The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-04-24

him to eat the bread of idleness He felt
that there was an obligation upon him to
work while it was called day, since tie
night was coming when he could not
work But his business proper did by no
means absorb his entire thought and en-
ergy. He was not ignorant of the Scrip
lures; he knew that he who provides not
for his own household is worse than an
infidel; but in thinking of his own he did
not forget the great world to which he
belonged.
His activity went out along many ways.
He was Blue Lodge and Chapter Mason
he was an enthusiastic member of the
Civic Federation and it's Bureau of Asso-
ciated Charities; he was director of the
Mary Thomson Women's and Children's
Hospital; he was a director of the Chi
cago Guarantee Fund Life Society; he
was at one time president of the Massa-
chusetts Society in Chicago and vice
president at the time of his death; he
was directly or indirectly connected with
various committees and he was regular
and most hearty attendant upon all the
services of his church. In addition to all
this he was ever ready, in modest
though cheerful way, to give to any social
gathering where he happened to be, the
benefit of whatever power of service
there was in him.
With all these associations and affilia-
tions he could not be idle. Idle he GER
tainly was not. l have been told that he
cd xuic hot ho rfninh in
the harness, and his prayer was granted.
He went down with his colors nailed to
the masthead. Like the real hero that
he was, he died in the thick of the fight
with his face to the foe. In his case
there was no running away, no lingering
second childishness, no physical decline
or mental imbecility-he died, as for
three score years and ten he had lived,
full of power. Until the onset of the in
sdious disease that took him off, yes,
right up to his deathbed, he leaped, he
ran, he danced, he moved and worked
with the suppleness and vim of youth.
His departure is we'll described by the
poets account of the Oriental sunset:
'Slow sinks, more lovely eer his race
be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun
Not as in northern climes obscurely
bright,
And now, as we come together here to
pay our parting respects to our dear
friends memory, what thoughts are up
permost in our minds? There is, first
the thought of the sterling, rock
heard that every man has his price, and
it may be so; but if S. N. Brooks had his
price nobody ever found it. Humanity
speaking, he was incorruptible. When
he pledged himself to you there was no
further need of being worried. His yea
was yea, and his nay was nay. Good as
a Bank of England note was his simple
promise to you. You could depend on
him, as you can on the forces of nature.
Those who knew S. N. Brooks would no
more have looked for him to wrong them
than they would have expected the even
ing star to be absent from it's place in the
heavens. In the course of his life he
was called upon to settle many estates,
and invariably he held the scales perfect
ly even. Every trust committed to him
was held as though he stood ever be-
meath the Great Taskmaster's eye. His
motto might well have been, =" Let Justice
be done though the Heavens fall u
One of the finest compliments ever paid to
a man was that given to our departed friend
by the late Geo. Cushman, of Massachusetts,
That gentleman made Mr.. Brooks ad-
ministrator of his estate, but left, in his
will, the request that he should not be
asked to give bonds. He had absolute
confidence in him, and felt that it would
be an insult to his manhood to require
any other security than that manhood.
Truth, sincerity, honesty, plain, straight
forward integrity-such was his every day
character.
And then there comes to us the thought
of his steady good will to all men.
The words of the Roman poet were ever
in his thoughts ''Nothing that is human
shall be alien to me-" The old express
man, poor and half blind, who came the
day after his death begging to see him,
and who remarked as he stood looking upon
the cold face: "There was nobody too
poor for that man to speak to, - tells more
eloquently than can the sort of heart he
possessed.
A stole of the stoics he was so far as
his own trials went, yet he was as COM
passionate as child when it came to the
sufferings of others.
His softening heart
Felt all another's pain;
To him the supplicating eye
Was never raised in vain.
To gentle offices of love
His feet were never slow;
He viewed through mercy's melting eye