‘This great man was twice sent on embassies to England. On his return to Holland, he found the religious divisions which had for some time prevailed in that country increased. By his attachment to Barnevelt and the remonstrant party, he incurred the displeasure of Prince Maurice of Orange. In 1669, he was seized and sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, and his estate was confiscated. In pursuance of this sentence, he was imprisoned in the strong castle of Louvestein; and after having been treated with great rigor for more than a year and a half, he was rescued by a stratagem of his wife. He had been permitted to borrow books of his friends; and when he had perused them, they were carried back in a chest with his linen, which was in this way sent to be washed. During the first year, the guards were exact in examining the chest; but at length grew remiss, and did not take the trouble to open it. His wife, who belonged to one of the first families in Zealand, and was worthy of such a husband as Grotius, observing their negligence, advised him to bore holes in the chest to prevent his being stifled, and then to put himself into it, and to make his escape. She requested the governor of the castle to permit her to send away a chest. After her request was granted, Grotius was put into the chest, and conveyed to a friend’s house in Gorkum, where, dressing himself like a mason, and taking a rule and trowel, he passed through the market place, and stepping into a boat, went to Brabant. There he discovered himself to some of his friends, and hired a carriage at Antwerp. At first there was a design of prosecuting his wife, who remained in the prison. However, she was released by a plurality of voices, and universally applauded for a resolution and courage which saved her husband’s life, while it endangered her own.’
It would be a pleasant office, in paying this tribute to the memory of a friend, to record the names of many whose kindness and attention to her were unremitting. Some, like herself, have gone to their long home; but others still remain, to continue their ‘noiseless deeds of worth.’ One little incident, which greatly interested her from the mystery attached to it, is a reason for mentioning the name of a lady who is now no more, but who was distinguished for endowments of mind and person. She married and went to Europe during the revolutionary war. After passing many years in England, Scotland and France, she returned to this country, with a mind fraught with practical knowledge, a heart full of benevolence, and blest with that happy talent of conversation, that draws forth from the recipient as much as it communicates. In this lady’s society Miss Adams took the greatest delight. During their long and pleasant intercourse of many years, an artist waited on Miss Adams, and requested her to sit for a miniature picture of herself: saying that he was commissioned to solicit the favor by a friend. She consented, but was entirely at a loss to conjecture who the friend could be. The picture was completed, and in the course of a few weeks sent to her, with the following note.
My dear Madam—I send you the miniature for which you had the goodness to sit. It has been generally recognised, and thought a good likeness. I hope it will be as much approved in your room, as it has been in mine. Now, my dear Madam, you will discover the friend who was desirous that you should live in future, in person as well as in mind. I sincerely hope others may feel as I do on this subject; and a more valuable portrait be secured of the lady, whose talents and writings have diffused so much useful knowledge, and whose conduct and life has been so exemplary. After it has been with you long enough for your friends to see it, I wish it returned, and to have the honor of its hanging in my house. If one better calculated for the purpose should not hereafter be taken, I shall bequeath it to the Athenæum.
With great respect,
Your friend and servant,
Catharine Hay.
Boston, Dec. 25, 1822.
The hope of this lady was accomplished. A few years before Miss Adams’s death, through the influence of a few friends, a fine likeness of her was taken by Mr Harding, and was afterwards presented by them to the Athenæum.
We hope it may not be deemed improper to mention one other friend, whose life was a series of benevolent and disinterested exertions. Immediately previous to Miss Adams’s illness, she spoke of this friend with her accustomed interest; and with an anticipation that they should be fellow-travellers to the land of spirits. Mrs Codman’s death took place a few days after that of Miss Adams. She has left to her friends those sweet and sacred remembrances, that soften and elevate the heart; while the influence of her intelligent, and liberal mind, will long be felt in the society in which she lived.
The most prominent trait in Miss Adams’s character was sensibility. It was impossible to converse with her any length of time, without touching some of the numerous chords that vibrated through her system. An instrument thus organized did not require the skill of an artist to set it in motion. The feeblest hand could extract notes of joy, sorrow, or apprehension. It responded to every breath that passed over it. This sensitiveness sometimes put her at the mercy of the unfeeling and obtrusive. But, generally speaking, her sensibility was a source of great enjoyment. Towards her friends it flowed forth in an affection fervent and enthusiastic. ‘The sight of them,’ to use her own expression, ‘was like the sun and air of Heaven.’ All that was remotely connected with them became important to her. Those who have heard her speak of Mr Thacher, the eloquent and feeling historian of her friend Mr Buckminster, understood the nature of her emotions. She almost identified him with the being that he so beautifully and justly delineated. Brothers indeed they were in the sacred ties of love and harmony, and in those qualities of mind that emanate from the source of perfect wisdom and goodness. There are many who may apply to both that touching sentence the survivor applied to his friend; ‘Even now, when time has interposed to subdue all the more powerful emotions of grief, there are those who delight to recall the hours we have passed with them, and to dwell on those traits, which we loved while living, and which death cannot efface from our memories.’
Mr Thacher, unlike his friend, was doomed to see death approach by slow and faltering steps. If there is a trial on earth that mocks the power of human fortitude, it is to feel the usefulness of life cut off, and to be compelled to remain idle during the toils of the day, while cares and labors are thronging around. How nobly he endured this affliction, how justly he reasoned that the part assigned him was to wait, must be well remembered. The teachings of Heaven are as various as our wants. This sublime example of patient endurance has found its way to many a heart, and spoken more forcibly than the services even of an active ministry could have done. His fervent prayer is now accomplished. He has gone to that world where ‘friendship is uninterrupted, and virtue eternal.’
We bless God for the natural evidence of a future life, which minds like these, bearing the visible stamp of immortality, afford; we bless him that such have existed, and we bless him that such have preceded those whom we love, to cast brightness over the dark valley of death.