Volume 6 — TRIBUTE TO A COLLEGE CLASSMATE.

Remarks on the Late John W. Browne, August 20, 1860.

Mr. Browne died suddenly, May 1st, 1860. A little volume was printed in the summer, entitled “In Memoriam J. W. B.,” to which Mr. Sumner contributed the following notice. Prefixed were the words of Fénelon:—

“Il n’y a que les grands cœurs qui sachent combien il y a de gloire à être bon.”

I should feel unhappy, if this little book of tribute to my early friend were allowed to appear without a word from me. We were classmates in college, and for two out of the four years of undergraduate life were chums. We were also together in the Law School. Perhaps no person now alive knew him better, during all this period. Separated afterwards by the occupations of the world, I saw him only at intervals, though our friendship continued unbroken to the end, and when we met, it was always with the warmth and confidence of our youthful relations.

Of all my classmates, I think that he gave, in college, the largest promise of future eminence, mingled, however, with uncertainty whether the waywardness of genius might not betray him. None then imagined that the fiery nature, nursed upon the study of Byron, and delighting always to talk of his poetry and life, would be tamed to the modest ways which he afterwards adopted. The danger seemed to be, that, like his prototype, he would break loose from social life, and follow the bent of lawless ambition, or at least plunge with passion into the strifes of the world. His earnestness at this time bordered on violence, and in all his opinions he was a partisan. But he was already thinker as well as reader, and expressed himself with accuracy and sententious force. Voice harmonizes with character, and his was too apt to be ungentle and loud.

They who have known him only latterly will be surprised at this glimpse of him in early life. A change so complete in sentiment, manner, and voice, as took place in him, I have never known. It seemed like one of those instances in Christian story, where the man of violence is softened suddenly into a saintly character. I do not exaggerate in the least. So much have I been impressed by it at times, that I could hardly believe in his personal identity, and I have recalled the good Fra Cristoforo, in the exquisite romance of Manzoni, to prove that the simplest life of unostentatious goodness may succeed a youth hot with passion of all kinds.

To me, who knew him so well in his other moods, it was touching in the extreme to note this change. Listening to his voice, now so gentle and low, while he conversed on the duties of life, and with perfect simplicity revealed his own abnegation of worldly aims, I have been filled with reverence. At these times his conversation was peculiar and instructive. He had thought for himself, and expressed what he said with all his native force refined by new-born sweetness of soul, which would have commended sentiments even of less intrinsic interest. I saw how, in the purity of his nature, he turned aside from riches and from ambition of all kinds, content with a tranquil existence, undisturbed by any of those temptations which promised once to exercise such sway over him. But his opinions, while uttered with modesty, were marked by the hardihood of an original thinker, showing that in him

His firm renunciation of office, opening the way to a tempting political career, when formally tendered to him, is almost unique. He had been Representative from Lynn, in the Legislature of Massachusetts, and was nominated as Senator for Essex. This was long ago, in 1838, while he was yet a young man; and here his sagacity seemed to be remarkable as his principles. At that early day, when the two old political parties had been little criticised, he announced that their strife was “occasional and temporary, and that both had forgotten or overlooked the great principle of equal liberty for all, upon which a free government must rest as its only true and safe basis.” He then proceeded to dissolve his connection with parties, in words worthy of perpetual memory. “I disconnect myself from party,” he said, “whose iron grasp holds hard even upon the least of us, and mean in my little sphere, as a private individual, to serve what seems to me the cause of the country and humanity. I cannot place currency above liberty. I cannot place money above man. I cannot fight heartily for the Whigs and against their opponents, when I feel, that, whichever shall be the victorious party, the claims of humanity will be forgotten in the triumph, and that the rights of the slave may be crushed beneath the advancing hosts of the victors.”[167] No better words have been uttered in our political history. In this spirit, and with his unquestionable abilities, he might well have acted an important part in the growing conflict with Slavery. But his love of retreat grew also, and he shrank completely from all the activities of political life. There was nothing that was not within his reach; but he could not be tempted.

I cannot disguise that at times I was disposed to criticise this withdrawal, as suggesting too closely the questionable philosophy concentrated in the saying, Bene vixit qui bene latuit. But as often as I came within the sphere of his influence, and felt the simple beauty of his life, while I saw how his soul, like the sensitive leaf, closed at the touch of the world, I was willing to believe that he had chosen wisely for himself, or at all events that his course was founded on a system deliberately adopted, upon which even an old friend must not intrude. Having always the greatest confidence in his resources, intellectual as well as moral, I was never without hope that in some way he would make his mark upon his country and his age. If he has not done this, he has at least left an example precious to all who knew him.