From: THE SONS OF LIBERTY IN NEW YORK.

pp. 68-70

This is not the occasion, nor am I the person, to enlarge on the merits of the great and good men, among the living and the dead, who, born here, have consecrated themselves to justice, their country, and their God. But you will indulge me in speaking briefly of one, who but a few months ago, closed a long and eminent professional career. I allude to the late Professor Greenleaf. I had not the pleasure and honor of a personal acquaintance with this respected son of Newbury, until he became Royal Professor of Law in the School at Cambridge, then illustrated by the learning and eloquence of Story. On that occasion I first knew him. He and I were inaugurated as Professors of Law, and I of Greek, on the same day. From that time I enjoyed his unbroken friendship, as long as he lived. Of his course and character as a boy in your public schools; of his struggles as a young man, with poverty; of his Christian submission to the bitter lot of sorrow and bereavement that fell heavily upon the early periods of his domestic life; of the success which crowned with triumph these brave conflicts; many, probably, here have more personal knowledge than I; but I am sure no one can have a deeper impression of the purity and nobleness of character, which came forth tried like gold from the heat of the contest.

Mr. Greenleaf was one of those men, who know how to make the most of time. No client ever suffered wrong from feebleness or neglect, at his hand; for he spared no effort and shrunk from no study that could throw light upon the cause he had undertaken to conduct. As a teacher, he shone with peculiar lustre. The large body of intelligent young men who sat under his instructions valued them beyond all price. Calm in his manners; with the dignity of superior intellect and extensive knowledge; with the blandness and courtesy of a Christian gentleman; considerate of the feelings of all who stood to him in the relation of scholar to master; conscious of his responsibilities to them, and through them to his country-he commanded in an extraordinary measure, their love and veneration.

Mr. Greenleaf’s contributions to the literature of his profession, I cannot, of course, professionally speak of. His studies lay in a province far remote from mine. Of his work on Evidence, however, I may say, that besides taking the very highest rank among the text books of legal science, it is one which any educated gentleman may read with pleasure and profit. Of another work, the ingenious application of the rules of legal evidence to the testimony of the Evangelists -- I may say that it is a striking illustration of the earnest interest he felt in the establishment of the Christian Faith on the foundation of the most rigorous argument, while the daily beauty of his life proved with what fidelity he made the precepts of Christianity his rule of conduct. Mr. Greenleaf was not, technically speaking, a literary man. In his youth he did not share the advantages of a liberal education. While other young men were cultivating their tastes, and furnishing their minds “in the still air of delightful studies” -- with the leisure and exemption from care secured to the favored scholar beneath the shades of academic groves -- he was already fighting hand to hand on the battle-field of life. And yet his mind acquired
an exquisite culture. When I have heard him speak, I have admired the chaste simplicity and attic beauty of his eloquence, and I think no one can read his public discourses -- his Inaugural Address, for example -- or his Eulogy on Story - without experiencing in his written style the charm of the easily flowing language, of the sparing but tasteful ornament, and of the clearness and logical accuracy of the thought.

In social intercourse, Mr. Greenleaf’s manners were marked by a serene gravity, equally remote from lightness and asceticism. I think we saw the traces of sorrow still lingering about him — fond memories, not painful perhaps, but tempering the joy and exultation of the present, with the reflected sadness of the past. His voice was gentle and low; his countenance thoughtful, but placid, and often lighted with the sunshine of a genial smile. His conversation was ready and friendly, and though habitually serious, not averse to decent wit, and a becoming hilarity. His quiet tastes and constant occupations had in a measure withdrawn him from general intercourse, and concentrated his social joys in the sanctuary of home; but he was no stranger to the delights of intellectual converse, and when the occasion found him out he contributed more than an equal share to the common fund.

At the close of three score years and ten, after a day of crowded duty and labor, and closed by the worship of God at the household altar, he lay down, by a peaceful euthanasia, and slept the sleep of death,

“Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.”

But he has left us his example of Christian fortitude, which should nerve our hearts when we too are called to practice its lessons; of perseverance under discouragements, which should strengthen us in overcoming the difficulties we too may have to encounter; of intellectual improvement in youth, with few opportunities and scanty means; of high moral principle, and religious faith, in the midst of no common perplexities, and under trials of no ordinary severity; of the faithful discharge of every duty, in every public and every private relation.

I feel that I cannot portray the character of Prof. Greenleaf, as it ought to be portrayed here, and as it has been portrayed elsewhere by his genial and eloquent colleague --Prof. Parsons -- also a son of Newbury, but unfortunately not present with us to-day. I could not hesitate, however, to bear my testimony on this occasion to his eminent claims to be remembered, in any assembly of the men of Newbury; I could not hesitate, especially as my absence in a foreign land, deprived me of the melancholy satisfaction of witnessing the last honors with which all that was mortal of him was committed to the bosom of our common mother earth. Returning from abroad, and finding his place vacant, it seemed to me that one of the old landmarks had been swept away -- one of the solid pillars, on which the temple of justice, virtue and religion reposes, had been overthrown. In former ages, a statue would have been raised to commemorate the excellence of such a citizen, that the coming generations might be incited to lofty duties and generous deeds. If we erect no statue to eternize his outward semblance, let us at least set up in our own souls the image of his virtues, and honor his memory, by making those virtues our own.