One day, many centuries ago, human lives looked so to the eyes of the royal Israelite. But I suppose Solomon knew, as every other one, whose soul is not in a state of insensibility, knows, that there is a meaning, mysteriously deep, to human passion and aspiration and endeavor. Man knows that, by touching the unseen chords of a subtle influence, he is joined to a remote universe; only, freer than the tide, he takes his choice of spheres, and, if he will, allies himself to worlds of brightness and of beauty.
Thus chose Walter Aimwell. And yet, to the casual observer, I think he did not usually seem to be a man of any uncommon grandeur of character, nor appear to be living a life of any special nobleness of purpose. He was one who did not allow himself to be too anxious about the estimation in which he might be held in regard to his abilities or the dignity of his motives. One might have carelessly met him many times, and never have surmised that he was a man of unusual worth; for, as there was nothing showy in his appearance, there was nothing ostentatious about anything that he did. His dress was plain and devoid of all that was merely ornament. His manners were exceedingly modest, and yet he had so much of the sturdy puritan in his composition that neither persuasion, menace, nor ridicule could dethrone his self-possession or change a well-considered intention. To be truly upright and manly was almost a natural instinct with him; and when the possibilities of sanctified manhood lay before his mind, bathed in all the glory that the Christian faith pours over it, he was thrilled with admiration, and pressed forward in silent earnestness and enthusiasm. Thus, if I may borrow a phrase from a recent writer, he lived freely and happily among the eternal realities.
His manner of living this earthly life brought essential freedom and happiness to him; what did it give to the world?
It gave an example of unblemished purity; it developed a man who, in the several common relations of life, never fell short of the expectations of his friends. As a son, he so excelled that a mother of very unusual keenness and penetration could say that, so long as he lived with her, he never seemed to have a fault. As a brother, he was sincerely kind. As a husband, he was true and tender. God never made him a father; but we know how he loved children, and how fervently he sought to benefit them. In friendship he was constant, and ready to sacrifice his own interests and add to his own annoyances that he might relieve the embarrassments of those he loved. As an editor, he was so fair and courteous that he escaped those unpleasant passages that to many seem almost unavoidable. As a man of business, he was forbearing and honorable. As a citizen, he was truly a patriot, strongly conservative in regard to whatever he esteemed good in government or society, safely radical among the roots of evil. As a professed Christian, he was fervent without being bigoted, and liberal without being lax; he was intellectual without losing faith, and grew in faith without the least appearance of shrivelling in matters of common sense.
His books were much like himself, marked by the same patient thoroughness and real value, without any pretentiousness of style. In building up his own character, and in exerting his influence upon the characters of others, the thought of the poet seemed ever present in his mind, and according to his opportunity, he expressed it in action:—
“In the elder days of art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the gods see everywhere
“Let us do our work as well,