In Memoriam. - Hon. Thomas S. Williams,

Late Chief Justice of Connecticut, died at Hartford, on Sunday morning, December 15th, 1861, aged 84.

'Tis not for pen and ink,

Or the weak measures of the muse, to give

Fit transcript of his virtues who hath risen

Up from our midst this day.

And yet 'twere sad

If such example were allow'd to fleet

Without abiding trace for those behind.

To stand on earth's high places, in the garb

Of Christian meekness, yet to comprehend

And track the tortuous policies of guile

With upright aim, and heart immaculate,

To pass just sentence on the wiles of fraud,

And deeds of wickedness, yet freshly keep

The fountain of good-will to all mankind,

To mark for more than fourscore years, a line

Of light without a mist, are victories

Not oft achiev'd by frail humanity,

Yet were they his.

Of charities that knew

No stint or boundary, save the woes of man

He wish'd no mention made. But doubt ye not

Their record is above.

Without the tax

That age doth levy, on the eye or ear,

Movement of limbs, or social sympathies,

In sweet retirement of domestic joy

His calm, unshadow'd pilgrimage was closed

By an unsighing transit.

Our first wintry morn

Lifted its Sabbath face, and saw him sit

All reverent, at the table of his Lord,

And heard that kindly modulated voice

Teaching Heaven's precepts to a youthful class

Which erst with statesman's eloquence controll'd

A different audience. The next holy day

Wondering beheld his place at church unfill'd,

And found him drooping in his peaceful home,

Guarded by tenderest love.

But on the third,

While the faint dawn was struggling to o'ercome

The lingering splendors of a full-orb'd moon,

The curtains of his tent were gently raised

And he had gone,--gone,--mourn'd by every heart

Among the people. They had seen in him

The truth personified, and felt the worth

Of such a Mentor.

'Twere impiety

To let the harp of praise in silence lie,

We who beheld so beautiful a life

Complete its perfect circle. Praise to Him

Who gave him power in Christ's dear name to pass

Unharm'd, the dangerous citadel of time,

Unsullied, o'er its countless snares to rise

From earthly care--to rest,--from war--to peace,--

From chance and change,--to everlasting bliss.

Give praise to God.