How much beautiful reasoning has been utterly and gratuitously wasted, upon premises, which have turned out to be not a whit better, than stubble and rottenness! The very readiness, with which everybody believes all manner of evil, of everybody, furnishes evidence enough, that the devil is in everybody; and goes not a little way, in support of the doctrine of original sin.
Let us, by all means, and especially, by an avoidance of the topic, give assurance to the accused of a fair and impartial trial. If he shall be proved to be innocent, who will not blush, that has contributed to fill the atmosphere, with a presentiment of this poor man’s guilt? If, on the other hand, he shall be proved to be guilty of an incomparably foul and fiendish murder—let him be hanged by the neck till he is dead, for God’s sake—aye, for God’s sake—for God hath said—WHOSO SHEDDETH MAN’S BLOOD, BY MAN SHALL HIS BLOOD BE SHED.
The personal appearance of Dr. Parkman was remarkable—so much so, that his identity could not well be mistaken, by any one, who had carefully observed his person. His body was unusually attenuated, and I have often, while looking at his profile, perceived a resemblance to Hogarth’s sketch of his friend Fielding, taken from memory, after death.
The talents of Dr. George Parkman were highly respectable. His mind was of that order, which took little rest—its movements, like those of his body, were always quick; more so, perhaps, upon some occasions, than comported with the formation of just and permanent judgment. He was a respectably well read man, not only in his own profession, but he possessed a very creditable store of general information, and was an entertaining and instructive companion. In various ways, he promoted the best interests of medical science; and nothing, probably, prevented him from attaining very considerable eminence, in his calling, but the accession of hereditary wealth; whose management occupied, for many years, a large portion of his time and thoughts.
By some persons, he has been accounted over sharp and hard, in his pecuniary dealings—mean and even miserly. No opinion can be more untrue. Dr. Parkman’s eccentricity was nowhere so manifest, as in his money relations. The line was singularly well defined, in his mind, between charity, or liberality, and traffic. He adhered to the time-honored maxim, that there is no love in trade. There are persons, who, in their dealings, give up fractions, and suffer petty encroachments, for the sake of popularity; and who make, not only their own side of a bargain, but, in a very amiable, patronizing way, a portion of the other. Dr. Parkman did none of these things. He gave men credit, for a full share of selfishness and cunning—made his contracts carefully—performed them strictly—and expected an exact fulfilment, from the other party.
It is perfectly natural, that the promptness and the pertinacity of Dr. Parkman, in exacting the punctual payment of money, and the strict performance of contracts, should be equally surprising and annoying to those, whose previous dealings had been with men, of less method and vigilance. But no man, however irritated by the daily repetition of the dun, has ever charged, upon Dr. Parkman, the slightest departure from the line of strict integrity. He was a man of honor, in the true acceptation of that word. His domestic arrangements were of the most liberal kind—his manners were courteous—and he possessed the high spirit of a gentleman—and, with all the occasional evidences, which his conduct openly supplied, of his particular care, in the gathering of units; he could be secretly liberal, with hundreds.
It may well be doubted, if any individual has ever lived, for sixty years, in this city, whose real character has been so little understood, by the community at large. The reason is at hand—he exposed that regard for pittances, which most men conceal—and he concealed many acts of charity, which most men expose. He had many tenants of the lower order—he was frequently his own collector, and brought upon himself many murmurs and complaints, which are commonly the agent’s portion.
The charities of Dr. Parkman wore an aspect, now and then, of whimsicality, and were strangely contrasted with apparent meanness. Thus, upon one occasion, he is said to have insisted upon being paid a paltry balance of rent, some twenty-five cents, by a poor woman, who assured him it was all she had to buy her dinner. “Now we have settled the rent,” said he, and immediately gave her a couple of dollars.
A gentleman, an old college acquaintance of Dr. Parkman’s, told me, a day or two since, that the Dr. came to him, after this gentleman’s failure, some years ago, and said to him, with great kindness and delicacy—“You want a house—there is mine in —— street, empty and repaired—take it—you shall pay no rent for a year, and as much longer, as may suit your convenience.”
In 1832, this city was visited by the cholera. Mr. Charles Wells was Mayor, and a very good Mayor was he. Had his benevolence induced him to labor, for the more extensive diffusion of the blessing of alcohol, among the poor, the liquor trade would certainly have voted him a punch-bowl, for his vigorous opposition to the cholera. Upon the occasion, to which I refer, Dr. Parkman said to the city authorities—“You are seeking for a cholera hospital—take any of my houses, that may suit you, rent free, in welcome. If you prefer that, which I occupy, I will move out, with pleasure.”