This immense debt of gratitude was not bought by any mere isolated acts of virtue; indeed, it never is so bought; love never is won but by a nobleness which, pervades the life.  In the midst of his greatest cares there never was a moment when he was not all too generous of his time, his wisdom, and his money.  Borne down by the accumulation of labors, grudging, as a student grudges, the precious hour that once lost can never be won back, he yet was always holding himself at the call of some poor criminal, at the Police Office, or some sick girl in a suburban town, not of his recognized parish perhaps, but longing for the ministry of the only preacher who had touched her soul.  Not a mere wholesale reformer, he wore out his life by retailing its great influences to the poorest comer.  Not generous in money only,—­though the readiness of his beneficence in that direction had few equals,—­he always hastened past that minor bestowal to ask if there were not some other added gift possible, some personal service or correspondence, some life-blood, in short, to be lavished in some other form, to eke out the already liberal donation of dollars.

There is an impression that he was unforgiving.  Unforgetting he certainly was; for he had no power of forgetfulness, whether for good or evil.  He had none of that convenient oblivion which in softer natures covers sin and saintliness with one common, careless pall.  So long as a man persisted in a wrong attitude before God or man, there was no day so laborious or exhausting, no night so long or drowsy, but Theodore Parker’s unsleeping memory stood on guard full-armed, ready to do battle at a moment’s warning.  This is generally known; but what may not be known so widely is, that, the moment the adversary lowered his spear, were it for only an inch or an instant, that moment Theodore Parker’s weapons were down and his arms open.  Make but the slightest concession, give him but the least excuse to love you, and never was there seen such promptness in forgiving.  His friends found it sometimes harder to justify his mildness than his severity.  I confess that I, with others, have often felt inclined to criticize a certain caustic tone of his, in private talk, when the name of an offender was alluded to; but I have also felt almost indignant at his lenient good-nature to that very person, let him once show the smallest symptom of contrition, or seek, even in the clumsiest way, or for the most selfish purpose, to disarm his generous antagonist.  His forgiveness in such cases was more exuberant than his wrath had ever been.

It is inevitable, in describing him, to characterize his life first by its quantity.  He belonged to the true race of the giants of learning; he took in knowledge at every pore, and his desires were insatiable.  Not, perhaps, precocious in boyhood,—­for it is not precocity to begin Latin at ten and Greek at eleven, to enter the Freshman class at twenty and the professional school at twenty-three,—­he was equalled by few students in the tremendous rate at which he pursued every study, when once begun.  With strong body and great constitutional industry, always acquiring and never forgetting, he was doubtless at the time of his death the most variously learned of living Americans, as well as one of the most prolific of orators and writers.