lady so graceful and so playful that Horace Walpole and Madame de Sévigné might have envied it. His mind was a lofty and magnificent column, but it was wreathed with flowers.

Francis Lieber was born in Berlin, in 1800. His childhood fell on troublous times; his first memory, when a child of six years, was of seeing the French army march into Berlin after the battle of Jena; he stood crying at the window, an atom in the mighty grief which was all around him. Those tears were the baptism of that faith in liberty which was ever afterwards in him. The future expounder of civil liberty washed away with those tears all the mists which might have come over his mind, had he lived in a prosperous and opulent empire. He saw the wrong side of tyranny, and he became one of the profoundest, clearest, and most emphatic of the friends of a Christian and consistent freedom.

Lieber's mother was one of those noble, patriotic German women who threw their gold wedding-rings into the public treasury,

receiving one of iron in its place, marked with the imperial signet and the words: "We gave gold for iron." Prussia was poor enough in those days, and Lieber's father was poor. The young boy, however, was rich in the incorruptible treasures of the intellect, and he had an ardent love of study. One day as he was deep in "Loder's Anatomical Tables,” his father entered and said: "Boys, clean your rifles; Napoleon is loose again; he has returned from Elba."

Kissing his mother, "who, if she had been the mother of twenty sons, would have sent them all," the youthful Lieber and his brother marched out of the "beautiful Brandenburg gate" toward the seat of war. His first engagement was at Ligny, and he was fond of dating his notes, written more than forty years after, "Day of Ligny." He says, in his own account of this battle:

"Hostilities had begun on the 14th. We marched the whole day and the whole night; in the morning we arrived not far from the battle-field of Ligny, and halted. Before us was a rising ground, on which we saw innumerable troops ascending from the plain, with flying colors and music playing. It was a sight a soldier likes to look at. I cannot say with Napoleon, that the earth seemed proud to carry so many brave men; but we were proud to belong to these brave and calm masses. Orders for charging were given; the pressure of the coming battle was felt more and more. Some soldiers, who carried cards in their knapsacks, threw them away, believing that they bring bad luck. I had never played cards, and carried none; but this poor instance of timid superstition disgusted me so that I purposely picked up a pack and put it in my knapsack. Our whole company consisted of very young men, nearly all lads who were impatient for battle, and asking a thousand questions, in their excitement, of the old, well-seasoned sergeant-major, who had been given to us from the regiment; his imperturbable calmness, which neither betrayed fear nor excited courage, but took the battle like a master, amused us much."

He was slightly wounded at Ligny, but escaped and killed his antagonist. His next battle was Waterloo; of his share in this famous day he gives the following account:

"Early in the morning of the 18th we found part of our regiment, from which we had been separated. Our men were exhausted, but old Blucher allowed us no rest. As we passed the Marshal, wrapped up in a cloak and leaning against a mound, our soldiers began to hurrah. Be quiet, my lads,' he

said; 'hold your tongues; time enough after the victory is gained.' We entered the battle of Waterloo with Blucher; you know the history of that eventful day.

"The great body of the Prussian and English armies marched toward Paris; but half our army corps, to which I belonged, received orders to pursue Vandamme, who had thrown hinself into Namur. We marched the whole of the 19th; the heat was excessive, and our exhaustion and thirst so great, that two men of our regiment became deranged in consequence. At four in the afternoon we went to bivouac; we started early again, and now my strength forsook me. I could not keep up with the troops, and began to lag behind. Suddenly about noon I heard the first guns. The battle of Namur had begun. When I arrived where my regiment stood, or, as I should say, the little band representing it, I dropped down; but fortunately one of my comrades had some eggs, one of which gave me great strength.

"Our Colonel came up to us, saying: 'Riflemen, you have twice fought like the oldest soldiers; I have no more to say. This wood is to be cleared; be steady; buglemen, the signal!' and off we went with a great hurrah! driving the French before us down a hill toward Namur, which lay on our front. When I saw our men rushing too fast down the hill, I was afraid that some enemies might be hid under the precipice to receive them. Holding myself with my left hand by a tree, I looked over the precipice and saw about seven Frenchmen. They will hit me,' I thought; and turning round to call to our soldiers, I suddenly experienced a sensation as if my whole body were compressed in my head, and this, like a ball, were quivering in the ear. I could feel the existence of nothing else; it was a most painful sensation. After some time I was able to open my eyes, or to see again with them. I found myself on the ground; over me stood a soldier firing at the enemy. I strained every nerve to ask, though in broken accents, whether, and if so, where I was wounded. 'You are shot through the neck.' I begged him to shoot me; the idea of dying miserably, half of hunger, and half of my wound, alone in the wood, overpowered me. He, of course, refused, spoke a word of comfort that perhaps I might yet be saved, and soon after himself received a shot through both knees, in consequence of which he died in the hospital, while I am writing an account of his sufferings here in America. My thirst was beyond description; it was a feverish burning; I thought I should

die, and prayed for forgiveness of my sins as I forgave all. I recollect I prayed for Napoleon, and begged the Dispenser of all blessings to shower His bounty upon all my beloved ones, and, if it could be, to grant me a speedy end of my sufferings. I received a second ball, which, entering my chest, gave me more local pain than the first; I thought God had granted my fervent prayer. I perceived, as I supposed, that the ball had pierced my lungs, and tried to breathe hard to hasten my death. A week afterwards, while I lay ill with my two wounds in a house at Liege, one of my brothers was in the hospital at Brussels, and another at Aix-la-Chapelle; we were just distributed at the points of a triangle."

It was not to be the fate of such a truthful and outspoken person as lieber to escape the suspicion of even the government for whom he had fought. He talked and sang too much of liberty; was arrested and put in prison; when discharged from prison, this pa ternal Prussian government still persecuted him, and forbade his studying in the Universities. He consequently went to Jena, where he took his degree in 1820. After a time permission was granted to him to study at Halle; but he was under the surveillance of the police, and so much annoyed by them that he took up his residence in Dresden. The warm-hearted patriotic boy had even then a dream of "German unity," and fifty years after, wrote these memorable words:

"I have this very moment read in the German papers (1868) that Bismarck said in the Chamber the very thing for which we were hunted down in 1820."

He finally escaped, by means of the greatest courage and ingenuity, from his native land, and took part in the Greek war of independence. He wrote an account of his wanderings, sufferings, and disappointments in this miserable struggle, and published it under the title of "My Journal during my Sojourn in Greece in 1822," afterwards translated into Dutch, as the "German Anarchasis." He embarked from Missolonghi, rendered immortal by the name and fame of the "most celebrated Englishman of the nineteenth century," Lord Byron, on a little vessel bound for Ancona, from which place he made his way to Rome.

The poor and ragged scholar could scarcely conceal the delight which thrilled him when he saw the wonders of the Eternal City. He tried to pass the Porta del Popolo as if he had seen it before; for his position in Rome, owing to the informalities of his passport, was fraught with danger. He resolved, with the

intuitive conviction of a noble mind, which trusts other noble minds, that he would appeal to Niebuhr, the Prussian ambassador, for, said he, "I knew that a scholar who had written the history of Rome could not be so cruel as to drive me from Rome without allowing me to see and study it."

Niebuhr read him at a glance. He made him come to dinner, although his dress was, as he describes it, "a pair of unbrushed shoes, a pair of socks of coarse Greek wool, the brownish pantaloons frequently worn by sea-captains in the Mediterranean, and a blue frock-coat through which two balls had passed, a fate to which the blue cloth cap had also been exposed. The socks were exceedingly short, hardly covering my ankles, and so indeed were the pantaloons; so that when I was in a sitting position they refused me the charity of meeting, with the obstinacy which reminded me of the irreconcilable temper of the two brothers in Schiller's Bride of Messina."

There was a gentleman under these shabby clothes who could not be disguised. Niebuhr recognized his kind, made Lieber the tutor to his son, and treated him with distinguished courtesy and kindness. In this elegant household Lieber lived a year, embalming his gratitude afterwards in a memoir of his friend, every word of which is poetical.

The King of Prussia visiting Rome during Lieber's residence in the family of Niebuhr, declared that if he would return to Prussia he should not be molested. But this promise was not kept. On his return he was arrested upon the old charge of entertaining republican sentiments, was thrown into prison, where he languished some months. Released at last by Niebuhr's good offices, he went to England and thence to America.

Niebuhr wrote to him in 1827:

"I approve of your resolution to go to America so entirely that, had you been able to ask my advice beforehand, I should have unqualifiedly urged you to go. Only beware that you do not fall into an idolatry of the country, and that state of things which is so dazzling because it shows the material world in so favorable a light. Remain a German, and without counting hour and day, yet say to yourself that the hour and day will come when you will be able to come home."

Encyclopedia Americana," founded on the "Conversations Lexicon," but enriched from his own unrivaled stores. In 1832 he removed to New York, where the same enormous literary industry accompanied him. He lived in Philadelphia three years, to prepare and organize the system of education in Girard College. In 1835 he removed to Columbia, in South Carolina, where he filled the Chair of History and Political Economy for twenty years. Always writing, always publishing, the very record of his invaluable works would fill a volume; and the wonder of the world will ever be that young men, who had the advantages of Lieber's instruction, could have adopted the error of secession. It was, however, deeply grounded in the South Carolina mind by the teachings of Calhoun; and even Lieber, who "stood on the altitudes of history, and not on a mere political platform," could not erase it.

In 1856 Lieber resigned his Southern professorship, and, regretted by all those members of its alumni who had known him, including the immortal name of James L. Pettigru, "that Abdiel, faithful among the faithless found," he came to New York, where in a similar position in Columbia College, New York, the remainder of his life, and probably its happiest portion, was passed, although it was his misfortune to see our political mistakes, and to feel the horrors of our civil war.

He did noble service with voice and pen during the dreadful period between the election and death of Lincoln. Often summoned to Washington, at dead of night, to give his advice, appealed to by every sort of committee, writing to the General-in-Chief, and finally, as his biographer beautifully says, "adding a new chapter, replete with noble and humane sentiments, to the art of war"-by his latest, greatest work, "Instructions for the Government of the Armies of the United States in the Field." Such were the benefits conferred on his adopted.country by Lieber, the youth who had found by bitter experience that "the fellest of things is armed injustice,”—and who was determined that, so far as he could prevent it, the evils which he had seen and suffered from, should not attach to this new and experimental government, which he loved, and believed in.

Scarcely had our war terminated—and its results of disorganization and incomplete restoration had not terminated-they have not terminated yet when Lieber was called on to sympathize with his own country in her struggle which was to end with the establishment of German unity, that dream of his

youth! He was no stepson to Germany; he forgot his own grievances and wrongs, as we forget the occasional injustice of a parent whose faults we cover with the mantle of our filial trust and affection. He wanted to go and fight for Germany. In 1870 he writes "I am writing at random, for my very soul is filled with that one idea, one feeling-Germany! The stream of blood which will flow will probably not be very long but very wide; wide like a lake, and very deep." "My German letters confirm that all Germans are animated by the noblest feelings, and are ready to sacrifice money, life, everything in defence of their country. The fathers of families supporting them by their hands, refuse to be refused, until the king is obliged to telegraph, Accept them;' and judges and civil officers of high station volunteer and join the ranks, and I sit here and write like a dullard! It is very hard." He was seventy years of age when he wrote those words!

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It is almost appalling to the average intellect to try to catalogue Lieber's published works. Contemporaneously with his constant labors as a professor in colleges, he wrote and published the Encyclopedia Americana, in thirteen volumes; various translations from the French and German; a Manual of Political Ethics; Legal and Political Hermeneutics; Civil Liberty and SelfGovernment (said to be his greatest work); and pamphlets and able articles innumerable, for the papers, and for foreign reviews. paper by Lieber was read by all the thinking world, and translated often into the popular European languages. They were, even if short, "fragments struck off a great resplendent mind," containing specimens at least of the purest gold. Such men as Prescott, Bancroft, Everett, Webster, Chancellors Kent and De Saussure, Ruggles, Bryant, Seward, Morse, Halleck, Marcy, Fish, and Lincoln thanked him over their own hand and seal for his contributions to the treasury of noble thoughts; while a recent article by M. Rolin Jacquemyns, the editor of the Revue de Droit International, shows us that the great minds of Europe watched for and appreciated his opinions and ideas, with the same unqualified respect which they received here.

Such was the deserved fame of this great man. It is now our privilege to turn to the charm and grace which adorned his private character. During his earlier life in New York he was very much in society, one of its most conspicuous ornaments. His splendid head formed the most remarkable distinction of some gay party or some well-selected

dinner company. He spoke English with that terseness and originality which often accompanies its acquirement as a foreign language. He was very witty and ready at a repartee. A lady once told him that he showed his great knowledge of English in his ability to understand all jokes. "Yes," he said, "but sometimes I say a stupid thing. That is because I have not yet conquered all the delicatesse of the language; the stupidity is in the language, not in me."

He was very fond of writing notes; and a few quotations from some of them, perhaps, would throw a pleasant light on his great, lovable, and genial nature, particularly as they refer to a subject then and now of universal interest-Dr. Hayes's expedition to the Arctic regions: "Come," says one of these graceful billets, "will you not grace our meeting to-morrow? Come, pray, with your husband, and encourage a 'timid speaker!' as I am, by your presence. The accompanying card is not a ticket of admission, but rather of admonition; you may give it to some one else to induce him to come. Dr. Hayes is a noble creature; I think you ladies of New York should work him some nose and ear preservers."

The lady declining this gracious invitation, "as not approving of Arctic explorations," he wrote her the following:

"Oh! ah! your tender heart permits you to hear Mr. Bon Jonathan Edwards, the man who proved so logically the beauty of predestined everlasting roasting; but your feelings will not permit you to hear Francis Lieber on the possibility of some brave men and stout, freezing to death for this world only! I shall punish you, my fair friend, for your icy and unmelting heart, by sending you soon a pamphlet, and making you promise to read it, on this very expedition; old Mrs. R— was there, and when I took the glorious old lady home she told me that she went with much prejudice against the undertaking, but that we had changed her mind. What do you think of this? When I had finished, a lady went up to Dr. Hayes, and with moistened eyes said to him, You must take a widow's mite,' and gave him a dollar! Bache says: Hayes ought to nail that wid ow's mite to the mast.'

"To-morrow I shall try to see you and your picture, but only on condition that I do not give my opinion; I know the value of that kind of criticism; I have lived too long in Rome. If I find it good, I shall speak out; if not, I shall rest on the old saying, 'Le silence du peuple est le jugement des rois !'