No. LXXII.
Death has taken away, within a brief space, several of our estimable citizens—Mr. Joseph Balch, an excellent and amiable man, who filled an official station, honorably for himself, and profitably for others—Mr. Samuel C. Gray, a gentleman of taste and refinement, who graduated at Harvard College, in 1811, and, at the time of his death, was President of the Atlas Bank—Mr. John Bromfield, a man of a sound head, and a kind heart. Having bestowed five and twenty thousand dollars, in his life-time, upon the Boston Athenæum, he modestly left the more extended purposes of his benevolent heart, to be proclaimed, after his decease; and, by his will, distributed, among eight charitable institutions, and his native town, the sum of one hundred and ten thousand dollars.
The features of these good men are still upon the retina of our memories; the tones of their voices yet ring in our ears; we almost expect their wonted salutation, upon the public walk. But there is no mockery here—they are gone—the places, that knew them, shall know them no more!
Death has laid his icy hand upon these men, as he has ever laid the same cold palm upon their fathers, since time began. Such exits are common. Disease triumphed over the flesh, and they ceased to be.
But Death has done his dismal work, of late, in our very midst, by the hand of cruel violence—not sitting like the King of Terrors, in quiet dignity, upon his throne, and casting his unerring shafts abroad; but darting down upon his unsuspecting victim, and, with a murderous grasp, crushing him at once. I allude, as every reader well knows, to the fate of the late Dr. George Parkman.
As the Coroner’s Inquest, after long and laborious investigation, has declared, that he was “killed,” we must assume it to be so. I have known this gentleman, for more than forty years; and have had occasion to observe some of the peculiarities of his character, in the relations of business, as well as in those of ordinary intercourse—I say the peculiarities of his character, for he certainly must be classed in the category of eccentric men. Having heard much of this ill-fated gentleman, for many years, before the late awful occurrence, and still more since the event—for he was extensively known, and all, who knew him, have something to relate—I am satisfied, that those very traits of eccentricity, to which I refer, have led the larger part of mankind, to form erroneous impressions of his character.
Dr. George Parkman was the son of Samuel Parkman, an enterprising, and successful merchant, of Boston, who was a descendant of Ebenezer Parkman, who graduated at Harvard College, in 1721, and was ordained Oct. 28, 1724, the first minister of Westborough; and who, after a ministry of sixty years, died, Dec. 9, 1782, at the age of 79, and whose wife was the daughter of Robert Breck, minister of Marlborough, who was the grandson of Edward Breck, one of the early settlers of Dorchester, in 1636.
Dr. George Parkman graduated, at Harvard College, in 1809. When he commenced his junior year, John White Webster, now Erving Professor of Chemistry and Mineralogy, entered the University, as freshman. Dr. Webster, who is now in prison, charged with the “killing” of Dr. Parkman, will, in due time, be tried, by a jury of his countrymen. Will it not be decorous, and humane, and in accordance with the golden rule, for the men, women, and children of Massachusetts, to permit the accused to have an impartial trial? Can this be possible, if, upon the on dits of the day, of whose value every man of any experience can judge, this individual, whose past career seems not to have been particularly bloodthirsty, is to be morally condemned, without a hearing?
Hundreds, whose elastic intellects have been accustomed to jump in judgment, are already assured, that we believe Dr. Webster innocent. Now we believe no such thing—nor do we believe he is guilty. His reputation and his life are of some little importance to himself, and to his family; and we should be heartily ashamed, to carry a head upon our shoulders, which would not enable us to suspend our judgment, until all the true facts are in, and all the false facts are out.