The rational theology he regarded as anti-poetic in influence, and of very doubtful efficacy in working upon the masses.  He appreciated, however, the honesty and superior culture of the Unitarian scholars and clergy of Boston, with many of whom he had been on terms as intimate as his shyness accorded to any one.

He attended church but once with me while we were engaged in the survey.  We heard a discourse from a Rev. Dr. E——­, upon the conduct of the young ruler who inquired his duty of Christ.  The speaker argued from the sacred narrative a universal obligation to devote our possessions to religious purposes,—­and upheld, as an example to all men, the self-devotion of a young missionary (then somewhat known) who had despised a splendid fortune, offered him on condition of his remaining at home, and had consecrated himself to the Christianization of Africa.

“How did you like the sermon?” I inquired of Percival.

“I consider it an animating and probably useful performance,” he replied; “but it does not accord with comprehensive conceptions of humanity, inasmuch as its main inference was drawn from the exception, and not from the rule.  There always have been, and probably always will be, men possessed of the self-immolating or martyr spirit.  Such instances are undoubtedly useful, and have my admiration; but they cannot become general, and never were meant to be.”

During the survey, we were invited to pass an evening in a family remarkable for its musical talent, and I remember distinctly the evident pleasure with which Percival listened to the chorus of organ tones and rich cultivated voices.  In general, however, his appreciation of music was subordinate to his study of syllabic movement in versification; and it was with reference chiefly to poetic measure, I have been told, that he acquired what mastery he had over the accordion and guitar.

Percival’s favorite topics, when evening came and we rested from our stony labors, were the modern languages and the philosophy of universal grammar.  They seemed to have filled the niches in his heart, from which he had banished, or tried to banish, the Muses.  The subtile refinements of Bopp were a perpetual luxury to him; he derived language from language as easily as word from word; and, once started in the intricacies of the Russian or the Basque, there was no predicting the end of the discourse.  Thus were thrown away, upon a solitary listener, midnight lectures which would have done honor to the class-rooms of Berlin or the Sorbonne.  In looking at such an instance of intellectual pleasure and acumen, as connected in no small degree with the study of foreign languages, one cannot avoid associating together the unsolved mystery of that discrepancy of tongues prevailing in different countries with the disagreeing floras and faunas of the same regions,—­each diversity bearing alike the unmistakable marks of Omnipotent design for the happiness and improvement of man.