He was largely responsible for the defeat of the scheme for substituting biennial for annual election, and biennial sessions of the Legislature for yearly sessions in Massachusetts, although it did not receive its deathblow at the hands of the people until after his death. But his chief service, after all, was in keeping the government of Massachusetts clean and incorruptible, at the time of the great raid which was made upon the Republican Party in the years between 1871 and 1883. And yet, in all these services and contests he never appealed to a base passion or to a low ambition in any man. He summoned the nobility in men, and it answered to his call. He loved with the whole intensity of his nature, his country, his Commonwealth, and the city which was his home. He loved the great cause of human freedom and equality with the passionate devotion which a lover feels for his mistress. He was the most disinterested man I ever knew in public life. He was not devoid of ambition. He believed that the holding of public office was the best method of accomplishing public results. But, as I have already said, when the time came, he always subordinated his own desire to what he deemed the welfare of the public. He had, I think, one favorite poem. He was fond of all good literature, especially the Bible, and was never without its resources to illustrate or make emphatic what he had to say. But there was one poem which was written to describe his and my intimate friend, George L. Stearns, which I think was his favorite above all the literature with which he was acquainted. I have often heard him quote its verses. They set forth the character and quality and life of Adin Thayer himself. If Thayer had died before Stearns, I believe Whittier would have written the same thing about him. They are familiar to my readers, I am sure, but I will close this brief and imperfect tribute by citing them once more: He has done the work of a true man,-- Crown him, honor him, love him. Weep over him, tears of women, Stoop, manliest brows, above him! * * * * * * For the warmest of hearts is frozen, The freest of hands is still; And the gap in our picked and chosen The long years may not fill. No duty could overtask him, No need his will outrun; Or ever our lips could ask him, His hands the work had done. He forgot his own soul for others, Himself to his neighbor lending; He found the Lord in his suffering brothers, And not in the clouds descending. * * * * * * Ah, well!--The world is discreet; There are plenty to pause and wait; But here was a man who set his feet Sometimes in advance of fate,-- Plucked off the old bark when the inner Was slow to renew it, And put to the Lord's work the sinner When saints failed to do it. Never rode to the wrong's redressing A worthier paladin. Shall we not hear the blessing, "Good and faithful, enter in!" CHAPTER XXI POLITICAL CORRUPTION