Charles Henry Brigham. Memoir and papers

Contents

I. MEMOIR

II. PAPERS.

i. Ambrose . . .

Preface

The literary executors, appointed by Mr. Brigham in his will, offer to his friends and the public the following volume as the result of their labors. It consists of a Memoir by his classmate, Rev. E. B. Willson, and such selections from his manuscripts and printed papers as would, it was thought, best illustrate the range, quality and faithfulness of his work and scholarship. He left, printed and unprinted, a large mass of materials for more systematic and homogeneous volumes, in his critical reviews, historical, biographical and geographical lectures, European and Oriental travels, educational, reform and hygienic articles, and sermons, but the rapid transition of opinions and the speedy superannuation of critical and literary judgments by later investigations and maturer thought, render it difficult in general to use for present purposes to-day what was written even ten or twenty years ago, without modification or cumbersome notes. Probably even in what

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we have published, Mr. Brigham's own quick eye would have detected many things to change or qualify. But the object primarily has been to represent the man, not opinions.

With these explanations we contribute the volume as another not unworthy addition to the increasing treasure-house of American letters and biography. The old, old story of character, faith, consecrated labor and immortal hope can never pall on human interest, but renews itself, like the fresh seasons of Nature herself with never-tiring attraction, and gives lessons ever new and stimulating to mind and heart. His parishioners, his brethren in the ministry, and his numerous pupils at Ann Arbor and Meadville will recall with gratitude many a word which helped them to higher faith and nobler living.

ABIEL ABBOT LIVERMORE.

NOTE

Rev. Charles Henry Brigham laid upon two of his friends the double and delicate duty, first, of determining whether any, and if any, what, of his unpublished papers should go to the press ; and, secondly, the " preparation of a brief memoir."

The two friends living far apart, agreed that a memoir could not conveniently be their joint work. Thus it has come to be undertaken by one of them ; and whether fitly or ill done, the responsibility for it rests with him.

The memorialist would never have thought of nominating himself for this office, nor have accepted it under any less constraining commission than Mr. Brigham's supposed wish. At the moment of taking up the pen, he has his eyes upon this sentence : " Few men would choose their own biographers well," and believes that it contains the truth.

He is happily able to supplement his own imper-

Vin NOTE.

feet sketch with some touches by other friendly hands, notably two, which he has set by themselves in the form in which he found them standing, because they seem to him specially worthy to be preserved unchanged, as well on account of the truth and justness in them, as of the close relations in which the writers stood to their subject.

E. B. WILLSON.

MEMOIR.

Charles Henry Brigham, son of Dennis and Roxa (Fay) Brigham, was born in Boston, July 27th, 1820. A child of good parts, he made easy progress through the schools which he attended in his childhood and boyhood, and went from the Latin School to Harvard College at the age of fifteen, graduating in the class of 1839.

Of his early childhood we have but a glimpse or two. A kinswoman of about equal age with him, remembers that when he came on visits to her father's house in the country, as he frequently did, " the boy cousins cared nothing about him, as he could never interest himself in any of their sports. The chickens were his chief attraction, and very soon he knew every one (although we had a large flock), and would know if one was missing. He seemed to make a study of them, watching all their ways."

The memory for which he was distinguished in after years showed itself early, laying hold, with swift and sure grasp, of the facts of history and experience, and of the literary treasures of good books.

In his literary training, as in his moral, he owed more to his mother than to all other masters and models. " To her," he wrote when assuming his first pastorate, " I owe

MEMOIR.

my ambition to excel, my fondness for study, and mental culture."

One with whom he maintained a warm and close friendship for almost fifty years, Rev. Amos Smith of Belmont, furnishes some interesting facts and pictures, falling within this portion of his life :

He entered, when advanced enough, the Bowdoin school, corner of Temple and Derne streets. Its site, and the lots which adjoined it, are now covered by the West Boston Reservoir. He completed in 1830 the course of studies pursued in that school, receiving a Franklin medal. He then entered the Boston Latin School, at that time kept at the corner of School Street and Chapman Place. Horticultural Hall afterwards covered, but the Parker House now covers, that space. It was then (in 1830) that my acquaintance with him commenced, I having entered the school in 1829. I remember him well, as a bright, intelligent, wide-awake, compactly-built, rather short, muscular boy, as fond of fun and play as any of his mates, but obedient to the rules of the school, of uncommon industry, of great power of perseverance in the studying of his lessons, of high scholarship in all departments, and greatly liked, as a good and faithful pupil, by all the teachers. I suspect that no boy of that school ever committed to memory Adams's Latin Grammar more thoroughly than he did. Many a time, here in Belmont, he has amused me, and called back the old Latin School days, by repeating with glib tongue large extracts from that delectable volume, and especially some of the long "lists" with which it abounds, and which at school we had to learn by heart. Forty-five years had not erased them from his memory. What he learned of Latin from Masters Dillaway, Gardner, Streeter, and the other instructors of that school, increased by what he subsequently acquired at college, enabled him to read the language with pretty nearly the same facility with which he read English. And his acquaintance with Greek, though less, was large. He graduated from the school in 1835, having ranked through his whole career in it, among the highest in his class.

MEMOIR.

In college, as in school, he was studious, maintained a high rank, and identified himself with all that was best in scholarship, and worthiest in character. A high ideal of the scholar's vocation held him to a lofty aim and an unflagging patience in work ; and to the end of his life he remained a loyal son of the University, watching over her good fame with a jealous pride, and justly holding it an honorable distinction to have had her culture, and to have received her well-won credentials.

Of the year that intervened between his graduation and the commencement of his professional studies, six months were passed in teaching in a private school kept by a French gentleman in the city of Baltimore, Maryland ; the remainder at his father's house in New York. v When at home he was not idle. He had no capacity for idleness. He read industriously, did some writing daily, and meantime weighed seriously the question of his life's calling, which he settled by entering the Divinity School in Cambridge in August, 1840.

Although, even after this choice was made, we find him sometimes expressing a doubt whether he had chosen wisely, and half regretting that he had not pursued another vocation, he permits us to see in a "Thought Book," which he kept through the year 1840, how steadily and positively his mind was setting all this time in the direction of his life-long labors. And we must go even farther back to perceive fully the unity and consistency of his character, and to. see how strongly all the indications had been pointing this way from the first. His mother's influence has been mentioned. That of the church is not to be overlooked. The family regularly attended worship in the West Boston

MEMOIR.

Church, of which Rev. Charles Lowell was the minister while Charles Brigham was growing and plastic. Mother and son were there together. The apostolic dignity of the preacher, his deep seriousness of manner, the exacting and inspiring standard of life which he held up to view as the Christian ideal, and his pastoral closeness and fidelity to the households of which his congregation was made up, could not fail to impress the imagination of this quickminded and observant boy. They did impress him deeply, and are to be counted among the most undoubted and effective of the causes that gave bent to his mind, when the time came to fix upon a profession.

About the time he went to Baltimore he began a careful and consecutive reading of the New Testament, making a record from day to day of the results, both as to their practical lessons and as establishing the character of their writings. At the close of the survey, which ran through nearly a year's time, he came to the conclusion that the evangelical history was trustworthy, and accepted the New Testament " as a guide book in the way of duty." " If I walk by its precepts I am secure against falling. It is a practical book, the most practical I ever read ; eminently fitted to be a lamp to my feet and a light to my path .... I am going now to enter upon the study of divinity. .... I shall ever remember this year as being the occasion of my first reading of the New Testament." He had omitted the "Revelation" from his reading as "a book which is perhaps apocryphal, and certainly not connected with, or subsidiary to, the original design of the book in general."

It was at Divinity Hall, Cambridge, and at the begin ning of the academic year in 1840, that I first met Mr. Brigham. The next three years were passed in almost daily and intimate intercourse with him.

The life of a student in a theological school is, to external observation, monotony itself : a round of exercises at appointed hours, quiet study, much writing, much reading, solitary walks and walks in pairs, the professor's learned lecture and paternal advice, argument and discussion around the recitation tables, accidental groupings at odd hours, when fun and banter, wit and story rule ; and at other hours, when in more serious conference conscience makes inquisition of motive, and young men, not without anxiety, forecast the future of their hopes and fears — such, to external observation, is this life of the student of theology. It is a great deal more, to be sure, to the eye reading with more insight. It is far from monotonous ; it is as exciting as the career of the explorer in unknown countries, or the struggle in the thick of business for the great prizes of fortune.

In the retrospect of that time no figure is more constant to my eye or mind than Mr. Brigham's. Foraging widely, he was the foremost and most diligent of readers, most abundant of writers, faithful in attendance upon all prescribed exercises, never backward in debate, no laggard at a walk, sincere and serious always in his approach to serious themes, and in his treatment of matters of moral concern and religious experience never otherwise than earnest and reverent.

Neither at that period, nor later, was he usually credited with the religious sensibility which he possessed. This was owing not to reserve, nor to any mask of manners

MEMOIB.

that he designedly wore, for he was frank to a fault. But he was naturally self-assertive, and set a high value on scholarly acquisition, and on some personal advantages of opportunity, in which he was affluent. With a pretty large self-esteem he was sure, therefore, to offend at times by assumptions of superiority and all-knowingness. Along with this, but overlaid and hidden by it, went a genuine humility and an honest self-depreciation, of which abundant autographic proofs exist. Better proof than selfreproaches — of which there was no lack in his private notes — he took sharp criticism, when it came from a friend and one whom he respected as a competent critic, with an unsparing self-application, making no defense of himself nor complaint of injustice, though he felt it with a wincing keenness.

After graduation from the Divinity School, Mr. Brigham preached in several vacant pulpits from one to eight Sundays each. His longer engagements were in Watertown three Sundays, in Greenfield four, in South Boston eight, in Taunton six. Having received a call to settle as Pastor of the First Congregational Society in Taunton, he accepted it on the 20th of February, 1844, and was ordained on the 27th of March, the same year. In his letter of acceptance he said : " I can only bring you the talents which God has given me, a willingness to labor, and a sin cere interest, I trust, in the work of the ministry." Such words, common in such communications, are no common places here. "A willingness to labor and a sincere interest in the work of the ministry : " proper and modest words for the occasion, but not much color in them then ; how loaded with meaning and warm with life, as we read them

MEMOIR.

now, with the record of a completed ministry of twenty-two years throwing light upon them ! Willingness to labor? It was an irrepressible, exulting eagerness with him. Labor was his delight. No brief spasms and spurts, followed by panting lassitude. It went on steadily from the beginning of the year to the end : from year to year. He carried about him no air of being hurried or flushed by overwork. He was always fresh ; one day was like another ; busy, but with room for new claims. He had leisure always for social occasions and for recreation, as men of industry and method usually have, because, mastering their work, their work does not master them. To enumerate his preachings, lectures, meetings, pastoral visits, school visits, journeys, gives but a faint idea of it, though they indeed astonish by their number and variety. His labor at his books and pen was not abridged nor slurred because he had so many calls abroad. His, love of study took care for that. Up to midday, and past — to be precise, his rule was "till 4 o'clock, p. m." — he was steady at his work-table. He needed less sleep than most men, and was a late sitter at night. One of the most tireless of men, both as to bodily activity and mental labor, his high praise of a fellow traveller who was his companion through some European lands, was, that he was one of the best men to travel with that he ever knew, " because he possessed so much learning and never got tired."

Better than any words of mine to characterize or describe the fullness of this ministry of Mr. Brigham in Taunton, will be the grateful and warm-hearted testimony of some of his friends and parishioners, whom he won and bound to himself by his manly sincerity 7 , his incorruptible fidelity to truth, and his generous gift of himself to the service of all. It is to be remarked, moreover, that this is a character which wore well, as the tributes we cite to its worth come late. It is not the enthusiasm of a young friendship that speaks. It has run through many years of close and familiar contact, and has survived other years of separation. The judgment is of one tried in all weathers, showing impressions not newly made, but growing deeper with time. They are not neutral men who leave such longlasting, and deep-cut traces where they have been.

One who knew him intimately and had best opportunities to discover the quality of his central purpose, says of him that from the time of his coming to Taunton in 1844. a young man of twenty-three years, to his leaving in 1865:

His course was an unvarying one of devotion to his work as a minister, friend and citizen. When he went away not only his own society, but every society of whatever denomination, in fact the whole town, mourned his departure, for they felt that the main prop in every good work was taken. His opinions upon all subjects, social, moral, intellectual and religious were sought, so that he was like an oracle. If any vexed question occurred, " ask Mr. Brigham," was the current suggestion. His preaching, in the opinion of most persons was of the highest, because of the truest order. He had decided beliefs upon all subjects which he treated, and just what he believed, felt, or knew to be true, he preached without fear or favor. I think he never strove to make "great " sermons, that is, high-sounding, sensational, or eloquent, though his style was eloquent, I think, for it was true, simple, and concise.

As to his every-day life, the writer adds :

He entered with enthusiasm into every work connected

MEMOIR.

with his parish. No duty was ever neglected. Reserving full time for his studies, he still had time left for social intercourse ; and oh ! how welcome he was everywhere. Occasionally his somewhat brusque, abrupt manner would offend an over-sensitive person a little, but it was soon forgotten in the pleasure which his presence gave. A careful housekeeper would say that some article of food was not quite good, and he would echo her own words by saying : " No, it is not so good as you have sometimes ; " or if a new picture with a bright, gilt frame was subjected to his criticism, the frame, its chief fine point, he would perhaps say : " It is not so handsome as the wall-paper behind it." He might have left that first thing that came into his mind unsaid, but he could not say, if he saw no merit, that there was any: it was not in him. These are light things to tell, but they are the ones which sometimes caused the imputation of rudeness. I make a distinction and say they showed his truthful, straight-forward manner of speaking just what was in his mind .... He was a most unsuspicious person, believed every one was as single-minded and truthful as himself ; and if brought to believe that any one was not his friend, bore no malice .... He liked bright young people, and they were fond of him. Occasionally there were young men who seemed not to like him, but they were sure to be young men who were not quite right, whom his strong, honest words or manner rebuked. I never knew of a bright, upright young man who did not admire him, and I think his influence over such persons was admirable.

Mentioning a family whose house was more a home to him than any other, the writer observes that :

The son and daughter always welcomed his coming with delight. When they were young, he would play games, solve puzzles, and enter into their youthful sports; and when they were older, was always interested in their studies, music, etc. Their young friends who collected there depended upon him for amusement and instruction. If they wanted to learn anything about any subject, it was a joke with them to say : " Now we'll wind Mr. Brigham up — ask him a leading question — then off he'll go;"

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and in an . hour they would learn more than in any other way. I have often heard one of. my nieces say : " He is the sweetest-tempered man I ever knew." He always appeared in the morning bright and cheerful, and his last words at night were the same. My sister (at whose house he spent some part of every summer) would say that he was the least trouble in the house of any man she ever knew. Everything was just right. Her manner of living was simple, few courses of wholesome food, and although he enjoyed, what he often had at the houses of friends, a luxurious dinner, I think he really liked the simplest fare best. The impression was sometimes given that his appetite for food was large. I think he had a natural healthy appetite for a strong man, and nothing more. He had a strong mind in a

strong body Stimulants of any kind never passed

his lips. He once had a slight attack of dyspepsia and spent six months at my sister's, and it seemed no sacrifice to deny himself all but the simplest food, and when asked if it was not hard, would say : " What, hard to live on good graham bread, boiled rice, and once a day a piece of steak?" .... Since reading over what I have written, I feel as if I had dwelt too much upon trifling things, and had not said half enough of his power and good influence in everything, and of how much he was loved. It was my privilege often to walk or ride with him when he made calls, especially when he came, after he left Taunton, for his yearly visit, which I think he could hardly have lived without. Old persons would greet him as if he were a son returned, and I have seen plain; elderly women burst into tears, and even embrace him, in joy at seeing him

again His presence in times of sickness or

trouble was always welcome. He was always bright and cheerful, and if he offered a prayer it was full of hope and consolation. His services at funerals were such that after he left, many felt as if they could hardly bury their dead without his strong words of sympathy and comfort. His own emotion would often be so great that he could hardly speak. His prayers on such, and on all occasions, in church, at marriages, in all seasons of sorrow and of joy, were an outpouring from a devout

MEMOIR.

heart, of gratitude and love to God for every joy, and for strength to bear sorrow. Not so much asking for favors or blessings, as giving' thanks for mercies and blessings received. His love of nature was intense. He would repeat fine poetry suggested by a beautiful scene, flowers, or anything lovely or grand in nature. He was full of faith in a communion of spirit when separated in body from friends. He spent many Thanksgiving and other anniversaries at my sister's, and never after he left Taunton would he neglect to write and refer to the old times and memories both in her own and other families. He was a modest man. I think he never wrote or preached for fame or popularity. He wrote and spoke what he thought was needed for the work in which he was engaged ; and his whole strong, healthful body and soul were enlisted. He never spared himself.

In a few passages taken from the letters referred to in the above communication, written some years after Mr. Brigham had left Taunton for Ann Arbor, his graphic pen reveals almost pathetically how deep the roots of his early friendships and first pastoral affections had struck through this Taunton soil, and how hard they found it to take hold and grow again in a new place after transplantation :

Ann Arbor, March 26th, 1871.

My Dear Friend — I have been expecting in all this week to get a letter from you ; and though I have been disappointed, I can't resist the impulse to answer the letter which has not come. I feel rather in the meditative mood this afternoon. The skies are dark, the wind is from the East. There are snowflakes flying in the air, and premonitions of a coming storm. I ouofht to be cheerful and buoyant, for this morning at the last meeting for the season of the Students' Class (which now numbers 284!), one of the Seniors, who has been three years a member of it, in a very feeling and complimentary speech, presented me, in behalf of the class, with two sets of books, elegantly bound, 17 volumes in all, as a testimony of their regard and appreciation. But in spite of this, it has been running in my head all day, that this is the last day of the 27th year since I was ordained in Taunton, and I have been musing on the old home, and the strange changes which these years have brought there, and have been counting the shadowy procession of the vanishing forms, which I shall there see no longer. More and more all that life of twenty years seems like a dream, as one and another who were parts of it, drop out of its picture. I look back upon that experience as something almost disconnected with the life I have now, as far apart from this as the Old World is from the New. The friends of that time were of a different kind from the friends I have now, and every one that dies seems to cut another sensitive nerve, and weakens sensibility.

I used to feel then pained at the least sign of the ill-will or the vexation of any friend in the Church. Now I do not care, when they call me Anti- Christ, a friend and emissary of the Devil, and all sorts of hard names. It does not give a particle of pain, and seems more like a jest. It troubles my congregation more than it does me. I am getting case-hardened to these impressions of the passing time, and all my emotions are for the scenes that are behind, and for the friends from whom I have parted. I attended a funeral a few days ago in a neighboring town, but I did not feel the occasion, as I used to in the former days. I visit some sick persons here almost every week, but the visits are rather like those of a chance acquaintance than of a pastor. It does not seem as it did once that I belong to these people, and that they have a right to my sympathy. They are simply men and women who happen to know me and come to hear Sunday discourse, while I happen to be here. I am not in any sense, as Paul says, ' their servant for Jesus' sake.' And yet I like these people. I never had in the old parish more genuine supporters, and none of them have proved to be false friends. But, after all, it will be impossible to revive the life that is gone, or to get such attachments again as made the charm of the old pastoral relation. I was, twenty-seven years ago, ordained pastor of a parish. For the last half dozen years I have been only the propagandist of ideas, only a teacher, and have not wished or cared to be anything more.

Ann Arbor, April 9, 187 1.

My Dear Friend — It is Easter Sunday, the high Festival of the Christian year. The sun is shining brightly ; the air blows cool ; the birds are singing ; just under my window the blue birds are building their nests in a hollow trunk ; the bells are ringing for the afternoon meetings of the children ; I have held my last interview with my Bible Class, have preached an Easter sermon, have celebrated the Lord's Supper, with seventy attendants upon it ; and now sit down to answer your letter. In spite of the beauty of the day and the hopeful feeling that belongs to the season of opening spring, I have a sadness which cannot be kept back, and this morning my mind was so full of memories that my voice was broken and my eyes were dimmed all through the service. I told the people, in illustration of the power of death to bring the departed near, how constantly the thought of a friend of mine, who had recently gone on to his home in the world of spirits, came to me as I had been visiting the sick and seeing the '"good physician" by the side of the suffering; — for there is a good deal of sickness here now, and this afternoon I am going to see a sick man, an old man, whom I shall probably never see again. It is very difficult to make the brethren here appreciate my idea of the communion service. The old prejudice clings, and they will only see the superstition of the ceremony, and not its spiritual meaning

Do as you please with my books. If you can find room for them, and for the desk and other things, where they will not suffer harm or be exposed to prying eyes and ringers, I shall be content. I would transport them to the West, if I could get the feeling that this is home, and that I shall be a fixture here. But I often feel as if I ought to go back to New England, and wait there the coming on of old age. For I begin to feel like an old man, when I see that all the workers around me are younger men, and realize how few among the Unitarian ministers, who are efficient, are before me in age

The Doctor's* death practically breaks up my home

* Ira Sampson, M. D., to whose widow this letter was addressed. To husband and wife, Mr. Jirigham was " like a brother." Dr. S. is " the good physician " of a foregoing paragraph of the letter.