death, "when that time shall come, I shall relinquish many attractions to life, and among them, a pleasure which to me has no equal in human pursuits, I mean that which I derive from studying, teaching, and practising medicine." His chief happiness consisted in doing good, and the plenitude of it in discharging his medical duties. He had never been what is called robust. In early life, he had slight hemorrhages from the lungs, whence it was only through unceasing care, and the occasional use of bark as a tonic, that he escaped, as he thought, an early consumption; for he says that he had a hereditary predisposition to this disease. During several of his last years, he had a slight cough, the tussis senilis, and this increased during the last winter. Fearing some latent inflammation, he took less animal food and omitted wine, though his labors in lecturing, attending the hospital, and examining the graduating students several hours a day, were very severe for an old man. The typhus pneumonoides, moreover, appeared in March, and gave him, most inopportunely, an oppressive increase of business. Thus, by incessant exertions of body and mind, now debilitated by cough and low diet, he became an easy prey to the prevailing fever; a disease from which the most robust of old people are in great danger. His friend, Dr. James Mease, visited him the night of the 14th April, 1813, and found him with a pen in his hand. "What, Doctor, always at your studies?" He replied, "I am revising a lecture, for I feel every day more and more like a dying man. I am not indisposed, but I deem life, at my age, particularly precarious, and I am anxious to leave my manuscripts as perfect as possible." At nine o'clock he was taken with a chill, and went to a warm bed, where he spent a feverish night, with pains in his limbs and side. At daylight, perspiration broke out and the pain in his limbs subsided, but that of his side became more severe. A bleeder then took ten ounces of blood, with decided relief, and his colleague, Dr. Dorsey, was called. He approved of what had been done, but considering the importance of the patient, he desired a consultation, whereupon Dr. Griffitts, who had long been his intimate and steady friend, was selected. He remained the rest of the day, as also the next day and night, with a slight fever and some pain in his side, but only on taking a deep breath. Dr. Dorsey attended him, but what was done is not said. Dr. Griffitts had not been able to visit him. Saturday morning he awaked with an acute pain in his side, and Dr. Physick was called in consultation. Three ounces of blood were taken from his side by cupping, which relieved him so much that he fell into a comfortable sleep. On Sunday morning he awaked so well that his physicians pronounced him apparently free from disease. Dr. Physick said he was doing well, and that nothing appeared necessary but food. He probably entertained different thoughts himself, for it was this day that he gave much advice to his son, Dr. James Rush, and particularly with respect to his attending certain families without charge. His intimate friend, the venerable Bishop White, visited him this day, and prayed with him at his request, Rush himself quoting from St. James," the fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much." The physicians both saw him at five o'clock, and found him feverish; "at nine o'clock, they became at last alarmed," and enjoined active stimulation. This was maintained through the night and the next day, as long as there was any hope. His wife saying to him that he was in a fine prespiration, he promptly answered, "it is an unfavorable symptom," and soon added," my excellent wife, I must leave you, but God will take care of you." Then clasping his hands, he prayed audibly from the Episcopal litany,-" By the mystery of thy holy incarnation; by thy holy nativity and circumcision; by thy baptism, fasting, and temptation; by thine agony and bloody sweat; by thy cross and passion; by thy precious death and burial; by thy glorious resurrection and ascension; and by the coming of the Holy Ghost, blessed Jesus, wash away all my impurities, and receive me into thine everlasting kingdom." What little he spoke afterwards could not be understood; he became gradually comatose, and easily quitted his earthly tenement at five o'clock in the afternoon. The above account of his sickness and death, is extracted from his widow's letter to Dr. Mease, and from the letter of this reliable man to Dr. Lettsom, both published in "Thatcher's Medical Biography." Something was obtained from his son, Dr. William Rush, and from "Rees's Cyclopædia." Dr. Mease had been his pupil, had grown old in his friendship, and had nursed him through the whole of his last day, the 19th of April 1813. The sensation throughout the whole country was intense. Every one had heard of Dr. Rush, and all that were interested in medicine or philosophy, in common humanity or in the honor of their country, felt they had lost a friend and benefactor. "From one end of the United States to the other," says Dr. Charles Caldwell," the event was productive of emotions of sorrow; for, since the death of Washington, no man, perhaps, in America, was better known, more sincerely beloved, or held in higher admiration and esteem. . . . . For nearly three thousand years past, but few physicians equal in greatness have appeared in the world, nor is it probable that the number will be materially increased for ages to come."* Jefferson, writing to John Adams, said: "Another of our friends of '76 is gone, another of the co-signers of our country's Independence; and a better man than Rush could not have left us, more benevolent, more learned, of finer genius, or more honest."† The members of the African Episcopal Church, of which he had been the active first promoter and steady friend, also other negro churches in the city, asked permission to precede his body to the grave; and it was followed by a greater concourse than had ever been seen at a funeral in Philadelphia. He was buried in Christ's Church graveyard, by the side of his parents, and next to her whom he has called upon her tomb the best of mothers. In the same grave, now overhung by two weeping willows, his widow, at the age of ninety, was buried, after having survived him thirty-five years. The appropriate * Delaplain's Repository, Life of Dr. Rush, by C. Caldwell, M.D. quotation engraved on his tomb, is not read by the pious mind as a mere eulogium, but is felt as the present echo of the Saviour's salutation in Heaven,-" Well done, thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." We have now travelled with this illustrious man through his long life, most fruitful, as it must have been, of conversations, incidents, works; and the reader is, no doubt, surprised, as well as the author, that we have gathered so few memorable sayings or domestic facts. This certainly is not what we expected to fail in when we undertook this memoir. Rush left a large volume of autobiography, but whether it was written for the world at some distant time or for his family only, is not publicly known. Meanwhile, all who were old enough to be his companions are dead; and his conversations, with all the anecdotes of his private life, the very essence of biography, have perished. Had the Life of Johnson been delayed fortyseven years, we should have learned but little of his conversation and habits. His "bow-wow way" in talking would not be known, nor would Miss Williams or Bozzy or Piozzi have a place in history; even the good Dr. Levet would lie buried in the dusty leather of the Gentleman's Magazine, and Mrs. Hodge, the cat, with her oyster suppers, would have perished forever, instead, as Virgil says, "of flying through the mouths of men," and mewing the praises of her kindhearted master. In reviewing the career of Dr. Rush, in attending his last four courses of lectures, in perusing his writings, in having conversed much with some who had known and observed him closely, and with the children of these, we are, perhaps, as strongly impressed with his real character as any man living can be. But it is difficult to portray the mind, and should we attempt it in this case, we would possibly descend to eulogy; we would, therefore, rather state facts, which generally show the real man. His piety began early, and there is every reason to believe it was deep and habitual: this was the steady opinion of all his pious acquaintance which was very extensive. In his earliest writings, he was careful to evince his belief in Christianity; and in all his works, in his lectures, and in his intercourse with the world, piety and benevolence are manifest. Whatever he says in this way appears to be the overflowing of a fervent mind, without the least semblance of cant or hypocrisy. He seldom passed a Sunday without going to church. If he could not reach his own, he went to any other which was most convenient in his drives through the city. It was plain to those who knew him that this was an act of duty, but his enemies twisted it into a craving of popularity; this it could not be, for he continued it in his old age, when he had become indifferent to public favor. He probably learned this charitable practice from his preceptor, Dr. Redman, whose biographer says, "he was a stranger to bigotry, often worshipping with sects that differed in principles and forms from his own." Rush preferred the Episcopal Church, hence Bishop White was the only clergyman who saw him in his last sickness; but he went most frequently to the Presbyterian, because his wife was of that communion. He was, however, a true cosmopolite in this respect, and ready to countenance sincere religion in every church, considering public worship and the observance of the Sabbath as truly made for man. In his "Address to Ministers," he says, "If there were no hereafter, individuals and society would be great gainers by attending public worship every Sunday. Rest from labor in the house of God, winds up the machine of both soul and body better than anything else, and thereby invigorates it for the labors of the week." He frequently read the Bible to his collected family, and we shall see that he wrote a powerful essay in defence of using that sacred book in schools. He was a first mover in the cause of the Philadelphia Bible Society; he drafted its constitution, and he was a Vice-President from its origin till his death. He was perpetually making discoveries of wisdom in the Bible, and truths which had escaped others; he was, moreover, preparing to write a work on the diseases and cures therein described. So thorough was his faith in the Sacred Book that, finding both free |