xxxiy 
A FEW MEMOIRS OF 
fell upon the heart of the writer, who has known him for over a 
quarter of a century, like a withering mildew, and, were it not for the 
dying injunction of poor Herbert, that his friends should remain si¬ 
lent, my feeble pen, directed by the best energies of my brain, should 
reveal the deep sympathies of my heart for one whose life, although 
somewhat wayward, was nevertheless marked by many virtues and 
bright deeds. 
Henry William Herbert, the brilliant genius and rare scholar, is 
in his grave! 
“ After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.’ r 
For charity’s sake, let not the sanctity of that grave be desecrated by 
heartless or unfeeling scribblers, simply to feed or gratify the appetites 
or morbid tastes of those whose wicked and malignant slanders were 
mainly instrumental in wrecking so bright a mind ! After frenzying 
that once noble intellect, and sending its owner unbidden into the 
presence of his Maker, may we not hope, for humanity’s sake, that 
the portals of the grave may be a barrier against the poisonous tongue 
of the earth’s greatest pestilence—the slanderer ! 
For the sake of those whose veins bear kindred blood, and whose 
hearts and spirits are now bowed down to the dust, forbear, I implore 
you, and no longer aim your poisoned and malignant arrows of re¬ 
venge at the dead, through the already lacerated spirits of the Jiving! 
But let the faults and the weaknesses of him, whose earthly career 
met so melancholy and fearful an end, slumber in silence with his 
ashes in the tomb ! For mercy’s sake, let his kind acts and charitable 
deeds, only, rest in the minds of his fellow-men, for many such acts 
and deeds are known to the writer, which will assuredly be placed to 
the credit of him who has gone to his account, at the final judgment 
day. Were it not for violating the last request of this extraordinary 
man, I would reveal many bright and manly characteristics j but the 
observance of a request, made almost with his expiring breath, for¬ 
bids, and tells me to drop a curtain over his grave, on which to write 
in letters of gold —Silence ! Peace to the ashes of Henry W illiam 
Herbert ! 
Aoorn. 
Boston, May 22,1858. 
It is of such a man as Herbert we now proceed to 
speak. Among the private letters left to Mr. Anthon, 
