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 ON THE DEATH OF HIS 
 EXCELLENCY, WILLIAM EUSTIS, 
 
 Late Governor of the Coramonwaalth of Hatsacliiissttl. 
 
 PREACHED IN THE FIRST CHURCH 
 
 FEBRUARY 13, 1825, 
 On the Lord's day succeeding his Public Funeral. 
 
 BY THOMAS GRAY, 
 
 Minister of the Church on Jamaica Plain. 
 
 f$outon: 
 
 OFFICE or THE CHRISTIAN KEGISTER. 
 
 Francis Y. Carlile Printer. 
 
 1825. 
 
TIc^ 
 
 ^^K5 
 
 To Mrs CAROLLYE LA.YGBON EUSTIS, ividow 
 of the late Gov. Eustii, the following discourse, delivered and 
 puhlishcd at her request, is most respectfully and affectionately 
 inscribed by the 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
I c^ / 
 
 f H? 1W iO U^ 
 
 ON THE WARFARE OF DEATH. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES, viii. 8. And there is no discharge in that war. 
 
 Of tliis solemn and affecting truth, we, my friends, 
 wlio are here assembled to-day, have, within the 
 space of a few short hours, received the most impres- 
 sive and mournful conviction. He, who chose out 
 our wav, and sat as chief amonjxst us — he, who 
 was the object of public confidence, and of private 
 affection, has now fallen prostrate by the hand of 
 death. Nerveless is the arm of power. The right 
 hand has forgot its cunning, and the lips are sealed 
 up in everlasting silence. Fond of military life, 
 he early engaged in the warfare of his country, and 
 with others of his associates, gained the victory, 
 and wore the palm, and received, at length, his 
 honorable discharge. But in this warfare with 
 death there is no discharge. Here the conqueror is 
 conquered, and a new trophy graces the triumphal 
 car of this mighty despot. The insatiable enemy 
 has seized upon his victim — has fattened upon his 
 prey, and now closed his " marble jaws" upon him. 
 
 We have already accompanied him, with every 
 token of respect and mourning to that dark prson- 
 house, in which the monster confines his captives. 
 
And, now, the ceremonies of funereal pomp have 
 subsided — You have seen the military honors dis- 
 played at the grave, the nodding plumes, the sable 
 hearse, the thronging spectators, crowding around 
 his bier, to take a last look of their favorite, and to 
 pay their last respects to his memory. But the 
 multitude has now retired, the noise is still, and all 
 is hushed. And where, let me ask you, is the object 
 of all this worldly glory now ? Alas ! He sleeps on 
 his last bed ; he is enclosed in the darkness of the 
 grave. Earthly honor and distinction have yielded 
 their palm, but the wreath has faded in the tomb. 
 I said ye are gods, but ye shall die like men, and 
 fall like one of the princes. We have come up here 
 my friends, this afternoon, into this solemn temple, 
 to contemplate this vanity of human greatness, to 
 gaze in religious awe, upon the emptiness of hu- 
 man splendor ; to show you where terminate the 
 proudest distinctions of this world ; and from our 
 recent visit to the tomb, to gather some lessons 
 of religious wisdom, instruction and improvement, 
 from the fleeting scene that has now forever van- 
 ished away. 
 
 I stand before you, my friends, in a situation at- 
 tended with some embarrassments. Whilst the 
 Commonwealth mourns its Governor and Com- 
 mander in Chief, I myself sut^tain the loss of a 
 personal friend. I occupy also the place to day, 
 of your excellent pastor, and of my much loved 
 friend and brother,* to whom these religious so- 
 
 * Rev. Dr. Eliphalet Porter, who then lay dangerously ill of a lung fever. 
 
lemnities properly pertained, which now devolve 
 upon me ; and who, in a manner so much more edi- 
 fying and instructive, would have performed them ; 
 but whom the wise disposer of events, has con- 
 fined to the solitary chamber of sickness and of 
 prayer. I am oppressed too, with a consciousness 
 of the imperfection, with which 1 am able to supply 
 liis absence, or fulfil your just expectations, or do 
 justice to such an occasion as this. Thus placed 
 before you, I shall draw upon your candor for what 
 I cannot claim from your justice, whilst I attempt a 
 religious improvement of this solemn visitation of 
 God, which has clothed, not only his own afflicted 
 family, but this whole Commonwealth in sorrow ; 
 which has filled many a heart with grief, and many 
 an eye with tears. 
 
 But there is no discharge in this war. And does 
 not the observation of almost every passing day 
 confirm this truth ? Where do you look around you, 
 and find not the spoils of this mighty destroyer ? 
 You behold him intrudmg his visits often, when 
 they were least expected, and calling for those, with 
 whom we are most unwilling to part. His unspar- 
 ing weapons level without distinction. He intrudes 
 alike into the Chair of State, and into offices of the 
 humblest grade. He intrudes on the thrones of 
 kings and of emperors, and into the dwellings of 
 their meanest subjects, and no one can bar his efi- 
 trance. We witness his triumphs over the lofty and 
 the low, over the young and the old, over the virtu- 
 ous and the vicious, over those whose characters and 
 
G 
 
 worth have iiiHured tliem the love and esteem, the 
 respect and confidence of all around thim ; and 
 whose memory still lives in our hearts ; and over 
 the worthless too, who die unlamented, and whose 
 names are consigned to the oblivion of their dust. 
 There is no mnn that hath power over the spirit, to 
 retain the spirit ; neither hath he power in the day 
 of death. And there is no discliarge in that war. 
 We must all engage in the conflict, and are all sure 
 to fall. This truth, so solemn and interesting to 
 every one of us, it is now my purpose to contem- 
 plate dnd improve. 
 
 We have, in the text, a drama'tic representation 
 of death, as in a state of war with man. We will 
 show you the manner in which this war is carried on. 
 
 It is commenced then, in the fiitt place, against 
 the body, that noble workmanship of God, so fear- 
 fully and wonderfully made ; and here his whole 
 artillery is played off. Sometimes his approach is 
 regular, and he gives us notice of his intent. He 
 assails us by slow disease, and the only circum- 
 stance that excites our surprize is, how much the 
 slender citadel will bear, and how long it will some- 
 times sustain the siege, before it is compelled to 
 surrender. At other times, the assaults are sudden ; 
 at a moment when least expected, or when return- 
 ing health seemed rapidly hastening her footsteps, 
 just as the bitterness of death seemed to have 
 passed away, and the joys of renovated life were 
 gladdening the soul. 
 
 The enemy commences his attacks again, in the 
 
midst of prosperity, of honor and of fame, of health 
 and usefulness. He siezes, like the vulture, on his 
 prey, and in a moment his purposes are cut off, even 
 the intents of his heart, and in that very day his 
 thoughts perish. 
 
 Death is at war too, with our brightest hopes, and 
 often robs us of our dearest earthly treasure. He 
 enters into a family, and prostrates, at a stroke, the 
 hopes of it. He cuts down the young man of much 
 promise, the object of parental admiration, love and 
 solicitude. He was just about to enter into life, 
 " high in expectation, and elate with hope," the ob- 
 ject of universal affection and esteem, and of high 
 interest and favor. Or an only daughter, the moth- 
 er's hope, and the father's pride. She was pure in 
 mind, lovely in disposition, sweet in manners, and 
 beautiful in person, whom to love was only to know. 
 The monster marks the sumptuous prey ; he points 
 his unerring dart, levels his aim in the dust, and 
 pours poison and bitterness into the bleeding hearts 
 of relatives and fnends. 
 
 Death is in a state of war again, with all our pre- 
 sent enjoyments. He is sure and certain in his con- 
 quest, and is always to be found more or less, in 
 company with suffering. Sometimes his purpose is 
 effected by deceit, by fraud, by robbery, by mur- 
 der ; and again, by the sweeping desolations of 
 war, of battle, of famine, of pestilence. But, even 
 when he comes in his mildest and most muural 
 form, his approach is, generally, preceded by lan- 
 guishing weakness, or melancholy disease, by acute 
 
8 
 
 pains, or dreadful accidents, by horrid lacerations, 
 or terrible wounds. He is the fell destroyer of 
 health and strength, of youth and beauty. He ren- 
 ders wealth and reputation, honor and dignity, au- 
 thority and power, the mere trappings of his victory. 
 He forever removes man from man, the husband 
 from the wife of his bosom, and the object of his 
 love, brother from brother, sister from sister. He 
 extinguishes the splendor of greatness, quenches the 
 fire of genius, arrests, disconcerts, overturns the 
 wisest and best plans of public benevolence, and of 
 private virtue. He takes away the most excellent 
 enjoyments, and substitutes in their place, bitter 
 adversity, and accumulated misery. He silences 
 the voice of joy, and raises the tears of mourning. 
 He separates the mind from the bod}^, and leaves 
 it motionless and inanimate, and consigns it to the 
 low, dark, and narrow house, to putrefaction, to 
 worms, and to earth. 
 
 And what a dreary blank is the grave ! the abode 
 of silence and oblivion, where there is no knowl- 
 edge or device ; the dark barrier over which there 
 is no return. 
 
 Death, moreover, is at war with friendship and 
 society. 
 
 For these the Almighty has formed man, and im- 
 planted in his nature the early and prevailing love 
 of them. It is not good, said the Father of the 
 human family, for man to be alone. For his inter- 
 est it is not good ; for what can be accomplished 
 alone ? Or what motive can he have to action alone ? 
 
But connected with tliose around him, in whom he 
 feels an interest and concern, tlie prospect either of 
 imparting pleasure, or alleviating pain, awakens all 
 his active efforts. Neither is it for his virtue, good 
 to be alone, because there are no virtuous examples 
 for him to imitate, nor can he be influenced by a re- 
 gard to public opinion, or to reputation ; for who is 
 there, in this case, to applaud, or who to censure 
 him ? The book of God, therefore, often appeals to 
 the consideration, that we are seen of men, and 
 urges upon us, that we cause our lights to shine be- 
 fore them. Nor is it yet for his happiness, good, that 
 he should be alone. For what is there in a state of 
 solitude to make him happy, formed, as he is, with 
 all his social affections about him ? Even the devout 
 and pious Christian, who loves and seeks retirement, 
 at its appropriate seasons, choses it, not for its own 
 sake, but as favorable to self-examination, to devout 
 contemplation, and to holy prayer; and after the 
 discharge of these secret devotions, returns to enjoy 
 the pleasures of friendship and society again with 
 an increased, and renovated delight. 
 
 Of friendship that is true and lasting, the only 
 source is a virtuous and a feeling heart ; and this is 
 enjoyed, in the greatest perfection that earth can 
 give, in the tender and endearing connexions of do- 
 mestic life. Formed as they generally are, in affec- 
 tion, strengthened and increased by continuance, 
 and the reciprocation of ofllices of kindness and of 
 love, they become the fountain of the purest and 
 most rational felicity. After the toils of business 
 2 
 
lU 
 
 are over, the evasions and scliemes of the artful have 
 been seen through and avoided, the slanders of the 
 envious, erroneous, or mistaken been endured, and 
 the disappointments and little mortifications of one 
 kind or another, we every day more or less meet 
 with, in our intercourse with the world, are passed 
 away, Oh, with what satisfaction do we return to 
 quiet and peaceful home ; home, where affection is 
 sure to oblige ; where friendship soothes, and both 
 unite to make tranquil and happy ! 
 
 But death is at war too, with this sweet hope of 
 man, and sooner or later, is sure to destroy it. He 
 extends his empire wide, and compels every one im- 
 plicitly to submit. He snatches away the dear part- 
 ner of life, and removes lover and friend from our 
 side. He subverts the designs of the enterprizing 
 and the patriotic, of the public benefactor and the 
 private friend, and confines them all to his gloomy 
 cell. And Oh, how changed then is the scene ! 
 Henceforth cold and motionless is the object we 
 once BO much loved ; a mortal paleness succeeds the 
 crimson, that used to adorn his cheeks ; the eyes 
 sink dim away, into their hollow sockets ; the 
 tonofue refuses its utterance ; the voice of affection 
 is unheeded ; the tears of friendship are disregard- 
 ed ; and dressed in the uniform of the grave, and 
 closed up in the narrow cofiin, he is conveyed away 
 to his last dreary abode, and left to his undisturbed 
 repose there, till the heavens be no more. And we 
 depart, still sorrowing most of all, that we shall see 
 his face no more. We return to the once cheerful 
 
11 
 
 dwelling, but, Oh, how changed ! It is now con- 
 verted into an house of mourning, in which every 
 breast is heaving with sorrow, and every eye is 
 moistened with tears. The interesting resemblance 
 of departed friendship, which the skill of the artist 
 had snatched from oblivion, we view with mournful 
 satisftiction, and pass not without a tear, the tomb, 
 which contains the precious dust of him we once 
 loved. And say now my friends, is not death at 
 war with love, with friendship, and society ? 
 
 Agreeably to the comparison of our text, I ob- 
 serve, further, that a state of war is always a state 
 of mutual opposition. And so it is too, in this con- 
 flict with death. He attacks his victims in different 
 ways, and with different weapons, and though he 
 always finds a resolute, yet he meets always with 
 an unsuccessful resistance. The sick, still fond of 
 life, cling anxiously to it ; they try every method, 
 and resort to every expedient in their power to pre- 
 serve the blessing. The aids of friendship, the skill 
 of the kind and attentive physician, unite their 
 efforts to save them. Affection's ardent prayers as- 
 cend to heaven, and plead before the throne of God, 
 that the bitter cup may pass away, and the heavy 
 stroke be yet averted. But affection, and skill, and 
 piety unite their exertions in vain. The decree 
 hath passed in heaven, and it cannot be reversed 
 upon earth. The last enemy must triumph over his 
 victims, for there is no discharge in this war. 
 
 Once more. In a state of warfare, the slaughter 
 is indiscriminate, and so it is too, in the warfare of 
 
12 
 
 deatli. He arrests the worthy and the excellent, 
 the useful and beloved, the respected and admired, 
 the old, bowed down with years, and waiting their 
 commander's permission to be at home, and the 
 young, in the midst of prosperity and success; the 
 man who feared God, and the man who regardeth 
 him not ; the wise and the ignorant, the haughty 
 and the humble, all must yield themselves the equal 
 prey of this all conquering foe. The arm of power 
 must be unnerved, the strength of the mighty must 
 yield, the weakness of the feeble must submit, the 
 charms of loveliness and beauty must perish away, 
 the wit of the sprightly must cease, the desires of 
 this world must recede, and of every thing that now 
 delights us the most, must we be despoiled, and all 
 must bow to the adamantine dominion of this mighty 
 despot. Here we have no continuing city. Coro- 
 nets and crowns, and palms and wreaths, and the 
 heads that wear them, are only but the different mod- 
 ifications of that common clay, out of which we were 
 all taken, and into which, we must shortly be re- 
 solved again. We are tenants for life only, of every 
 thing we enjoy, and death is even this moment, on 
 his way to dispossess us of all. 
 
 The grave is a land without order, and has no fa- 
 vorites to spare. The fathers, where are they ? 
 And the patriots do not live forever. Like others, 
 they fall to sleep ; they accomplish as an hireling 
 their day ; they act the parts allotted to them in life, 
 a»*e then released from their labors, and rest in the 
 long silence of the grave. They shall not awake, 
 nor be raised out of their sleep. 
 
13 
 
 And liere arises a most important and interesting 
 inquiry to every one of us. With what weapons we 
 may best engage in this last painful conflict ? I an- 
 swer, the Christian armor alone ; the shield of foith, 
 the breast-plate of righteousness, and the sword of 
 the spirit ; these are the best and the safest a man 
 can wear, who knows he must be conquered, for a 
 period, in this warfare. 
 
 An infidel may deride the Christian's hope and 
 labor to persuade you that he is indifferent to the 
 issue of this conflict. But could you look into his 
 heart you would find him alarmed at the prospect, 
 and uncertain of its consequences. He is going he 
 knows not whither. " He is entering upon a path, 
 where no hand of God is promised to conduct him, 
 where no revelation marks the road, where the tracks 
 of no returning footsteps are to be seen ; going to 
 regions, more awful than man can conceive, yet 
 hdlding up around him, only the feeble erring light 
 of human fancy, and following the delusive guidiance 
 of a frail, sinful heart." He may indeed die secure, 
 he may have no bands in his death, he may die as 
 tlie beasts die, and yet fail of happiness at the last. 
 The dreadful uncertainty of another life, that clouds 
 his prospects, makes him miserable in this, though 
 he forbears to acknowledge it. 
 
 But the hopes and prospects of Christianity will 
 prove a broad shield of defence ; for they abolish 
 the terrors of death, and shed the beams of a life to 
 come, over the darkness of the grave. And how 
 powerless will fall the hand of death upon that 
 
14 
 
 man, who is assured that lie shall live beyond the 
 grave, and that no sad spectres shall there disturb 
 his repose ? To it, he will look forward, as the 
 place of welcome rest, after the toils of his war- 
 fare are over. For he knows that God will have a 
 desire again, to the perished works of his hand, will 
 watch over his sleeping dust, and that on the dawn 
 of the resurrection morning, his rising will be glo- 
 rious. 
 
 The solemn and affecting occasion which has led 
 us at this time, to these reflections, now crowds itself 
 upon my mind. But a few days since, our late dis- 
 tinguished patriot, and respected Governor and 
 Commander in Chief, then active and watchful for 
 the public welfare, and sustaining with his usual en- 
 err^y, the various duties of his high station, has fin- 
 ished his career of service, of usefidness and honor, 
 and has gone to his last abode ; " earth to earth, 
 dust to dust, ashes to ashes." Propriety asks, grat- 
 itude requires, and long tried faithful services de- 
 mand from us, this little passing tribute, which is all 
 we are able to give, and which will, itself, e're long 
 perish away in the for^-etfulness of all human things, 
 as his body is now perishing in the mouldering damps 
 of the tomb. 
 
 Most of the revolutionary patriots, who were once 
 so useful to their country, after having served their 
 generation faithfully, have, at length, fallen to sleep. 
 Of this honorable band, whom the rapacious hand 
 of death has snatched away from country and friends, 
 his late Excellency William Eustis, was one, who 
 
15 
 
 devoted to the public service, fifty one years of his 
 visefiil life. He was a native of Massachusetts, and 
 born at Cambridge June 10, 1753. He was the se- 
 cond son of Benjamin and Elizabeth Eustis, both of 
 whom were very respectable characters. His moth- 
 er, (as mothers most usually do,) superintended his 
 early years, and by the excellence of her disposition, 
 and the manifestation of her virtues, and pious in- 
 structions, left upon his mind impressions of her 
 worth, that never were weakened or impaired 
 through all his life. He had early the misfortune 
 to lose her ; a loss he never ceased to regret. And 
 it was his earnest desire, frequently expressed, that 
 beside her slumbering ashes, his own might repose. 
 His early education was obtained at the Grammar 
 School in Boston, under the celebrated Mr. John 
 Lovell. He there displayed early promise of future 
 eminence, and became a favorite both of him and his 
 usher. At the age of fourteen years, in July 1768, 
 he entered Harvard University. Whilst there, with- 
 out being what is usually denominated an hard stu- 
 dent, he was distinguished as a good classical schol- 
 ar, and in token of approbation, as such, received a 
 Detur digniori from the College government. The 
 late Rev. Dr. John Eliot of Boston, that man of un- 
 common worth, was both his room and class mate, 
 for whom he ever entertained a high respect and 
 affection. With reputation he took his Bachelor's 
 degree, at the annual commencement in 1772, on 
 which occasion, an honorable part was assigned liim.* 
 
 * A Greek dialogue. 
 
16 
 
 Upon his graduation at College, he commenced the 
 study of Medicine, in Boston, under the late Jo- 
 seph Warren, M. D. that brave revolutionary patriot, 
 who fell at the commencement of the American con- 
 test, on Breed's hill in Charlestown June 17, 1775.* 
 Mr. Eustis' personal appearance, his polished man- 
 ners and gentlemanly address added to his many 
 amiable feelings, and an intellect naturally strong, 
 and well cultivated, rendered him a favorite of his 
 youthful friends and fellow students, and secured to 
 him the strong and errovvinij attachment of his in- 
 
 o o o 
 
 structor. 
 
 Not long after he became his pupil, he ventured, 
 to a friend, a prophecy of his future distinction in 
 the community, which has since been literally ful- 
 filled. 
 
 In the year 1774, whilst yet his pupil, the Doctor 
 proposed an appointment to him as surgeon's mate 
 in a British regiment stationed at Pensacola, which 
 he offered to obtain for him, through the influence 
 of a very respectable Physician in Boston. Al- 
 though the situation was no small object to him at 
 the time, yet foreseeing, as it were almost intuitively, 
 the event that was to succeed, — his heart o-lowinnr 
 with ardent patriotism, and the thought striking his 
 mind, that in that case, he should become the sur- 
 geon of men, who might, one day, turn their arms 
 against the [then] colonies, he politely declined the 
 proposal. A short time afterwards, in April 1775, 
 at the age of twenty-one years, through General 
 
 *SeeNoteA. 
 
17 
 
 Warren's recommendfition he was made sursfeon of 
 tlie regiment of artillery, then at Cambridge.* 
 
 It is accidental circumstances that sometimes 
 form the character, or rather, which develope those 
 traits of it, which otherwise, perhaps, had slept in 
 embrio. It was so now with Dr Eustis. Ilis 
 introduction to his new situation elicited pow- 
 ers and exertions, of which, till now, he was 
 perhaps, unconscious himself, and for a far less 
 amount of which, he had been entitled to no common 
 praise. 
 
 In the year 1776, whilst serving in New-York, 
 in consequence of various representations of his 
 professional skill and active services, he received the 
 appointment of a senior hospital surgeon there, was 
 stationed at West Point, and still continued in the 
 office, under the various new arrangements of the 
 medical department. This was to him a life of 
 incessant labor, and it may be added too, of still 
 greater usefulness. Services the most beneficial 
 to mankind are not always the most splendid ; often 
 they are the least so. To perform actions that 
 make no parade, that carry no dazzling appearance 
 with them, but which are still refreshing and prolific, 
 like the dews of heaven, which relieve the suffer- 
 ing, comfort the wretched, and minister to the hap- 
 piness of those, whose retired condition withdraws 
 them from notice, and whose praises could not, in 
 the view of the world, exalt a character, requires 
 
 * See Note B. 
 
18 
 
 ■more efibrts of ningnanimity and luimauity tlian his, 
 who acting continually under public notice, is under 
 (i^ontinual excitement, and acts for fame, rather tlian 
 for usefulness. His were solid and substantial, rath- 
 er than brilliant services ; they u ere the services of 
 humanity ; and they were written in the hearts and 
 affections of cotemporaries, especially in theirs, 
 from the New-England states. 
 
 In the same year at Fort Washington, Generals 
 Knox and Greene proposed to him the accep- 
 tance of a commission in the line of the army, as 
 Lt. Colonel of Artillery. But aware that his ser- 
 vices in the medical department were so duly 
 appreciated, he declined the offer. 
 
 On the last medical arrangements, in which all 
 the directors, deputy directors, with hosts of other 
 medical officers were deranged, there remained for 
 the whole continent fifteen hospital surgeons, chos- 
 en by the continental Congress, of whom Dr Eustis 
 was one. These gentlemen were solely responsible, 
 and from that time they felt their responsibility. 
 In his own department he was entirely indepen- 
 dent, and governor absolute of his own hospital. 
 And those most acquainted, at the time, with the 
 circumstances, bear testimony that his usefulness 
 was co-extensive. Respected, obeyed, and beloved, 
 he learned that the art of governing, and the way to 
 men's hearts, was by doing them good. They 
 knew that he was kind and faithful to them, even 
 to the lowest and most distressed, and their love, 
 respect, and obedience, under some very trying cir- 
 
"9 
 
 cmr.stances, tauglit !>im, to use his own words, " that, 
 inuratitucle is not the natural propensity of the 
 human mind."* When at the close of the war, he 
 could perceive in general orders, in common with 
 others, the thanks of General Washington, who had 
 visited and examined his hospital, he did not cease 
 to " recollect, even in a distant day, the proud con- 
 sciousness, that glowed in his breast, that he 
 deserved them, for he had earned them." 
 
 In quelling the state insurrections in 1786 Dr 
 E. took an active part. He was in the expedition 
 from Boston which captured the insurgent Shattuck, 
 their leader at Groton. lie commanded the advanc- 
 ed guard which surrounded his house, and the rear 
 guard, on their return. In the state rebellion in 1787 
 he accompanied Gen. Lincoln, who commanded the 
 army, and was useful in a military point of view. 
 It was he, who suggested the measure by which 
 the enemy was dispersed, a bloodless victory ob- 
 tained, and the campaign decided. On his re- 
 turn to Boston, he met the most distinguished 
 approbation from all the gentlemen of the town, 
 was sent for, and had a seat assigned him in the 
 House of Representatives, to give account, &c. And 
 this he considered amongst the most important and 
 useful acts of his life. 
 
 He was truly a patriot, and loved his country with 
 a zeal, equalled only by his sincerity ; and various 
 were the public offices he sustained in it. 
 
 About this time he was elected a member of the 
 
 * See note C. 
 
20 
 
 Medical Society of Massachusetts, and filled, for 
 some years, the office of counsellor in it. 
 
 In the year following 1788, he was chosen a 
 member of the General Court, where his eloquence 
 and patriotism commanded a full share of influence. 
 He was on many important committees, and took a 
 conspicuous part also, in debates upon all questions 
 of magnitude and interest, during six or seven 
 years without interruption ; taking at the same time 
 a leading part in the concerns relative to the town, 
 state, and nation, and pursuing still his professional 
 calls and duties. 
 
 For two years he served also at the board of 
 Council in this commonwealth during the adminis- 
 tration of late Gov. Sullivan. 
 
 In 1800 he was chosen member of Congress for 
 Suffolk district, where his infantine years had been 
 passed, and in 1 809 was made Secretary at war. In 
 1815, he was appointed minister at the Hague, where 
 he continued for three years, and on his return, his 
 legation met the entire approbation of the President 
 and Senate. 
 
 Returning to his native State, and to the vicinity 
 of the place of his early education, in 1821, he was, 
 again, elected member of Congress for Norfolk dis- 
 trict, which he continued to represent, with ability 
 and impartiality for four successive sessions, when 
 at length, on the resignation of his friend and a pa- 
 triot, Gen. John Brooks, of the office of governor and 
 commander in chief of this commonwealth, he was 
 designated for, and appointed to succeed him in that 
 
21 
 
 high and responsible station. And with what cliar- 
 acter and success he discharged the duties of it, is 
 sufficiently known to you all. 
 
 Whatever might have been the opinion enter- 
 tained of his political sentiments, by those whose 
 political speculations differed from his own, his 
 public acts have been approved by all, and of the 
 integrity of his political views and character, there 
 surely can be but one opinion. The whole of his 
 administration has been mild, just and impartial, and 
 no man has suffered the loss of his situation, or the 
 smallest diminution of his respect or confidence, 
 from the mere circumstance of different views on 
 political questions. 
 
 In all his public measures he was fixed, firm and 
 decided. But he allowed to others what he claimed 
 for himself, an entire freedom of political senti- 
 ment. 
 
 As a man of information, his stand in society was 
 never disputed. And he was one, who amidst all 
 the hurry of public life, found some leisure for liter- 
 ary studies. He wrote with uncommon facility, and 
 his compositions discovered much point, together 
 with much taste, be the subject whatever it were. 
 Few men conceived with more quickness, or ex- 
 pressed themselves in a manner more concise and 
 appropriate. He received the literary distinction 
 of L.L.D. from Harvard University, and literary 
 honors from other colleges. He was also an active 
 member of the Society of Cincinnati, and chosen its 
 Vice-President, though ho declined actinir. 
 
22 
 
 As a friend, his feelings were ardent, his profes- 
 sions sincere, and his services always to be comman- 
 ded. No cold-heartedness pertained to his character, 
 and you were never at a loss where to find him. He 
 was of a confiding disposition, where he entertained 
 a respect and regard ; and no jealousy or suspicion 
 ever entered into his composition. 
 
 In social life his manners were perfectly open, 
 frank and undisguised. He had no duplicity, but 
 spoke freely with his tongue what his heart con- 
 ceived. As an husband, brother, relative how kind 
 was he ! The anguish which these now sustain, 
 the tears that flow, the throbs that rend their aching 
 hearts, sufficiently express. But far be it from me, 
 with an unhallowed intrusion, to enter this sacred 
 retreat, or to enkindle those griefs anew, which I 
 would so much desire to alleviate. 
 
 He possessed a humane heart, and an appeal to 
 his feelings was never without success. He was a 
 man of an amiable disposition, and his heart was the 
 repository of social feeling, whilst his hospitable 
 manners rendered his house always pleasant to his 
 friends and visitors. 
 
 His mind was serious, and from repeated conver- 
 sations wifh him, upon the subject of religion gen- 
 erally, within the last six years, he always treated 
 it with the utmost solemnity. " I am a minute 
 man," said he to me once, "I am a minute man, 
 and feel this subject to be deeply important."* 
 
 And now the scene is closed. The shadows of 
 
 * Alluding to a supposed affection of the heart. 
 
23 
 
 death have fallen upon him. The earth hath en- 
 circled him in her bosom, and the places that once 
 knew him, will know him no more. So pass away 
 all the glories and distinctions of this passing world J 
 Man himself too, passes away as a shadow ; — to- 
 day active on this busy stage, tomorrow retired 
 behind the scene, and others assume his place, and 
 fulfd his unfinished labors. One generation passeth 
 away, and another cometh ; and the voice addressed 
 to every one of us is, arise ye and depart, for this 
 is not your rest. How little did he suppose, but 
 one short week since, whose funeral rites we have so 
 recently performed, that his visit to our neighboring 
 capital was his last, and that his next return to his 
 home had been only on his way to the tomb ? But 
 there is no discharge in this war. The last painful 
 conflict is over — the warfare is accomplished, and 
 the victim fallen ! 
 
 But let it rejoice us still to recollect, that the 
 triumphs of death shall not be eternal. There is a 
 voice that shall, one day, resound through the cav- 
 erns, even of the sleeping dead. There is an arm 
 that will unlock the prison doors of the tomb, and 
 set the prisoners free. There is a mightier power, 
 who will subdue the king of terrors himself, who 
 will drive him from his dusky domains, despoil him of 
 his richest trophies, and lead captivity captive. Yes, 
 and the sleeping tenants of the grave, on whom the 
 dust of ages has lain, shall hear the voice of the son 
 of man, and start forth into life again. Then shall 
 vre all appear before his tribunal, who knows our 
 
24 
 
 hearts and actions, and their most secret springs 
 and tnotives. Then the little differences, the little 
 animosities and mistakes, the contending interests 
 and jarring opinions of this life shall cease forever, 
 and appear to us, like the contests of our childish 
 years. " One shall be the object of our adora- 
 tion and one shall be the ascription of our praise. 
 Every heart shall there glow with benevolence, and 
 every hand shall contribute to the general happi- 
 ness," and the conflicting opinions of this present 
 world, shall be swallowed up in perfect and undis- 
 sembled love. And all those, whose services have 
 been eminently honorable, and useful to their Coun- 
 try and to mankind, shall be covered with wreaths of 
 unfading glory, from the hand of God himself. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 [NOTE A.] 
 His fellow students, at that time were the late Dr. John Warren, broth- 
 er of Gen. Joseph VV . Samuel Adams, son of late Goir. Samuel Adams, 
 
 David Townsend of Boston Jones of Stottghten, and 
 
 Glover of Braintree, Bond of Marblehead, Miles Whitwoith of 
 
 Boston, and Norwood of Lynn. The three latter gentlemen, 
 
 commencing their studies at the same time, became more particularly 
 associated, and they devoted day and night, and labored incessantly to 
 acquire eminence, in their professional skill and knowledge 
 
 [NOTE B.] 
 On the 19th April 1775. the day of the battle of Lexington, whilst 
 Mr Eustis was a studtnt with General Warren, an express arrived in Bos- 
 ton. The General mounted his horse, called Mr E. and said, 1 am going 
 to Lexington. You go round, and take care of the patients. In making 
 the visits, Mr E. found every thing in confusion, and the whigs continual- 
 ly coming to the house for news. Mr E's own mind at length became 
 so agitated, he could no longer visit. About 1 o'clock the late Lt. Gov. 
 Moses Gill, came in his chaise, and took him to Lexington and Concord. 
 At West Cambridge, then called Menotomy, they met the British troops, 
 to avoid whom, they crossed the Ware Bridge to Medford, waited there 
 until they had passed down the road, and then resumed their ride. The 
 next day Mr Eustis returned to Cambridge. The American troops were 
 assembling and forming. In a few days. Gen. Warren said to Mr Eustis, 
 " you must be the surgeon of one of these regiments." His answer was, 
 I am too young, I expected that such men as you and Dr. Church would 
 be surgeons, and that we should be mates. " We have more important 
 affairs," said the General, " to attend to, and you have seen more practice 
 than most of these gentlemen from the country." Mr. Eustis was made 
 Surgeon accordingly. 
 
26 
 
 [NOTE C] 
 Like most of the Revolutionary officers he returned poor, from the 
 army. Speaking of this circumstance, some time since, he said — '^ with 
 but a single coat, four shirts and one pair of wollen stockings in the hard 
 winter of 1780, I was one of the happiest men on earth. At this moment, 
 he added, the recollection cheers and animates me, and if my account on 
 the score of usefulness and humanity were settled, this item would enable 
 me to meet with composure, a view of the balance." And indeed, his 
 command through this period, was considered, as it was in reality and 
 active usefulness, equal to that of a general officer. From 250 to 500 pa- 
 tients, including officers was his general number, besides visits to officers, 
 ■who were in quarters, and amongst them the highest grades. 
 
 [NOTE D.] 
 
 The troops who had been halted at Springfield for refreshment, were 
 ordered by Dr E's. advice immediately to form the line and resume their 
 march. They crossed the river and dispersed the enemy. The insur- 
 gents were superior in numbers, and except in discipline, superior in 
 materials for war. 
 
 Had General L's. troops halted long, a fire would probably have com- 
 menced between the centinels and picket guards, on each side the river, 
 when their fire would have been as good, if not better than ours. This 
 would have encouraged them to give battle, and the issue to all battles is 
 uncertain. The suddenness and imposing attitude of our three little col- 
 umns, crossing the river on the ice, with a few discharges from our artil- 
 lery settled the campai^a at one stroke, and broke the neck of the 
 jebellion. 
 
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