definiteness of view which was such an aid to perfection of form.

His manner was no less a study than his language. There was in it a dramatic intensity of interest which made him seem the youngest man in the room when he spoke. And yet you felt at the same time the presence of something older than the oldest ;- the detachment which came from ancient experience and intellect undisturbed; the doubt which smiled at action without making it less ardent or sicklying o'er the native hue of resolution. His might was written in his face, — that wonderful silvercrowned countenance, glittering yet serene, framed on slanting, deep-cut lines of power, the imperial face of one who had lived beyond surprises, not unlike that of the great Cæsar as Pontifex Maximus in ironic fulness of knowledge, such as still sometimes is produced in New England. It was enough to look upon him to know that you saw a man who had greatness in him.

I do not share the regrets which some are inclined to feel that Mr. Bartlett confined himself strictly to his profession. I think that he was wise in his ambition, and that his life served public ends. It seems to me that we are apt to take short-sighted views of what constitutes power, and of how a man may serve his fellows. The external and immediate result of an advocate's work is but to win or lose a case. But remotely what the lawyer does is to establish, develop, or illuminate rules which are to govern the conduct of men for centuries; to set in motion principles and influences which shape the thought and action of generations which know not by whose command they move. The man of action has the present, but the thinker controls the future; his is the most subtile, the

most far-reaching power. His ambition is the vastest, as it is the most ideal.

It seems to me further that the rule for serving our fellow men, and, so far as we may speculate or hope upon that awful theme, the rule for fulfilling the mysterious ends of the universe — it seems to me that the beginning of self-sacrifice and of holiness-is to do one's task with one's might. If we do that, I think we find that our motives take care of themselves. We find that what may have been begun as a means becomes an end in itself; that self-seeking is forgotten in labors which are the best contribution that we can make to mankind; that our personality is swallowed up in working to ends outside ourselves. I, for one, am glad that our famous leader never sought the more obvious forms of power or public service, and was content to remain to the close Mr. Bartlett of the Suffolk Bar.

When a great tree falls, we are surprised to see how meagre the landscape seems without it. So when a great man dies. We may not have been intimate with him; it is enough that he was within our view; when he is gone, life seems thinner and less interesting. More than that, just as, when the fire swept the ground of our city to the water's edge, we were surprised to see close at hand the ocean, which before was hidden from our vision and our thoughts, the death of this powerful bulwark against time lays open for a moment to our gaze the horizon into which we are to sail so soon. We are another generation. Our tasks are new. We shall carry different freight. happiest of us hardly can hope for a destiny so complete and fortunate as that which has just been fulfilled. We shall be fortunate enough if we shall have learned to

The

look into the face of fate and the unknown with a smile like his.

The resolutions of the Bar will be entered upon the records of the Court, and in token of respect to the memory of Mr. Bartlett the Court will now adjourn.

DANIEL S. RICHARDSON.

ANSWER TO RESOLUTIONS OF THE BAR,

LOWELL, APRIL 15, 1890.

Or the leader whom you have lost I must say, Vidi tantum, I have seen him, and but little more. While I was at the bar, I never met him, and for the last eight years he has been rather one of the heroes of Valhalla than in the thick of daily conflict. But I have heard enough, before listening to the eloquent and touching words of those who were his friendly rivals—I might almost say I have seen enough to know something of his character. He was a just, brave, tender, charitable, single-minded man. The men of a younger generation, who were often indebted to him for advice and opportunity freely given, bear witness to his generosity. Their elders, who knew him as an opponent rather than as a benefactor, testify to his unruffled nature, which it was not safe to disturb too nearly. He was a lover of learning, and he had that union of acuteness, judgment, and human feeling that makes a successful lawyer. He was able, wise, and good, and his being so not only brought his reward in success and affectionate regard, but, I am persuaded, did a very great deal to lift up and maintain the character of the bar to which he belonged.

His long career is spanned by the reports between the seventh of Metcalf and one of our latest volumes. It is strange to think of that monotonous series as a record of human lives. I have seen upon the section of an ancient tree the annual rings marked off which grew while the Black Prince was fighting the French, while Shakespeare wrote his plays, while England was a Commonwealth, while a later republic arose over the western waters, and grew so great as to shake the world. And so, I often think, may all our histories be marked off upon the backs of the unbroken series of our reports. As we go down the long line, at every step, as on the Appian Way, a tomb, we can see the little space within which Mason rose, grew mighty, and was no more, or Dexter, or Choate, or Bartlett, or Lord, or Sweetser. Alas! now we must add, or Richardson. And the record which remains of them is but the names of counsel attached to a few

cases.

Is that the only record? I think not. Their true monument is the body of our jurisprudence, - that vast cenotaph shaped by the genius of our race, and by powers greater than the greatest individual, yet to which the least may make their contribution and inscribe it with their names. The glory of lawyers, like that of men of science, is more corporate than individual. Our labor is an endless organic process. The organism whose being is recorded and protected by the law is the undying body of society. When I hear that one of the builders has ceased his toil, I do not ask what statue he has placed upon some conspicuous pedestal, but I think of the mighty whole, and say to myself, He has done his part to help the mysterious growth of the world along its inevitable