not for a moment, that each of them would always be ready to
welcome her to his home and his heart. He then thanked her for
that performance of household duties which had so much lightened
the labors of his wife and himself, and added that if any occasion
had ever occurred (which there had not, to his knowledge) when
he had shown her less affection than the kindest parent ought to
have shown to the most dutiful daughter, she must overlook and
forget it as accidental. In various ways he constantly showed the
most considerate affection for his family. Thus he said that he
had himself found great consolation, after the death of friends, in
reflecting that they met their fate with a cheerful and resigned
spirit ; and he added, *' I am happy that I can leave to you the
same consolation." And we indeed saw in him a soul perfectly
calm and serene. Two nights only before his death, after awaking
at midnight, and speaking a few moments very impressively
respecting his approaching end to two of his sons who were
MEMOIR. 145
present, he yet sank again, apparently in less than five minutes,
into the most tranquil sleep.
To one of his sons, who, as he thought, was not always
sufficiently careful of making remarks which, though innocently
intended, might give offence, he said that upon a certain occasion
he had himself, in speaking to a female friend, alluded to one of
her features as not handsome ; and that after she had gone, his
wife hlamed him for doing so, because the lady in question might
have received the impression that he thought her countenance
disagreeable ; when in reality there was scarce a being in the
world, to whom they were both more attached, or upon whose face
they were always more delighted to look ; that this advice of his
wife, dictated by the truest kindness of heart, he had often
reflected upon, and, as he hoped, had been benefited by it. He
then said, " There is no friendship or connection so intimate as to
justify a disregard of a constant endeavor to please;" and added
that upon one occasion, when his wife had appeared in the library
in a new dress, and he, happening to be engaged in his studies,
had not noticed the circumstance, she seemed quite disappointed,
and said to him, '* I purchased this dress on purpose to please you,
as being of your favorite color, and now you do not seem to care
the least about it." He added, ** I immediately left my books, told
her she must lay the blame not upon me, but upon mathematics ;
that the dress suited my taste exactly ; and thus succeeded in
restoring her cheerful looks. And ever afterwards," said he,
** through life, I endeavored, whenever she came into my presence,
not to omit to express towards her, outwardly, something of that
pleasure which I always really felt."
VOL. IV. m m
146 MEMOIR.
To another of his sons he was speaking of truth as never to
be in the shghtest degree or upon any inducement disregarded, and
holding up his finger, and repeating the words with most solemn
emphasis, said, " Follow truth — truth — truth ! Let that be
the family motto." So many, indeed, are the touching incidents
of his last illness which throng upon the memory of his children,
that a selection is almost impossible, where each was such
an exhibition of moral greatness. He had expressed the wish
to be approached with smiles and cheerfulness. Feeling no
melancholy in his own soul, he was averse to the manifestation
of it in others. Observing, therefore, one of his family whose
countenance was marked with sadness, he called for his volume
of Bryant, and opening at his favorite piece, read,
" Why weep ye, then, for him who, having won
The bound of man's appointed years, at last, —
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labor done, —
Serenely to his final rest has passed?"
He then proceeded to read all the remaining lines, remarking upon
each, that he believed or hoped it was applicable to himself, or
that he thought it not so. His voice, though low, was throughout
clear and firm, and the incident was a truly impressive one.
Rarely was a complaint or murmur extorted from him even by
the most excruciating pain. One evening, as his eldest sons were
present, he said, " Much as it usually gratifies me to see you, your
presence now is unwelcome. I am suffering so much, that I
cannot enjoy the society of any one. You can do nothing for my
relief. I had rather you would go home." On another occasion,
when the torture he experienced was almost beyond endurance,
MEMOIR. 147
he exclaimed, " Why was I born I " After he had obtained relief,
one of his sons asked him why he had made that remark. He
said that he meant, ** Why was I born to suffer so much I But I
see the reason. It is that I may be weaned from this world."
Happily, a few weeks before his death, he had longer
intervals of ease. On one of these occasions, he asked a son if
he remembered the word, derived from the Greek, signifying an
easy death. Being answered in the negative, he said that in
Pope's Works there was a letter from Dr. Arbuthnot, which he
had not read for forty years, but which he distinctly remembered
as containing this word, with a note mentioning that that
excellent man died shortly afterwards ; so that he had always
associated the idea of an easy death with that of excellence of
character. The book was opened, and the letter found. The
writer says, " A recovery in my case, and at my age, is impossible.
The kindest wish of my friends is euthanasia." To this subject
he upon more than one occasion afterwards recurred, and, applying
it to his own situation, said, " This is indeed euthanasia."
The following is an extract from the private journal of his
third son, under date March 4, 1838, recording a dialogue which
took place between him and his father : — " He said, * I have left
in my will the manuscript of La Place to the College. I wish
I had not done so ; for who will care any thing about it ? It is a
mere bagatelle.* I told him that, though in itself valueless, it
would be interesting, perhaps, at some future period, for the lover
of mathematics to look upon his original manuscript copy of so
great a work. * O,* said he, * the work will soon become obsolete.
148 - MEMOIR.
and nobody will look at it.' — * Very true, it will become obsolete ;
and what work is there that will not become old ? but still we honor
talent, even if the labors of that talent are superseded by later
writers.' — * Yes,' replied father, * Archimedes was of the same
order of talent with Newton, and we honor him as much ; and
Leibnitz was equal to either of them. Euclid was a second-rate
mathematician ; yet I should like to see some of his hand-writing.
My order of talent is very different from that of La Place. La
Place originates things which it would have been impossible for
me to have originated. La Place was of the Newton class ; and
there is the same difference between La Place and myself as
between Archimedes and Euclid.' " *
Not less interesting were many incidents which occurred during
his interviews with others. A young lady had been playing, by his
desire, upon a harmonicon. As the strains of the music rose and
* A similar anecdote is mentioned by Mr. Young, (Eulogy, p. 83,) of Dr. Bowditch's
admitting La Place to be altogether his superior, and saying, " I hoye I know as much about
mathematics as Playfair." The word hope is probably a verbal mistake for think, since the
expression otherwise seems to imply a disrespect for Playfair, such as Dr. Bowditch did
not entertain, and to which, therefore, he could not, as we believe, have given utterance.
Dr. Bowditch was always of opinion that men are born with the same diversities of
intellectual, as of physical powers and stature. Thus he would speak of one as " a man of
small calibre," and say of another that he had reached his " couche de niveau." And he
considered as wholly absurd a remark once made in his hearing, " I have no doubt that any
man could become a mathematician if he only had time!" It seemed indeed, in his own
case, that he became a mathematician notwithstanding the want of time; and a striking
contrast is exhibited by Mr. Pickering, (Eulogy, p. 56,) between the long life of La Place,
exclusively devoted to the pursuit of science, and the comparatively short life of his translator,
of which so much was occupied by other important engagements.
MEMOIR. 149
fell upon the ear, like that of the iEolian harp, he listened
intently ; and when the last cadence had died away, and the
musician approached to take her leave, he gave her an affectionate
greeting, and after she had retired said, " You must tell her that
she has been playing my dirge." A lady visited him, and as she
was quitting the apartment, he said, " Good night," twice,
with a tone of voice, and an expression of countenance, which
indicated his conviction that he saw her for the last time ;
and then he immediately added, " Good morning at the
resurrection."
Exactly a week before his death, the President of Harvard
College, Mr. Quincy, had an interview with him, the following
account of which he reduced to writing immediately afterwards :
— He says, " I found him sitting in his chair, in his library,
emaciated, pale, and apparently wasted by his disease to the last
stage of life ; his mind clear, active, and self-possessed. He
spoke of his disorder as incurable ; that he felt himself gradually
sinking, and that he could not long survive. * I have wished to
see you,' said he, * to take my leave, and that you might have the
satisfaction of knowing that I depart willingly, cheerfully, and,
as I hope, prepared. From my boyhood, my mind has been
religiously impressed. I never did or could question the existence
of a Supreme Being, and that he took an interest in the affairs
of men. I have always endeavored to regulate my life in
subjection to his will, and studied to bring my mind to an
acquiescence in his dispensations ; and now, at its close, I look
back with gratitude for the manner in which He has distinguished
VOL. IV. n n
150 MEMOIR.
me, and for the many blessings of my lot. As to creeds of faith,
I have always been of the sentiment of the poet, —
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight ;
His can't be wrong, whose life is in the right.' " *
Then he alluded to the lines of Hafiz, before mentioned, saying
of them, " * They are lines of which I at this moment feel all
the force and consolation. I can only say, Mr. Quincy, that I
am content ; that I go willingly, resigned, and satisfied.' t After
this he spoke to me of his works, his gratification that the four
first volumes, which constituted the principal work, were so nearly
completed. ' There are only about ten pages wanting ; perhaps
I may live to finish them. I have been to-day correcting the
proofs.' He then showed me his will, explained his motives, asked
me to read it, and my opinion. In every respect, his state of
mind was such as at such a moment his best friends could have
wished, — calm, collected, rational, resigned, — looking confidently
for an existence beyond the grave, — happy in reflecting on
the past, and in anticipating the future. On taking leave, he
impressed a kiss on my hand, saying, * Farewell ! ' " On another
* Dr. Bowditch often repeated passages from Pope's " Essay on Man " and " Universal
Prayer."
f The following lines, which he had also copied on the covers of his portfolio, are
strikingly applicable to the frame of mind which he now manifested : —
" Parent of nature, Master of the world,
Where'er thy providence directs, behold
My steps with cheerful resignation turn.
Fate leads the willing', drags the backward on.
Why should I grieve, when grieving I must bear;
Or take with guilt, what guiltless I might share ? "
Cleanthes, translated hy Bolinghroke. Orig. Epist. 107.
MEMOIR. 161
occasion, he mentioned the early impression made on his mind by
the remark of a Quaker lady, that the external symbols and
observances of religion were only valuable as indicating the
existence of an inward principle, and a life in accordance with it.
Among those, also, who had the happiness of a like interview,
were two of his subsequent Eulogists ; one of whom (Judge
White) says, " Being deeply affected by his whole appearance and
conversation, and absorbed in the feelings which these produced, I
could not retain much of the language which he uttered, though
the general impression of what he said was indelibly fixed in my
mind. I recollect, however, very distinctly his expressions in
speaking of his early and deep feeling of religious truth and
accountability. * I cannot remember,* he said, * when I had not
this feeling, and when I did not act from it, or endeavor to. In
my boyish days, when some of my companions, who had become
infected with Tom Paine's * infidelity, broached his notions in
conversation with me, I battled it with them stoutly, not exactly
with the logic you would get from Locke, but with the logic I
found herCf (pointing to his breast ;) and here it has always been
my guide and support : it is my support still.* With feelings of
humility inseparable from the purest minds in such a situation,
he expressed the satisfaction which he felt from having always
endeavored to do his duty ' My whole life,* he said, * has been
crowned with blessings beyond my deserts. I am still surrounded
with blessings unnumbered. Why should I distrust the goodness
• The well-known " Age of Reason," by Thomas Paine, was a work which at that time
bid many readers in the community.
152 MEMOIR.
of God] Why should I not still be grateful and happy, and
confide in his goodness ? ' And indeed why should he not ] " *
In his interview with the other, (Rev. Mr. Young,) he dwelt
much upon the kindness and assistance which in early life he had
received in Salem, and expressed a like affection and gratitude
towards the city in which he was to end his days. Mr. Young
says that every one of the friends who then visited him ** will bear
testimony to his calm, serene state of mind. The words which
he spoke in those precious interviews they will gather up and
treasure in their memory, and will never forget them so long as
they live." t
During his illness, Dr. Bowditch was asked to state his
particular religious belief, and replied, — '* Of what importance
are my opinions to any one ? I do not wish to be made a show
of." When mention was made of the various teachers of mankind,
inspired and others, (Socrates, Moses, &c.,) at the name of Christ,
he said, " Yes — the greatest of them all." He dwelt often upon
the fitness of the gospel to purify the heart and elevate the soul ;
and preferred to rest its authority upon these views, rather than
upon any other. A recent article in the Christian Examiner, upon
the point that a belief in miracles is not essential to a belief in
Christianity, received his approbation.
The Rev. John Brazer, D. D., of Salem, was a friend who
rarely visited Boston without passing the night under his roof, and
* Eulogy, p. 53. t Discourse, p. 94.
MEMOIR. 153
whose ovTn house had oflen had as an inmate for several weeks
a daughter of Dr. Bowditch. He, during the last illness of the
latter, oflfered up for him within his church a prayer which, in the
words of a correspondent, " touched all hearts." More than one
interview left his mind also filled with the same delightful
impressions. In one of them, Dr. Bowditch, after alluding to the
intimacy which existed between themselves, and also between
himself and certain absent friends, observed that he felt himself
" capable of faithful friendship." And in a brief public notice of
his decease, this clergyman observes, " And so he was, in a degree
never surpassed. Aching hearts can now testify to this ; and
there are some who feel that there is a void left in their affections,
which can only be filled by a reunion with him in another world."
Dr. Bowditch had requested his children to send to Dr. Brazer a
small legacy, saying, " I know that it will be grateful to my friend
to be assured that I thought of him with unabated love and
confidence in my dying moments."
He had through life delighted to attend to the interests and
feehngs of many who were comparatively alone in the world ; and
for these services, they now expressed the warmest gratitude. A
short time before his death, he received from a young lady who,
being herself an invalid, could not in person express her sentiments
towards him, a letter, in which she addresses him as " her
dear father," and assures him that " his kindness fell not upon
stony ground, when it fell upon an orphan's heart;" and the
last person who had an interview with him, (except the members
of his own family,) was anotlier lady, before alluded to, (p. 143,)
who expressed the, delight which it had afforded her, and said that
VOL. IV.
154 MEMOIR.
she never could have been happy if he had died without her
having- had an opportunity of acknowledging her many and great
obligations to the best of friends.
He himself literally never forgot a kindness. Thus he
enjoined it on his children to transmit a legacy from him to the
widow of one of his early employers, as being his oldest friend,
"one whose affection had ever been to him as that of a mother,
knowing no interruption or abatement." And he remembered
in a similar manner a near relative, from whom he had always
received a sister's welcome when he visited Salem.
One little being alone stood to him in the relation of a
grandchild, the daughter of his eldest son. Desirous of leaving
for her some small token of his remembrance, a silver cup was
made by his directions, bearing the inscription, " Elizabeth Francis
Bowditch, from her grandfather, Nathaniel Bowditch, March 1st,
1838," which, a day or two afterwards, he placed in her own hands.
Though the image of that affectionate relative has long since
faded away from her infant memory, that visible emblem will in
after years remind her of one who, on the day of his death, when
his failing senses led him erroneously to believe that he was
addressing her mother, said, " Give my love to the little one."
There was one who was a sister to him by marriage, as she
had always been in affection. Her daily visits during his illness
were ever most welcome. She was a wife, and is a widow;
was a mother, and is childless. She asked him his belief in a
recognition of friends after death. He said to her, that, to his
MEMOIR. 155
apprehension, it was not clearly revealed. She exclaimed, "Do
not say so. The chief consolation I have here, is the hope of
meeting my lost ones again.** He saw her grief as she retired,
and in the course of that day told his family to be sure to inform
him when she next called, as he wished much to see her. She
came again. He said to her, " Let me assure you of my
conviction that if, in the future world, it will be best that we
should know again the friends we have here loved, that happiness
will certainly be ours. What I meant to say yesterday was, that
I do not think that Almighty Wisdom has explicitly revealed to
mortals its decrees in this particular. But of one thing I am
certain ; all will be for the best. I approach the unseen world
with the same reverence as I would the Holy of Holies, and
have no desire to draw aside the veil which conceals its mysteries
from my sight."
He had always entertained a most important as well as just
sentiment, to which he constantly recurred during his illness,
namely, that the highest intellectual cultivation and acquirements
are entirely worthless, when compared with moral excellence.
Often have we heard the author of this Commentary, during
his last days, say that the consciousness which he then felt that
throughout life he had endeavored to discharge its various duties,
and the humble hope that those efforts would be approved
hereafter, were far sweeter to him than any praises which he had
already received, or the thoughts of any reputation which might
await his name in future times as having been a faithful laborer
in the cause of science.
156 MEMOIR.
Indeed, he valued his own peculiar studies for their elevating
moral tendency, and for producing, as it were, an indirect effect,
more important and lasting than their immediate results. Thus,
a few days only before he died, he listened with attention and
pleasure to a recent publication of Mrs. Sigourney, as it was read
to him by his eldest son, where that writer says, '* The adoring
awe and profound humility inspired by the study of the planets
and their laws, the love of truth which he cherishes who pursues
the science that demonstrates, will find a response among
archangels."
His own life, indeed, which had been spent in search of the
true and the right, had led to that unwavering belief and trust
in the wise providence of God, and that humble and confiding
submission to his will, which dispelled from the chamber of death
the gloom which so often enshrouds it. His eye shone with
its wonted brightness. His feeble voice inculcated, in its low
and scarcely audible accents, its lessons of wisdom and love, with
an earnestness and solemnity that seemed almost like inspiration,
and spoke to the hearts of his hearers. Though his emaciated
countenance told of many an hour of severe pain, the patient
sufferer recalled the blessings he had enjoyed through life, and
gratefully acknowledged those which still surrounded him. He
was often, during his intervals of ease, playful and humorous in
his remarks, but without any levity of thought or manner. He
did not affect any indifference to life, but was perfectly willing to
quit it. His was !
"Earth's lingering love, to parting reconciled."
MEMOIR. 157
He approached his end with feelings the most becoming to the
man and the Christian. His spirit was perfected by the sufferings
through which he passed. Truly we esteem it a high privilege to
have been present at such scenes. May the lesson of his life
and his death be read by us aright !
On the morning of Friday, the sixteenth of March, at about
six o'clock, when his sight was quite dim, his third son told him
that he thought the time had come when he had better take leave
of all his children. He answered, " I know it ; I feel it." Each
in succession then approached ; and as the father returned the kiss
he received, he inquired who it was ; and in this manner he took
a most affectionate farewell of his children, all of whom were
gathered around his bedside. He said, ,* O ! sweet and pretty
are the visions that rise up before me. * Now let thy servant
depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.' I say
these words not because I have entire love for all the * . . . . but
because I love the words, and feel kindly towards all * . . . ."
Upon drinking a little water, he said, " How delicious ! I have
swallowed a drop — a drop from
' Siloa's brook, that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God.' "
Soon afler this time, he fell into a tranquil sleep, from which,
at about half past nine, he awoke, and once more desired to see
his family assembled ; then, looking round upon them, and
addressing each by name, he said, ** There, my children, I have
known you all ; have I not, perfectly 1 O ! it is beautiful to me
* His voice here became wholly indistinct.
â–¼OL. IV. pp
168 MEMOIR.
to see you all about me — pretty ! It is beautiful to me to bless
you all. May God forever bless you, my dears ! It is for the
last time that your father blesses you." It pleased Heaven, after
this, to afflict him with the most severe bodily suffering during
nearly thtee hours ; but about noon it left him, and the quiet,
tranquil state of body and mind returned. He addressed his
son with the epithet " my dear," and said, " It is coming ! I
am ready." And at one o'clock. Death gently set his seal upon
that placid countenance.
'f
He was buried on the morning of the following Sabbath. The
face of spring was hidden by the falling snow. The streets of
the city were silent and deserted. Every thing seemed to feel
the quiet of the day and hour. Dust was given back to dust:
the spirit had returned to God who gave it.
APPENDIX.
We have thought that a few particulars respecting the library of Dr.
Bowditch, and its future intended appropriation, might be of some general
interest. Montaigne has said of the apartment which contained his books,
that he endeavored ** to sequester this corner from all society, conjugal, filial,
and civil." Dr. Bowditch, however, did exactly the reverse ; he selected for
his library the family parlor. To us it will always be the scene of the most