XIV 
A FEW MEMOIRS OF 
they thus delight to honor. By the spiritualization of 
intellect in Herbert’s writings, even the largest and wild¬ 
est of our American forests may become organized into 
classification, as if one grand cathedral for the worship of 
Nature in the study of natural history. The sunlight of 
intelligence seems to come over the mountain-tops, and 
stream in through the clearings, lake shores, or oak open¬ 
ings, as if the trees it illuminates were architectural win¬ 
dows, depicting sacred subjects for our contemplation 
upon stained glass, and mellowing our souls with a sub¬ 
limity of thought ascending like incense from an altar 
which consumes all inordinate desires and city-bred arti¬ 
ficialities. Surely then, no person who has ever read 
Herbert’s works would intentionally mar or interfere with 
the legitimate operations of their genial and refining 
influence. 
No; the hand now tracing these lines obeys the mind 
of a friend who would not, for worlds, be guilty of disre¬ 
garding the last wishes of so delightful (to him) a com¬ 
panion, and so completely qualified a public instructor as 
Henry William Herbert. As the priest wears a ring in 
token of marriage with the Church, so Herbert, with his 
pen in hand, was always faithful and constant to his public. 
A man so wayward—so peculiar—so often troublesome, 
apparently, to those who had actual dealings with him, 
is but rarely met with; and yet, he always had one uni¬ 
form degree of devotion to his readers. Even this was 
more tacit than expressed, but it was, nevertheless, 
uniform and consistent from the time he first be 2 :an to 
write for the public eye. Perhaps we might say, by way 
of metaphor, that Herbert’s only real wife was his public. 
Certain it is that constant devotion on his part, and in¬ 
creasing kindness on the other, has brought about a union 
of such indissoluble happiness as deprives death of nearly 
all its sting, and leaves the grave itself no victory. 
