1 
 
 A 
 
 t 
 
 A^-= 
 
 
 — 
 
 Vir 
 
 ==' 
 
 II 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 7 = 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 8 
 
 % "• 
 
 SS 
 
 6 — -
 
 IB iT M-
 
 ®1)C (Hljristian Scl)olar: 
 
 HIS POSITION, HIS DANGERS, AND HIS DUTIES. 
 
 AN ADDEESS 
 
 PRONOUNCED BEFORE 
 
 THE HOUSE OF CONVOCATION 
 
 OP 
 
 ^rinitji College, 
 
 HARTFORD, 
 
 " AUGUST Vth, MDCCCXLVI. 
 
 BY THE REV. J. WILLIAMS, M. A. 
 
 RECTOR OF ST. GEORGe's CHURCH, SCHENECTADY, AND A JUNIOR FELLOW 
 
 OF TRINITY COLLEGE. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY ORDER OP CONVOCATION. 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 WILLIAM FAXON, 
 
 C ALEN D AR PRESS. 
 1846.
 
 •^* It may be proper to state, that this was the first Address de- 
 livered before the Convocation of Trinity College. The Gradu- 
 ates v^ere incorporated under that appellation by Statute of the 
 Coqioration, passed August the 6th, 1845.
 
 SRLP 
 URL 
 
 ©rations, ^bbrcsscs aub Pocmci, 
 
 PRONOUNCED BEFORE 
 
 THE ALUMNI OF TRINITY COLLEGE. 
 
 The C'lssociation of tljc Alumni was formed Aug. 3d, 183L 
 
 1832 
 
 Samuel Stark, M.A. 
 Park Bexjamin, M.A. 
 
 Alfred Hall, M.A. 
 Augustus F. Lyde, M.A. 
 
 1833. 
 
 1834. 
 
 Isaac Hazlehurst, M.A. 
 John W, French, B.A. 
 
 Isaac N. Steele, B.A. 
 Ebenezer C. Bishop, M.A. 
 
 1835. 
 
 1836. 
 Rev. E. Edwards Beardsley, M.A. 
 Clement M. Butler, B.A. 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem, (j?) 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem. 
 
 Oration, (p) 
 Poem. 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem. 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem. 
 
 1837. 
 Tliere was no Oration or Poem this rear, 
 
 1838. 
 Robert Rantoul, Jr., M.A. 
 Willla.m J. IIamersley. 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem. 
 
 2012333
 
 183 9 
 
 Ohakles Eames, M.A. 
 
 Oration. 
 
 Rev. John "Williams, M.A. 
 
 Poem. 
 
 1840. 
 
 
 Joseph H. Thompson, M.D. 
 
 Oration, {p) 
 
 A. Cleveland Coxe, 13. A. 
 
 Poem, {j}) 
 
 1841. 
 
 
 Rev. Horatio PoriER, D.D. 
 
 Oration. 
 
 Rev. Joseph II. Clinch, M.A. 
 
 Poem, {p) 
 
 . 1842. 
 
 
 Rev. Joseph H. Nichols, M.A. 
 
 Poem, {p) 
 
 1843. 
 
 
 Hun. II. G. 0. Colby. 
 
 Oration. 
 
 Rev. John VV. Brown, M.A. 
 
 Poem. 
 
 1844. 
 
 
 Rev. James A. Bolles, M.A. 
 William II. Burleigh. 
 
 1845. 
 
 Rev. John Morgan, M.A. 
 Rev. CiiARLi-a W. Everest, M.A. 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem. 
 
 Oration. 
 Poem. 
 
 1846. 
 Rev. Thomas P. Tyler, M.A. Poem, {p) 
 
 Tlie Association of tlie Alumni was dissolved August 
 r>tli, 1846, and the fjouse of (JIoUDOCation was organized, 
 under a statute of tlie Corporation passed August 6tb. 1^4.'5. 
 
 1846. 
 Rkv. John Williams, M.A. Addrees, {p)
 
 1847. 
 
 Kov. JoNA. M. Wainwright, D. D. 
 Rev. George Burgess, D.D. 
 
 1848. 
 Rev. William Croswell, D.D. 
 Hon. Daniel D. Barnard, LL.D. 
 
 1849. 
 Rt. Rev. T. P. K. IIensiiaw, D.D. 
 Rev. Ralph Hoyt, M.A. 
 
 1850. 
 Rev. Francis L. Hawks, D.D., LL.D. 
 
 1851. 
 
 Hon. Levi Woodbury, LL.D. 
 Rev. E. Edwards Beardsley, M.A. 
 
 1852. 
 
 Rev. William F. Morgan, M.A. 
 Rev. Clement M. Butler, D.D. 
 
 Address. (^;) 
 Poem. {2>) 
 
 Poem. 
 Address, (jy) 
 
 Address. 
 Poem. {2>) 
 
 Address. 
 
 Address, (jj) 
 Hist, Address. (/>) 
 
 Address, (p) 
 Poem. 
 
 *^.* Those marked (p) have been printed.
 
 TO 
 
 HIS SURVIVING CLASSMATES, 
 
 AND 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF ONE DEPARTED, 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 DEDICATES THIS ADDRESS. 
 
 August, 1846.
 
 ADDPiESS. 
 
 Mr. Dean, and Gentlemen of Convocation : 
 
 It seems proper that the first words of him who on 
 this occasion is honoured in addressing you, should be 
 those of congratulation. There has been, as we trust, 
 revived among us, something of the old and true prin- 
 ciple of the University. Not indeed in its ancient form, 
 nor in precisely the ancient mode of its expression. 
 For it may and often does chance, that a principle shall 
 express itself in diverse outward forms in different ages, 
 while yet in itself it remains unchanged. Indeed no ex- 
 ternal organisations or forms within which principles are 
 enshrined, — save only those which being of divine 
 appointment are adapted to every age, and not to be 
 changed by man, — can be expected to remain precisely 
 the same, generation after generation, and age after age. 
 For they exist in a world whose social and intellectual 
 relations are continually changing : and by those very 
 changes, demanding corresponding changes in those ex- 
 ternal modes by which unchanging princijiles are brought 
 to bear and do their work, whether on individuals or on 
 masses of our race. 
 
 To have attempted then, in our age and country, — 
 even had we possessed the means of doing it, — to revive
 
 those venerable academic forms and organisations, 
 wliicli in the ages when they spontaneously sprung up, 
 were adequate expressions of real feelings, and adequate 
 supplies of real wants, would have been utterly unmean- 
 ing. To have attempted, — supposing again the means 
 of doing so within reach, — to have attempted to copy, 
 with whatever degree of accuracy, the present polity of 
 foreign Universities, those slow accretions of many ages, 
 w here one anomaly corrects another, and the genius loci 
 transfuses and blends together an otherwise inharmonious 
 W'hole, would have been even more absurd. For to 
 what would it all have amounted ? In the former case 
 you would have had the merest piece of antiquarian 
 trifling, with no more of reality about it, than children's 
 play. In the latter, you would have had a body without 
 a soul, a cumbrous machine without a motive power ; 
 for that there would have been wanting time honored 
 associations, old rights and privileges, successions of 
 ancient custom and wonted honors ; and more than all, 
 succession of actual life from age to age, filling and per- 
 vading, giving meaning and reality, power and operation, 
 visible working and glorious result. 
 
 Yet while this is so, there are still high principles 
 involved in the true being of a University or a College, 
 which may express themselves very differently, in differ- 
 ent ages and countries, while they themselves, as has 
 been said, remain unchanged. One of these principles, — 
 and that one of the noblest, — we have recognised, and 
 given to it expression and outward form in the organisa- 
 tion of our present House of Convocation. Another 
 has been also recognised, and has found expression in
 
 the giving to our College as her name henceforward 
 through all time, the thrice sacred name of the most 
 blessed Trinity. The last of these two principles may 
 be stated in a few words. It is that learning is the 
 handmaid of the Faith. A principle which in such a 
 place and such an assemblage as this, can need no vindi- 
 cation nor elucidation. The first principle however to 
 which allusion has just now been made, may seem to 
 demand a few more words. 
 
 There are in the world, three Associations ordained 
 of God himself, all harmonious, though distinct ex- 
 pressions of His one law and rule, the Family, the 
 State, the Church. To each are allotted their distinct 
 offices, and on men as memljers of each are devolved 
 distinct responsibilities. Nay, we may say, — not there- 
 by intending to assert succession of existence, or to deny 
 that the Church in some form or another is older than 
 the Family, being even from the beginning, — that the 
 world was trained first by means of union in Families, 
 and next by means of union in States, to enter in the 
 fulness of time into the vast and awful union of the 
 Church of the last Dispensation. A union which com- 
 prises within itself, though it does not absorb into itself, 
 those other unions which preceded it. A union toward 
 which indefinite longings, and vague though real w ants 
 had been impelling men for many ages before it came : 
 and which they had endeavoured to iind and realise in 
 those four great empires of the ancient world, before the 
 visioned image of whose mysterious majesty, the heart 
 of the Babylonian monarch had shrunk away in terror. 
 Now to these associations ordained of God, men have
 
 8 
 
 from time to time, added others of their own. In doing 
 so, they have followed the line of the divine working : 
 and they have erred and failed, not when they have held 
 such associations as subordinate to the Family, the State, 
 the Church, and intended only to aid in certain points 
 and for certain purposes the work of each : not then, I 
 say, have they erred and failed. But when, as we be- 
 hold in our time under various names and in various 
 shapes,^ they have attempted to substitute theirs in place 
 of those of God. When they have undertaken not to 
 assist, but to supplant : not reverently to aid, but ruth- 
 lessly to subvert, and on the ground thus cleared to erect 
 a fabric of their own, whose top shall reach the heavens. 
 Then, even as those four old empires which were human 
 substitutes to provide for longings which only the Al- 
 mighty could provide for, crumbled and decayed, till 
 gold and silver, brass and iron, and clay lay mingled in 
 undistinguishable ruin, even thus will after substitutes, 
 bear they w hose name they may, vanish before the stone 
 cut without hands and destined to fill the earth. 
 
 First among these human associations, subordinate and 
 in a certain sense auxiliary to the divine ones, and the 
 child indeed of the last and most glorious, stands the 
 University. First among sonships and brotherhoods, 
 other than those of the Family and the State, and the 
 more awful ones of the Church to which these others 
 point and by which they are sanctified, are the sonship 
 which binds the scholar to his College as to a loving 
 mother ; the brotherhood which unites him to all those 
 whom the same mother has trained for the solemn work 
 
 'Reference is made to the schemea of Owen, Fourier, and others.
 
 of life ; making herself liercin the worthy handmaid of 
 Family, and State and Church. And this I have ven- 
 liired to call one of the noblest principles involved in the 
 true being of a University or a College. May I not 
 even call it the essential one ? That which lies at the 
 very foundation, and alone gives life and meaning to 
 either the one or the other. Nor is this twofold tic, a 
 transient and temporary thing. It is, it must be, perma- 
 nent. The training of a College is for life. And as 
 day by day the scholar finds that training brought into 
 use and action, carried on and developed in a thousand 
 unexpected ways, and influencing all his relations in all 
 their various forms, how shall it be, that he will not 
 recur with a son's reverence and love to her who gave it 
 to him ? And bound up inseparably with this feeling, 
 forming indeed a part of it, comes also the feeling of 
 continuous union with that honoured mother, of a con- 
 tinued sharing in her joys and sorrows, her weal and 
 woe, and a continued brotherhood inviting to earnestness 
 and effort, with all her other sons. And this permanent, 
 this abiding tie, is recognised and expressed in the 
 organisation of our present House of Convocation. It 
 is the very offspring, unless I am much in error, of these 
 feelings and convictions. 
 
 In this organisation then, I seem to find the recogni- 
 tion of the permanent and holy tie, which through life 
 and wherever his lot may be, binds the scholar to his 
 College. In that sacred name which now adorns our 
 College, I seem to hear proclaimed in an unfaithful age, 
 that learninG: is tlie handmaid of the Faith. In these 
 two things then, let me find the subject to which your 
 
 2
 
 10 
 
 thouslits will now be called : The Scholar ; the Chris- 
 tian Scholar : his Position, his Dangers and his Duties. 
 To attain to a true conception of the position of the 
 Christian Scholar, whether in our own age or in any 
 other, I must ask you to go with me in a cursory view 
 of that wonderful progress, by which the wisdom of the 
 world was brought into subjection to, and the mind of 
 the world was moulded on, the philosophy of the Cross. 
 Could we suppose the vision of an Apostle or a Dis- 
 ciple to have been strengthened and extended, as during 
 those ten days of "awful pause in earth and heaven," 
 he stood with the hundred and twenty in the Holy City ; 
 could wc suppose the vision of such an one to have been 
 strenirthened and extended till it could embrace the 
 civilised world, what a spectacle, viewing that world 
 under one aspect only, would it have beheld ! Around 
 it in Jerusalem was to be seen the sacred learning with 
 whatever additions and distortions, of a wondrous peo- 
 ple, and a far reaching age. Throned in the temple's 
 courts, and deriving a more solemn and imposing dignity 
 from such a dwelling place, the very house of God, 
 Judea's learning gathered her band of venerable doctors, 
 and grounded herself upon the living oracles of God's 
 own word. Southward and to the east, from the sol- 
 emn remains of Egyptian greatness, to the caverned 
 temples of India, and thence to the Sarmatian Gates, 
 there spreads itself under various forms and in various 
 developments what may be termed the Oriental Philos- 
 ophy.' While westward, there rise up the Academy and 
 
 'U is not intended to intimate that there was any actual definite system, 
 suchasMosheini so ingeniously fancies; but the general spirit of contem- 
 plation rather than reasoning, Is certainly common to the Eastern Sages.
 
 11 
 
 the Lyceum, the Porch and the Garden, those four 
 mouths, through which the fourfold Greek philosophy, 
 spoke to the human race in words that are not yet for- 
 gotten.^ Every where are collected crowds of sages 
 grown grey in solitary thought or learned converse, 
 every where are there stores of written wisdom, the slow 
 accumulations of successive years, and all of pomp and 
 pride and mystery, with which learning can be sur- 
 rounded. It is indeed a glorious sight, this mass of mind 
 thus living and at work. For let us not take too cir- 
 cumscribed a view of it. It expressed and as it were 
 wrote itself out, not merely in the poem or the history, 
 the stirring oration or the profound speculation in phi- 
 losophy : but it had issued also for untold years, in the 
 massive and magnificent porticoes of Egypt, in the stu- 
 pendous excavations of the Indian mountains, in the 
 solid and enduring arches and aqueducts of Rome, and 
 in those highest developments of merely human thoughts, 
 the graceful orders of the threefold architecture of inven- 
 tive Greece. It showed itself also to men's eyes in all 
 the sensuous beauties framed on earthly types, of Grecian 
 art ; and spoke in their ears in the stern tones of Roman 
 law, which like the art of Greece was waiting for a 
 heavenly spark, to raise it to the fulness of its life. 
 
 Such was the world's mind in all its majesty and 
 glory, shrined and throned in earth's most lofty places ; 
 and thus stood the philosophy of the Cross in its relations 
 to it ; confided to the trust of twelve men, whose library 
 and school and porch and garden, was a little upper 
 
 ^Sec Gibbon's masterly sketch ; Decline and Fall, Vol. III. p. 52, Amer. 
 Edit.
 
 12 
 
 chamber somewhere in Jerusalem. Yet after all, we 
 shall not attain a correct view of these relations, without 
 remembering how in God's providence things had been 
 working so as to advance the progress of the Church to 
 the dominion of human intellect. About three hundred 
 years before the Christian era, Palestine and the regions 
 round about by becoming Greek, became also European ; 
 and then in order of time there followed a series of 
 events, which mysterious as they must have been to those 
 who lived during their occurrence, are to us full of 
 meaning, and point directly to the triumphs of the Cross. 
 Under Ptolemy jPhiladelphus the Hebrew Scriptures 
 were translated into Greek ; and treasures of learning 
 were gathered in Alexandria which drew together learn- 
 ed men from every quarter of the world, forming for a 
 century the great centre of study and scholarship. At 
 the end of this period, just when in consequence of the 
 long wars of the successors of Alexander, learning had 
 declined throughout the greater portion of the Macedo- 
 nian Empire, the cruelties of one of Ptolemy's succes- 
 sors,^ drove the Alexandrian scholars from his city and 
 scattered them among the nations. Under Antiochus, 
 tlie tlien true religion, was almost merged in Greek 
 Polytheism, but with the aid of the A'smonean princes it 
 rose into new strength and developed itself afresh : " so 
 that while the Greek mind was spread throughout the 
 East, tiie Jewish mind was spread throughout it too ; 
 and from their interpenetration arose a diffused prepara- 
 tion for the Faith." While very soon, the rising empire 
 
 iPiolnmy Physcon. See Prideaux's Connexions, Vol. II. p. 276, 
 Tegg'a Edit.
 
 13 
 
 of Rome, — sublime sliadow of a heavenly reality, — 
 received within itself the East, and pushed itself even to 
 the shores of the Atlantic ; thus connecting by its mighty 
 bonds the ancient plains of Babylon with " Britain 
 divided from the world. "^ Through sucli immediate 
 preparation had the world passed, and so as I have 
 briefly described it, stood its learning, philosophy, and 
 art, in rehition to the Church and the philosophy of the 
 Cross, at the moment when we have fancied an Apostle 
 looking out on all these things. 
 
 And now for a brief period there was a pause and silence. 
 Such a silence on either side as there must have been, — 
 for the comparison can hardly fail to suggest itself, — 
 w hen the Lord Himself in all the apparent weakness of 
 His early youth, stood in the presence of the hoary doc- 
 tors in the temple : they wondering at His temerity. He 
 resting in His Divinity. So stood the infant Church 
 amid the systems and the learning of the world. But 
 the pause was a brief one ; deep and solemn while it 
 lasted, but brief. For time was precious, and the battle 
 fierce : and so in all apparent weakness, and arrayed in 
 weeds unmeet as men would say for the attire of divine 
 philosophy, she went forth to claim to herself the wis- 
 dom, to grasp and mould for herself the minds of men. 
 The struggle was an arduous one, but the triumph was 
 complete. We may not say that it was the noblest of 
 the triumphs of the Faith ; for these are tears of penitence, 
 and lives of holiness. Still it was a noble triumph, and 
 it is written on an immortal page, even the souls of men. 
 
 To trace it step by step, would be impossible here and 
 
 ^See the Christian Remembrancer for April, 1845, p. 331.
 
 14 
 
 now, nor is it needful. It was a triumphant progress in 
 wiiicli the Ciiurch went forth, when she conquered and 
 brought under her own sway the fields of learning, phi- 
 losophy and art. Yet unlike the progress of conquering 
 men, it was not devastation but new life that marked her 
 way. She came to the Academy and the Lyceum, the 
 Porch and Garden, and gave a living kernel to the husks 
 and shells she found there, and woke to life many a form 
 ol truth which had been standing moveless and isolated, 
 like a marble statue ; while in place of these four homes 
 of learning, there sprung up Schools and Universities 
 almost without number. Amid the ruins of Memphis 
 and of Heliopolis, she made the spirit of contemplation 
 long-wasted and preying in itself, to issue in the lofty 
 tones, ever lofty if not always truly regulated, of the 
 Fathers of the Desert. She gave the Historian the clue, 
 by which he could trace out the tangled web of the 
 world's story, and read understandingly that wondrous 
 course of ages, never before comprehended. She 
 brought a nobler strain to the poet's lyre, and touched his 
 eyes to see and his tongue to speak, deeper things in 
 nature and in man, than men had dreamed before. She 
 came to the Grecian Temple, and the Roman Basilic, 
 and there arose in their places edifices more vast and 
 of a rarer beauty, towering towards the heavens, and 
 preaching not men's thoughts of truth and beauty, but 
 tiiose eternal archetypes of both, on which Creation has 
 been framed. She took the painter's and the sculptor's 
 hand, and instead of sensuous earthly forms on which the 
 eye could scarcely look witiiout defdement to the soul, 
 there burst upon men's sight severe unearthly beauties,
 
 16 
 
 holy and super-human grace, sources of tlic purest 
 emotions and most sacred thouglus. Slie touched the 
 unformed indigested mass of Roman Law/ and there 
 issued from it, the Code, the Pandects and the Institutes, 
 immortal works which tell at this very hour on all the 
 civilised nations of the earth. But not to enter into 
 more detail, where full detail is impossible, let it suffice 
 to say, that this triumph of the Church and her divine 
 philosophy, absorbing " all the keenness, the originality, 
 the energy and the eloquence" of man, is witnessed to, 
 and recorded in the Architecture, the Sculpture, the 
 Painting, and above all in the Libraries of Christendom. 
 As one has well and eloquently said : " to see the tri- 
 umph of tlie Faith over the world's wisdom, we must 
 enter those solemn cemeteries, in which are stored the 
 relics and the monuments of Faith, — the great libraries 
 of the world. Look along their shelves, and almost 
 every name you read there, is in one sense or another, a 
 trophy set up in record of the victories of Faith. How 
 many long lives, what high aims, what single minded 
 devotion, what intense contemplation, what fervent 
 prayer, what untiring diligence, what toilsome conflicts 
 has it taken to establish this supremacy." And all this 
 glorious mass of living thouglit, speaking in written 
 words or forms of art, widening in endless circles, sweep- 
 ing outward for eighteen hundred years, and swee})in"^ 
 outward still, has for its centre and its source, the Holy 
 Word of God. 
 
 Now this view, brief and meagre as it is, may serve 
 to show us what is the true position of even the humblest 
 
 *See Gibbon's own admission.
 
 16 
 
 Christian Scholar. In very deed lie is a " citizen of no 
 mean city." He is one in a brotherhood, second only 
 to that A\ liich is the iLillilment of all, and toward which 
 all others tend. 
 
 Grant that his place may be obscure, his sphere of 
 action limited. Yet he has a place, he has a sphere, and 
 in them he has a work to do, a holy mission to fulfill. 
 No man can live on earth — unless, that is, he utterly 
 withdraws himself from other men, and makes himself 
 what God never meant he should be, an isolated being, 
 — without in some way, generally in far more ways 
 than he can know or fancy, coming in contact with the 
 minds of other men. And that not casually now and 
 then, but habitually and continually. However few in 
 number then these minds may be, and however humble 
 in position, yet minds they are, and they form an immor- 
 tal page on which the Christian Scholar may inscribe 
 truths that shall live and work throughout eternity. For 
 in this respect the world of learning, is as the world of 
 nature. And as in the latter we see not only mighty 
 floods rolling; on for immense distances and throuo-h 
 widely spreading valleys, but find on more attentive ob- 
 servation, that many unknown streams and fountains, 
 each in its own secluded nook, doing its office and ad- 
 ding its portion, have gone to swell those floods ; even so 
 is it in the former, when there we look more intently 
 and with a deeper observation. For look at the body of 
 the learning of Christendom, not as a sluggish, inert, 
 lifeless mass, but as living, moving, acting : bearing in 
 some sense the relation to the human mind, which the 
 water docs to the solid parts of our globe, embracing
 
 17 
 
 nntl permeating it ; and then you shall see clearly and at 
 once how this is so. For consider some great mind, as 
 it floats down from age to age in ever increasing grand- 
 eur, bearing with it a body of collected thought and truth, 
 which leaves a leaven and a life-giving nourishment, in 
 all the intellectual region through which it goes. Look 
 carefully at it and long, not suffering your eye to be car- 
 ried onward with the sweep of the great flood, so that 
 you cannot pause along its shores, and you will see how 
 many other minds have added their part, and unknown, 
 unnamed have helped to swell the stream, which bears 
 the name of that master spirit who sent it forth, and 
 seems evermore to ride upon its waves. Nay, there are 
 many streams of truth that have gone forth from un- 
 known fountains, from minds that have seeminiily dwelt 
 apart from all intercourse of men, and all communion 
 with their age. 
 
 If I might venture on another illustration, 1 would 
 find it in those old Cathedrals which bear the name of 
 some one ruling mind which has finally given them 
 luiity and completeness ; while yet many minds have 
 been exercised, and many hands have wrought, and one 
 has added a shaft, and another a capital, and others 
 various carvings, all needful to the completeness of the 
 whole stupendous ])lan. So that did anc or could we 
 see the reality of things, not one name only would be 
 inscribed upon the mighty pile, but countless names 
 written on every part, would bear witness to the mass 
 of intellect and thought which had developed itself in 
 that vast, glorious whole. Consider in like manner 
 some one great work of learning, let it be in what de-
 
 18 
 
 partment you may choose, which bears, and bears right- 
 ly, his name who lias given it form and, in one sense, 
 being. Remember how many tliouglits and truths have 
 gone to its composition : not merely how many authori- 
 ties have been directly consulted, but how much derived 
 from intercourse with others, how many floating things 
 embodied whose origin is not known ; and you will see, 
 that though the work is truly his whose name it bears, 
 still upon all its pages might be written other names, 
 some kno\An and some unknown, who have directly or 
 indirectly, taught, or suggested, or contributed, in some 
 way or another. And when you carry on your view, 
 remembering all this, from one work, to the great body 
 of Christian learning, into which in the way just now 
 briefly sketched, the world's mind has issued, how count- 
 less shall seem the numbers who have brought their parts. 
 As in long and shadowy procession they return before 
 our fancy's eye, one bringing the solid squared founda- 
 tion stone, another the strong pillar, another the graceful 
 ornament, each his own portion diverse from the other, 
 we see amongst them not merely those whose forms we 
 recognise and whose names we speak, but many who 
 come humbly and in silence, content to bring their offer- 
 ing, and asking no higher honor than to be unknown 
 workmen ; and then we learn who and what they are 
 who have reared the vast temple of the learning and the 
 literature of Christendom. Then we learn his true 
 position who is, even in the smallest, humblest, most 
 obscure way, a sharer in perpetuating, carrying on, and 
 working out, this triumph of the Faith. For that if he 
 be only in the lowest form, if he have the fewest minds
 
 19 
 
 to work upon, the fewest triitlis and tlioiiijhts to give to 
 otiiers, still lie is adding something to the mass of living 
 thought, w hich will outlive him, and tell upon the minds 
 of men forever. As an unseen bell struck in the air sends 
 infinite vibrations round ; as an unseen blow upon the 
 water sends widening circles over all the surface, so his 
 words, if he speaks, shall move the intellectual atmos- 
 phere ; so the impression he makes in any way shall send 
 a sweeping widening motion through the world of mind. 
 Wherefore from all these things we conclude, that, the 
 lowliest Christian Scholar has a lofty station ; that he 
 should not under-estimate his position, even while he 
 takes, as if he be truly wise he will take, the most modest 
 estimation of himself; and that that position is second 
 only to the standing of the Hero-Saint. 
 
 But on a high position, two things ever wait : great 
 dangers, and lofty duties. Let me now, then, turn in 
 accordance with the plan proposed in the beginning, to 
 speak of these two things. 
 
 The Scholar's dangers, like those of any other class 
 of men, range themselves in two distinct groups. Those 
 that are necessary and nniversal : and those which are 
 peculiar to a generation or an age, and so pass away with 
 such an age or generation, to be succeeded by others, 
 more or less formidable as it may chance. For without 
 dangers may the Scholar never be, else could he never 
 be proved and tried. 
 
 Now perhaps of all dangers, the most imminent here 
 as well as elsewhere, is the danger of self-deception. 
 Indeed, it may be fairly (juestioned whether this be not 
 the essential element in all ; whether as error of some
 
 20 
 
 kind or another is the developed danger, so it may not 
 be that self-deception lies at the very foundation of the 
 whole matter. Be this however, as it may, and it cer- 
 tainly is a point which may well deserve the most atten- 
 tive consideration on the part of individuals, still I repeat 
 it, self-deception is an imminent danger attendant on the 
 position of the Christian Scholar. Self-deception, not 
 as to his own character, not as to his own spiritual pro- 
 gress, for that belongs to another and a higher phase of 
 his being ; but as to his proper duty, his intellectual 
 attainments, and in a word all his relations as a Scholar. 
 
 Let us look at one or two of the points of which what 
 lias been said holds good. Points which may be sugges- 
 tive of others, — for suggestion is all that one can hope to 
 accomplish in a matter, to treat of which fully, might 
 occupy volumes. Points, too, whicli may illustrate 
 what has just been advanced, and show that to speak 
 of the dangers of the Scholar, is not to exhibit a morbid 
 timorousness, but to take a right and honest view of 
 actual things. 
 
 Let us take, then, the ever present, ever pressing dan- 
 ger — which runs itself out into so many forms, and in 
 such various ways — that the Scholar will utterly mistake 
 his situation, his duties, his proper work. That he will 
 look upon himself as an isolated person, with few or no 
 relations to, and connexions with other men ; that he 
 will consider his duties all to lie within the round of hiis 
 own study, whence no voice need issue, no written 
 words be sent declaring the truth, which he may indeed 
 have found, but which he selfishly appropriates ; that he 
 will regard his work as all comprised in acquiring for
 
 21 
 
 himself, ill storing his own mind, and })laying certainly 
 in a rather more dignified way, the part of the grasping 
 miser. Now there are infinite varieties of this character, 
 each with its own nice shades and distinctive marks, 
 from the really hard-working man who toils and moils 
 on through life, touching no other mind because he with- 
 draws from all, and makes himself, utterly isolated and 
 alone ; down to the literary lounger, whose selfishness 
 and self-deception, run out in another and yet a very 
 similar channel. Yet infinitely various as these charac- 
 ters are, none of them are, none of them can be, respect- 
 able. The best we can but pity, the worst we must 
 despise. And still a man may begin his way as a true 
 Scholar, a Christian Scholar, and by yielding to this 
 self-deception, degenerate from one of these states of 
 character to another, until he who in the outset stood on 
 such glorious vantage ground, and moved amid such 
 companionships, may end his days, the literary trifler, 
 the wretched, despicable dilettante : no longer sitting in 
 honor and worth at the counsels of his Sovereign, but 
 become a miserable eunuch of the Palace. 
 
 Or even if things shall not reach this pass, still self- 
 deception as to what his real work should be, may ren- 
 der his labors next to useless, and make him feel, at 
 last, that his life has been as good as thrown away. 
 For the Scholar must work for the age in which he lives, 
 if he will work to any purpose. I do not say that he 
 must work loitk his age ; that depends upon a\ liether his 
 age is working rightly or no, but that he must work /or it. 
 That is, that the bent of his pursuits, the course of his 
 labors, the turn of his studies, must be determined by
 
 22 
 
 the intellectual and moral wants of the time and the peo- 
 ple in and amongst which his lot is cast. That his own 
 mere tastes, or fancies, are not alone to be constdted ; 
 that indeed to many fair and delightful walks of learning 
 it may become his bounden duty resolutely to close his 
 eyes, and from them to turn his steps ; not certainly as 
 undervaluing any : not as if he did not allow to each its 
 proper place and dignity, as forming a part of what is 
 all divine ; but as knowing that here as well as else- 
 where, there are opportunities for self-denial and self- 
 sacrilice. As knowing that in learning as well as life, 
 the finger of God directs, the voice of conscience orders, 
 and that both must be obeyed. To recur to an illustra- 
 tion which has been used before ; as it is with the pro- 
 gress of some vast architectural erection, so is it in this 
 matter. It is vain, it is worse than vain, when it is 
 time to lay the foundation deep and strong, to be en- 
 deavouring to pile the graceful pinnacle or rear the 
 slender shaft, or swing the vaulted roof. It is vain, it is 
 worse than vain, when it is time to strengthen with the 
 firm buttress weak and trembling walls, to attempt to 
 carry round those walls, unstrengthened and unsustained, 
 the light and carved parapet, or to rear upon them the 
 lofty spire. There is a time for all these various works ; 
 but to attempt to do them out of time is loss of labor, 
 and a hindcrance to the progress of the plan. So in all 
 learning. Each age has its work, clearly laid upon it, 
 distinctly pointed out: and the danger is not small, nay, 
 rather it is great, that the Scholar will choose his own 
 work rather than that which is laid before him, and 
 therefore fail and fall : saying at last, when self-decep- 
 tion ends, not I have lost a day, but I have lost my life.
 
 23 
 
 These two forms of sclf-dcccption on which we have 
 now been dwelling, have not been selected as being by 
 any means the most obvious ; though certainly they may 
 well be considered as among the most dangerous. 
 Rather it seemed desirable that when suggestion was all 
 which could possibly be accomplished, more recondite 
 and subtle forms should be selected : as thereby we 
 might perhaps be brought to feel how wide reaching, 
 and of what far extent the danger was. That it runs 
 itself out, not only in what one so often sees, and can- 
 not but sec to mourn, in the substitution of temporary 
 and selfish ends, personal trium})lis, or the achievement 
 of a brilliant reputation, instead of the advancement of 
 eternal and unchanging truth ; iu the propagation of 
 error ; in irreverent assumption or unscholarlike arro- 
 gance ; that not in these high obvious forms of ill alone 
 it finds its issue ; but in others, also, deeper and more 
 liidden, and therefore it may be, all the more dangerous. 
 Let these suggestions and these instances, serve then, to 
 illustrate that one, great, overwhelming danger, to which 
 at all times and in every age the Scholar is exposed ; 
 and against which every man who would not fail of run- 
 ning lawfully, and therefore lose his crown, is bound 
 most earnestly, most hcedfully to guard himself. And let 
 us no\v pass to a few thoughts upon other dangers, which 
 as I have said are not universal, but belong to peculiar 
 eras, being themselves peculiar and diverse. 
 
 A popular writer has said, that while in any situation 
 whatever, high or low, marked or obscure, it is a compar- 
 atively easy thing to be a man o/^ one's age, to be a man 
 for one's age, is ({uite another, and a much more diflicult
 
 24 
 
 matter. It is ah^'ays easy to swim with the cunent ; to 
 go ^^•hithcr what is called the spirit of the age will carry 
 one. And surely if that spirit is a right and true one, 
 and flowing onward toward such a point as one should 
 wish to reach, it is wise and well to go with it. But 
 how often is this not the case ; nay, how often is the 
 precise contrary the fact. And therefore while it is a 
 morbid and unhealthy feeling which concludes that the 
 animatinii- spirit of any age is always of necessity wrong 
 and evil ; it is quite as morbid and quite as unhealthy a 
 one, only in another way, which, — misinterpreting the 
 sentence, divine when truly understood, that speaks of 
 the people's voice, meaning the real utterances of human- 
 ity, as being instinct with divinity, — concludes that the 
 course of the aire is alwavs rie;ht. That the Scholar 
 may not sometimes be called by every duty, and every 
 responsibily to set himself in opposition to it, to denounce 
 it, to make it anathema, to struggle manfully against its 
 current, even to his own overwhelming and destruction. 
 
 It follows then, that the tendencies of any age may 
 be evil ; it is fair and wise to believe that there will al- 
 ways be evil ones among them : for surely he must be a 
 most unshaken optimist who can think otherwise ; these 
 evil tendencies bring dangers as to other men, so es- 
 pecially to the Scholar ; and these dangers are those 
 which I have called the dangers of an era, in contradis- 
 tinction from those which attach to every possible epoch 
 of the history of man. 
 
 As a further illustration of these positions, let us con- 
 sider a twofold danger, — for dangers are mostly twofold 
 in their character, — which attaches to our age ; and
 
 25 
 
 which presents a ])roblcin that the Schohir must solve, 
 thoughtfully and carefully unless he be w illing to go on 
 at random, in which case he does not deserve his apella- 
 tion. The danger is, that he will on the one hand give 
 nothing, or on the other everything to the past : and the 
 problem to be decided is, of course, precisely how much 
 should be given to it. The danger on the one hand is 
 certainly very clear and obvious. Self distrust, distrust 
 of the present, reverent turning to catch the voices of 
 other days as they float solemnly down the course of 
 ages, these are obviously not so charactcristical of our 
 age and country as to warrant any great anxiety that 
 the claims of the present on our regard will be lightly 
 cast aside. A superficial and encyclopedic, and review- 
 ing age, is always self confident. And a self confident 
 age, is of course in its relations to the past always 
 in danger of going to the extreme of forgetfulness : 
 which forgetfulness it finds it easy to account for, by 
 various theories of progress, or development, or what- 
 ever men may choose to call them. Indeed it has gen- 
 erally seemed enough, — so pressing has this danger been 
 considered, so imminent in truth has it really been, — 
 it has generally been considered quite sufficient to con- 
 demn it in general terms. Nor has it seemed a matter of 
 importance how general those terms were, provided 
 only that they were sufficiently strong and startling. 
 
 But is there not a danger too on the other hand ? I 
 do not mean a danger that we shall reverence and es- 
 teem the past too much, for if the past be rightly es- 
 timated that can scarcely be ; but that we shall fall into 
 an unreal, untrue, dreamy way of looking at the past
 
 26 
 
 itself, and tlicrcfore incur tlie evil when we least expect 
 it. There certainly is such a thing as the mere blind 
 worship of the formal past : there is such a thing as 
 attempting to force over the body of some living, un- 
 changing, eternal principle of truth, some antiquated 
 guise which it does not need to wear, to throw around 
 it old externals, which are not of the essence of its 
 being. And this is playing at scholarship and learning ; 
 this is unreal, hollow and untrue, a mimic pageantry, a 
 soulless mascjueradc. I trust that I may not be misun- 
 derstood. 1 do not speak of divine institutions but of 
 human ones, or of human applications of those that 
 are divine. I am not advocating the doctrines of that 
 wretched pantheistic view of human history, which 
 makes the highest and the holiest things that God has 
 given men, but mere ideas, to be developed by the exer- 
 cise of human intellect, into something or into nothing ; 
 which makes succeeding ages to create new principles 
 which former ages had not ; and declares that change in 
 essence and not change in form, of truth, is the law 
 which regulates the course of time. All this is one 
 thing. But to say that principles arc few and truth is 
 one ; and that the Scholar must beware lest in avoiding 
 the extreme of not finding these principles and that 
 truth, living and working in most instructive wase in all 
 at least of the Christian past, he shall fall into another 
 quite as evil, of mistaking their external garb, their out- 
 ward expressions for the things themselves, what has this 
 to do with that hardy spirit which changes at will the in- 
 stitutions of our Goi) ? With that pantheistic philosophy 
 which confounds substance and accident, essence and
 
 27 
 
 form, spirit and matter, God and man ? What is this 
 more tlian to say, that we must not mistake the body of 
 the boy, or of the grown up man, or of the saint per- 
 fected, for that undying soul, which gives to each its all 
 of life and glory ? 
 
 And how great too is the danger lest the Scholar 
 may fall into an even more unreal and dreamy way of 
 looking at the past. For the temper of the Scholar 
 which he must cultivate and cherish, is the Historical 
 Temper, and this may be perverted to a most evil 
 purpose. The present, rough, harsh, angular, with all 
 that is disagreeable standing out from it most prominent- 
 ly, is all about us. It grates upon us, its corners wound 
 and lacerate, it is homely and wears a stern and every 
 day aspect, it forbids and it discourages. Not small 
 then is the temptation to turn away from it, and en- 
 deavour, as it is said, — though what is meant by it is very 
 difficult to see, — endeavour to liv^e in the past. To in- 
 dulge fond regrets for glories faded and for majesties 
 gone by, and instead of looking resolutely at what lies 
 about and before one, to cast back longing looks upon the 
 distant landscape, sun-gilt or clothed in rosy flush of 
 light, soft, slumberous, silent and obscure. To shut 
 one's ears to the harsh tones of men around one, and to 
 seek to live with those alone, with whom indeed the 
 Scholar must live much, but may not live entirely, whose 
 voices murmur gently from the sepulchre, or seem to 
 swell in solemn strains of mchidy from the far distant 
 skies. But this is wretched : this is ini worthy of a 
 man, and most unworthy of a Scholar. For sure we 
 may be, " that the man over whom present wants, prcs-
 
 28 
 
 ent duties, and present facts have no vigorous influence, 
 is the very worst qualified man for apprehending by-gone 
 wants, by-gone duties, by-gone facts." He wants 
 truthfuhiess, and that is the very foundation of the 
 Scholar's character. And beside, what man in his 
 senses, can ever be sighing in this way after past periods, 
 be they never so glorious, never so fully inscribed with 
 names that bare the brow and make the pulses swell ? 
 Let us know what it is we do if we do this. " If we 
 ask that the age in which St. Paul preached may come 
 again, we ask also that Nero may come back. If we ask 
 that we may be transported back to the glorious period 
 of Athanasius, we ask to live under the tyrant Constan- 
 tius ; to have the world almost wholly Pagan, the 
 Church almost wholly Arian. If we long to sit at the 
 feet of Chrysostom, we long for the infamous corrup- 
 tions of Antioch and of Constantinople. If we reckon 
 that it would have been a blessing to live and die under 
 the teaching of Augustine, we must be content to see 
 Rome sacked by one set of Barbarians, and the Church 
 in Africa threatened by another : we must get our learn- 
 ing from a race of effete rhetoricians, and dwell amid all 
 the seductions and abominations of Manicheism." And 
 if it were thus vain and evil to have the ages themselves 
 return in reality and life, how much more vain, because 
 unreal and unmeaning, for a man to endeavour to throw 
 himself into them in any other way than as a seeker after 
 truth, and try to live there. Who can do it, or even wish to 
 doit, who believes that life is what it is, an earnest, awful 
 struggle with and for realities, and not a fleeting dream ? 
 No doubt the sculptor would have consulted his ease
 
 29 
 
 and pleasure ; no doubt liis visions of beauty would have 
 been as high, had he dreamed over them inactively, and 
 never applied his hand to fashion the rude, rough, shape- 
 less mass of stone. But where then would have been 
 the form which leads and teaches other minds, and im- 
 bues countless spirits in the course of ages with the love 
 and the sense of the beautiful or the sublime. Oh no ! 
 life is no dream, learning is no dream, the past is no 
 dream but as we shall make them so. And woe to the 
 man who tries to make them so. Woe to the Scholar 
 who dreams when he should work : who vainly tries to 
 re-create the past, when he should help to inform and 
 mould the present, on and by all which that past has 
 gathered in a long and glorious array, of truth and hero- 
 ism, of grace and strength, of grandeur and of beauty. 
 
 But time forbids me to dwell longer on a field of 
 thought which spreads and widens as we advance into 
 it, and I leave it to speak briefly of the Scholar's duty. 
 
 And what is to be said here, has been of necessity 
 somewhat anticipated in that which has already been 
 advanced. Because to speak of dangers, is impliedly 
 at least to speak of duties also. I may perhaps sum up 
 the Scholar's duty in two words : that he must be a prac- 
 tical man But in using these words, care must be taken 
 lest they shall be misunderstood. In speaking of the 
 Scholar as a practical man, I do not by any means annex 
 such a signification to the words, as is annexed to them 
 by the men of a narrow minded and money getting age, 
 or generation, whose highest aspirations are to sum their 
 temporal estates in a line of six figures, and whose best 
 literature are day books and Icgcrs. All this is well in its
 
 30 
 
 place; nay more, it is not to be treated with contempt; but 
 when w'e are speaking of Scholarship and Scholars, it 
 is not to be suffered to come into the account. There, 
 the practical man is not the man who can drive the 
 shrewdest bargain ; or who is most skilled in getting 
 through the world with the greatest possible advantage 
 to himself, and the least possible to every body else ; or 
 who can shew himself most at home in the ordinary 
 walks and intercourses of every day life. Not such a 
 man as this is the practical Scholar. But he is the man, 
 who when he comes in contact with another mind, has 
 power to give that mind a bent, an impulse, a lofty tone, 
 a high direction, an earnest ardor, and to impart to it 
 something in the way of knowledge, as well as to wake 
 it to a deeper, fuller, truer life. But who shall be, who 
 shall make himself such a man ? He who realises to 
 the full that glorious position of the Christian Scholar, 
 he who avoids the dangers attendant on that position, 
 to which your attention has been called. He and none 
 other shall gain every point. Will he slight learning, 
 will he turn away from the treasures of the past, and 
 suffer himself to fall into the wretched, unmeaning talk 
 one often hears about book-worms and book-learning ? 
 Will he neglect his own mind, and take no care to fill it 
 with all knowledge which he can, ever directing his 
 pursuit of knowledge by the wants of the age and peo- 
 ple ill and amongst which he lives ? Such a man is not 
 a practical Scholar. Do men call an artificer practical 
 if he does not know his trade ; and would it not be 
 prima facie evidence against him, were his shop found 
 utterly unfurnished, and presenting to him who came to
 
 31 
 
 sec, a floor witli nothing on it, girt about with four bare 
 walls ? Sow ith the Scholar's mind. If it be not stored, 
 and well stored, he will be a man trying to work without 
 instruments and means : his natural capacities may be 
 what you please, and the greater they are, the more 
 conspicuous will be his failure. To store well, then, is 
 the first part, the very foundation of that Scholar's duty 
 who would be a really and truly practical man. And in 
 storing let him not forget the rule so applicable to his 
 work, 
 
 Omne tulit pundum, qui miscuit utile dulci. "For," 
 says Bishop Hurd, "the unnatural sc])aration of the duke 
 and the utile, has done almost as much hurt in letters, as 
 that of the honestum and utile, which Tully somewhere 
 complains of, in morals. For while the polite writer, 
 as he is called, contents himself with the former of these 
 qualities, and the man of erudition with the latter, it 
 comes to pass as the same author expresses it, that the 
 learned are deficient in popular eloquence, and the elo- 
 quent fail in finished scholarship."' 
 
 But again ; for thus far we have but viewed the half of 
 the Scholar's duty. The other half is to use \\'hat has 
 been gained, by bringing it so to bear on other minds, as 
 that some mark, how humble soever, shall still be left on 
 them ; some impulse given ; something in a word im- 
 parted. To recur to our illustration, homely indeed 
 but still significant, as without knowledge and instru- 
 ments the artificer cannot work, so knowledge and in- 
 struments arc all in vain to one who folds his hands and 
 will not. This state is I suppose what they have in 
 
 ^Hurd's Horace. Note on the Ars Poclica.
 
 32 
 
 view, wlio talk of learned leisure and literary ease. 
 That state of "judicial, magisterial, collegiate, parochi- 
 al or private efflorescence," in which the vegetative pro- 
 cess advances with a solemn dignity of progress, a grace- 
 ful ease of growth; and the glorious termination of 
 whose course, is, that its decay may possibly enrich the 
 soil on which it has brooded like an incubus, giving 
 neither shade nor ornament, flower nor fruit. But one 
 would hope that the growth of a mushroom was not the 
 type of the progress of a Scholar. 
 
 In truth, as we see, the Scholar's duty is two-fold ; 
 and let us say with reverence and awe, that it finds its 
 perfect pattern, where the pattern of all life, and all its 
 parts is found, in that most awful life which the world 
 has ever seen, which itself real, presents also the true 
 ideal, — the life of Him, who being very God, was also 
 very man. Alone with the Father, and then mingling 
 with men ; such was that awful, most mysterious life, 
 in which the pantheists of our day see so little, that they 
 can put its spirit on a level with the art of Greece, and 
 with the law of Rome ;^ but in which the true souls of 
 other days, and the noblest of our own, see the true 
 model of the truest life of every living man, be he who, 
 or what, or where he may. Alone and then with men ; 
 such was the life of Christ; such must be the Christian's 
 life ; such too must be the life of the Christian Scholar. 
 Alone in those still hours of thought and study, in which, 
 even as Virgil guided Dante only under the direction of 
 Beatrice, so human learning leads him on only under the 
 
 'So Micholet in his blasphemous book callftd " The People." The 
 sentiment has bceu echoed ou this side of the Atlainic.
 
 33 
 
 guidance of his holy Faith : in whicli, with all low, pal- 
 try notions of aggrandisement or of gaining reputation 
 cast away, with all veils of self-deception torn aside, his 
 one only object has been to gain a deeper hold on deep, 
 eternal truth ; in which the great ends of life have been 
 in solemn vision clear before his eyes, and he has remem- 
 bered that that man cannot study well, who does not 
 devoutly pray and discipline himself, since the being 
 most like Satan which the world can show, is the man 
 of trained intellect and of untrained heart; alone in hours, 
 over-brooded by these things and thoughts, he has labour- 
 ed to acquire knowledge, princii)lcs, truths, needful for 
 himself, needful for other men. The world has seen in 
 liim the shrinking trembler, the dreamer of some dream, 
 the unreal man, knowing little or nothing of his kind. 
 But he knows that no man who has not silently studied 
 himself, can know other men : that the best and truest 
 knowledge of humanity they have gained who have best 
 known themselves : and that the cloistered saint has a 
 deeper insight into human nature, than the world's busy 
 man. He knows his ends and purposes, and he bides 
 his time, patiently, meekly, but firmly and with unshaken 
 heart. 
 
 That time will come. It may be long in coming, but 
 he can afford to wait ; for they are men of little plans 
 and paltry ends, who hurry and bustle about the world. 
 And w hen it does come, when the voice of God is heard 
 to call, and conscience clearly points, then he goes forth, 
 in a greater or a smaller sphere of action, yet great or 
 small still glorious, and then he is with men, and from 
 that time forth his twofold life alternates with itself.
 
 34 
 
 Working for the age, he strives to correct its errors 
 mainly by endeavoring to infuse positive truth ; to advance 
 all in it that is good and true ; to fight manfully against 
 that form, be it what it may, under which Satan attacks 
 the truth of God, and in a word to stand in the position, 
 to keep himself from the dangers, and to discharge the 
 duties of a Christian Scholar. 
 
 Especially, as I have said, will he labor to discover, 
 for he is quite sure that it exists, the mode which in his 
 day, the attack of the adversary will assume, against 
 that Faith whose defence is the highest form of his 
 vocation. The mode varies. Now it is direct assault ; 
 now it is insinuation ; and again it is imitation. This 
 last is the mode of our day : it is evident in all the litera- 
 ture of whatsoever kind, which certain sections of the 
 intellectual world are sending forth ; and to correct, or 
 at least to expose and denounce which, is therefore the 
 bounden duty of the Christian Scholar.^ 
 
 And surely on such duties well discharged, high honor 
 wahs. Surely the place and work of him who faith- 
 fully performs them, who manfully goes through them, 
 is but inferior to theirs who minister the word and sacra- 
 ments of Christ ; nay it waits on and seconds their high 
 service ; and in its self-humiliation is exalted beyond all 
 other human things. Surely the work of binding men 
 in intellectual brotherhood, in the participation of truth, 
 is next to that which binds^in the sweet unities of Chris- 
 tian Charity their higher souls. For so it is, that the 
 
 'It was obviously impossible to enter fully into this peculiar phase of the 
 infidelity of our day, which, as a late writer has said, "derived from the 
 Jew Spinoxa, bids fair to divide the realms of thought with the Christian 
 Faith." 1 would refer to an article on Pantheistic Teudeucies, iu the 
 April No. of the Christian Remembrancer, 1846.
 
 35 
 
 Cherub's holy knowledge, yields primacy and precedence 
 to nothing, but the Seraph's ardent love. 
 
 Gentlemen : 
 
 I have thus spoken, how imperfectly no one can be 
 half so sensible as I am, on that high and holy theme, 
 so naturally suggested by the circumstances under which 
 we have assembled. For indeed it is a theme that over- 
 tasks one's powers, making him feel that where so much 
 is of necessity left unsaid, he has said next to nothing : 
 where an angel's voice might be honored in its utterance, 
 he can have said but slenderly and meanly what he has. 
 Yet happily, the very circumstances which suggest, do 
 also themselves address us with a force and power which 
 no words can reach ; an eloquence which, voiceless 
 though it may be, yet thrills directly to the heart. 
 
 These old familiar scenes, recalling other days, wdiose 
 depth of meaning, whose exceeding value, w hose bearing 
 on our future life, we could not know, and scarcely could 
 imagine ; these stirrings of the heart as hands are grasped 
 at this brief meeting of long severed friends, or words 
 exchanged which tell of others gone ; the names of 
 those departed worthies, which in yonder halls are now 
 as household words to us; that honored name^ joined 
 with theirs in a union w hich shall outlast the stones that 
 there are piled, the name of him our Founder, around 
 whose venerable presence cluster for so many of us the 
 deepest, holiest memories of all our lives, the memories 
 of vows uttered on earth and registered in heaven ; — 
 
 ^The College buildings bear the names of the three Bishops of Connec- 
 ticut: Seabury, Jarvis, aud Browucil.
 
 3G 
 
 God grant that for many a long year as hither we come 
 up, that presence may make gkid our eyes and hearts ; — 
 and more perhaps than all, that sacred Name which has 
 for many a long century summed up the Christian faith, 
 and now has given a new and glorious consecration to our 
 mother's homes ; all these I say, address us here. All 
 these, repeat the solemn exhortation which was given us 
 when we were severally from this place sent forth to 
 enter on the work of life. We cannot choose but listen 
 to them. We cannot choose but feel them. But let us do 
 more. Let us obey them. Let us resolve, that be we 
 what else we may, we will each in our place and as God 
 gives us power, we will be Christian Scholars. And 
 that in all our way, whether of silent study and solitary 
 thought, or in our minglings with men where study bears 
 its fruit, and thought performs its work on other minds, 
 our constant changeless rule, shall be the noble motto of 
 our College, 
 
 FOR THE CHURCH AND FOR OUR COUNTRY.^ 
 jPro Ecclcsid et Patri.3,. The Legend on tlae College Seal.
 
 1^ 
 
 ^Ijc Uu0ccu lUitucsscs. 
 
 A POEM 
 
 DELIVERED R E F O U E THE 
 
 ASSOCIATION OF THE ALUMNI 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 IN 
 
 CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, AUG. 5, 1816. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. THOMAS P. TYLER, A. M., 
 
 RECTOR OF TRINITY CHURCH, FREDONIA, N. Y, 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 WILLIAM FAXON, 
 
 CALENDAR PRESS. 
 1846. 
 
 s— — ~ — a;
 
 
 *^* At a meeting of the Association of the Alumni, held Aug. 
 5th, 1846, it was 
 
 " Resolved, That the thanks of the Association be presented to 
 the Rev. Mr. Tyler, for his Poem delivered this afternoon, and 
 that the Officers of the Association be a Committee to request a 
 copy for publication." 
 
 Attest, GURDON W. RUSSELL, Secretary. 
 
 s 
 
 
 as-
 
 ^— ^ — ^ 
 
 THE UNSEEN WITNESSES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Darkness enwrapt the Earth ere its first morn, 
 The Spirit moved upon the waters' face, 
 
 The Word went forth ; a new creation, born 
 Of Water and the Spirit, bore the trace 
 Of God's perfections ; nor can Time efface 
 
 Those lineaments divine on it impressed ; 
 The Invisible revealed in light and grace ! 
 
 Still to the reverent gaze of angels blessed, 
 What then it was, the Eternal Son made manifest. 
 
 II. 
 
 Leaves have not faded ; still upon the skies, 
 The glowing sunsets of this land of ours, 
 
 Its summer foliage, and the thousand dies 
 Which tint its earlier, and its later flowers, 
 The bow of promise smiling thro' its showers, 
 
 On all about us, day and night, are seen 
 
 All Eden's hues ; nor in those happy bowers 
 
 Moved forms of softer grace, or manlier mien. 
 Than now, in breathing life, arc round us here, I ween. 
 
 ^-
 
 SJ . ^ 
 
 i THE UNSEEN WITNESSES. 
 
 III. 
 
 Darkness enwrapt the Earth, and moral night; 
 
 The Word went forth, tlic Incarnate God, once more, 
 Saying, with human lips, "Let there be light ;" 
 
 And as Judea's land, and Jordan's shore 
 
 He meekly trod, the Spirit as of yore 
 Was there creative, and to angels blessed, 
 
 More wonderful than aught beheld before, 
 The Church appeared, in heavenly beauty dressed, 
 To be on Earth for aye, the Christ inadc manifest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A new creation, out from chaos born 
 Of Water and the Spirit, bore the trace 
 
 Of His redeeming Love ; and from that morn 
 When He departed to prepare a place 
 For His elect, abide its gifts of grace ; 
 
 Nor ages dark with violence and crime 
 Can its unearthly character efface, 
 
 To His baptized a theatre sublime, 
 Where each must win, or lose, the battle-field of Time. 
 
 The sons of God in one communion bound ! 
 
 Regenerate all from their blessed infancy; 
 The heavenly host its sacred pale around 
 
 Keep watch and ward ; and look most earnestly 
 
 For what each christened one will do and be ; 
 Nor are we careless of their loving gaze. 
 
 Since He who beckons us to victory 
 Thro' scenes of labor here, and suffering's ways, 
 Hath said ' make friends of them,' in these your trial days. 
 
 »~
 
 SJ J2 
 
 j THE (JNSEEN WITNESSES. 5 
 
 ( 
 
 i 
 
 I VI. 
 
 They see not as we see ; before our sight 
 
 The veil of flesh remaining, wo behold 
 The human only, and the earnest fight 
 
 Waged by the few, the zealous and the bold, 
 
 For God's own truth on Earth, while faint and cold 
 The many are ; and some we trusted most 
 
 Around us fall, or flee, tho' sworn to hold 
 Aloft the banners of the Christian host, 
 Sworn 'neath those words of power, "Receive the Holy Ghost." 
 
 vn. 
 
 They see not as we see ; but as of eld 
 
 The prophet's servant, at his lord's desire, 
 
 With eyes unveiled, the spirit host beheld 
 
 Circling the mountain with their ranks of fire, 
 As Judah's shepherds saw the heavenly choir, 
 
 As Jordan's crowds the Holy Dove descending. 
 As raitre-tongueS of flame the twelve inspire, — 
 
 But glimpses these, of glory never ending, 
 The Church of God for aye, in angels' eyes attending. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 At holy font 7oe see the mother mild, 
 
 The ministering priest with surpliced arms receive 
 
 And sign, in Jesus' name, th' unconscious child ; 
 But they behold all we thro' faith believe, 
 Or haply, at our want of faith may grieve, 
 
 As from on high above each christen'd one 
 The Heavenly Dove descending they perceive 
 
 And hear the Father say, ' this is my son' — 
 A child of God new born ! an endless life bccfun ! 
 
 ^ ^
 
 J 6 THE UNSEEN ^yITNESSES. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And from that hour they watch our onward way, 
 
 Thro' boyhood's careless scenes ; the many snares 
 That round our youth deceitful pleasures lay; 
 
 The manlier duties, and the sterner cares ; 
 
 The part, or great, or humble, in the affairs 
 Of this full world, that manhood must sustain ; 
 
 The burden which old age in weakness bears ; 
 The ceaseless strife thro' weariness and pain, 
 "Which each must wage and win, the immortal crown to gain. 
 
 X. 
 
 They see not as we see ; for in our eyes 
 
 The fleeting things of Earth, its pomp and show, 
 
 Such glories as from stirring deeds arise, 
 Such honors as from wealth or genius flow, 
 Make wide the difference of high and low. 
 
 But in their sight of equal dignity 
 
 Is every contest here for weal or woe, 
 
 And equal honor shall their portion be, 
 Who make of them on eartli, friends for eternity. 
 
 XI. 
 
 In varied form life's trial comes to each, 
 
 To be of varied powers the appointed test, 
 To knit and nerve the spirit's strength, or teach 
 
 Patient submission to the Lord's behest ; 
 
 And he the bravest fights who filleth best 
 The place and ministry assigned to him. 
 
 Nor hath a christened soul on earth possessed 
 A nobler field; nor do the cherubim, 
 Who chaunt before God's throne the high trisagion hymn ! 
 
 ^ ^
 
 -a 
 
 THE UNSEEN WITNESSES. 
 
 xir. 
 
 The paths of some seem nobler : in the youth 
 
 Of this our happy country, there was one 
 Who too was young ; precepts of heavenly truth, 
 
 And honor high, the mother taught her son ; 
 
 And wealth was liis ; and early manhood won 
 A soldier's fame ; and when at length this land 
 
 Its noble strife for victory begun, 
 The leader of her host, his heart and hand 
 Were hers, till millions freed victorious saw him stand. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And mammon's richest prize, a conqueror's crown. 
 Seemed in his reach ; but nobler, he preferred 
 
 The better part, the patriot's pure renown ; 
 And long thro' after years his guiding word, 
 In council now, as erst in battle heard, 
 
 Led on this land, thro' honor's path to fame ; 
 
 And added States, and myriad hearts are stirred 
 
 With love and pride, that all alike may claim 
 The glorious heritage of his unsullied name ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 On a wide theatre he fought and won ; 
 
 A world admiring paused his course to view ; 
 And when, at length, his earthly work was done, 
 
 And his great spirit from our sight withdrew, 
 
 To those immortal ones unseen, who knew, 
 And watched his path, and marked his victory. 
 
 We know that they, far more than we could do, 
 Revered, esteemed, and loved him — know that ho, 
 Of all God's radiant host made friends eternally.
 
 m ■ ^ 
 
 S THE UNSEEN WITNESSES. | 
 
 XV. 
 
 There was another, — there are many such — 
 He had no wealth, not even of the mind, 
 
 Save rude ideas of right and truth, — as much 
 As they can teach or learn, like him confined 
 To ceaseless toil : — all things on earth combined 
 
 To place him in the humblest, hardest lot, 
 Whereon the sun of fortune never shined : 
 
 By man o'erlooked ; by God he seemed forgot. 
 Seemed in sore need to pray, to one who answered not. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 There never dawned prosperity for him, 
 
 Nor hope of better days; but darker yet 
 Were threatening ever, as his eye grew dim, 
 
 And strength decayed; or sickness came, and debt. 
 
 Small in itself, but hardly to be met 
 By one who scarcely dared to turn aside 
 
 From ill paid toil for daily bread, to wet 
 With bitter tears the face of one who died 
 Lest they — the rest — should starve, who on that toil relied. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Temptations fierce beset that man throughout, 
 To murmur oft at heaven's resistless will ; 
 
 Or if there were a Providence to doubt, 
 
 Who could this teeming world with plenty fill 
 While he and his must suifer on, and till 
 
 Another's soil unthankcd ; or right, or wrong, 
 vSomc hours of wild forgetfulness of ill 
 
 To snatch from fate, amid the impious throng 
 Who drown all thought of God, in wine and mirth and song. 
 
 38-—
 
 K~ 
 
 IS. 
 
 THE UNSEEN WITNESSES. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And yet he triumphed ; an unbroken heart, 
 
 A kindly spirit bearing to the end ; 
 Unmurmuring resignation to the part 
 
 Of earthly sorrow, God was pleased to send ; 
 
 A stern integrity, which naught could bend ; 
 Unfaultcring trust, and never ceasing prayer 
 
 To Him he knew the friendless could befriend : 
 In darkest hours, undoubting, to His care 
 Commending those beloved, he calmly left them there. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And when his spirit, disciplined and tried, 
 And faithful unto death, at length withdrew 
 
 To those who long his toilsome path beside 
 Had watched invisible, and saw and knew, 
 Far more that we on earth could ever do 
 
 Of conflicts fierce wherein he did not yield, 
 Think you this life, so manly and so true, 
 
 Less to their love and confidence appealed, 
 Than his who fought that fight upon a broader field ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 "We know not yet what depth of meaning lies 
 
 In those deep meaning words, the promising 
 Of riches true, of crowns and dignities 
 
 To them in this life-warfare conquering ; 
 
 But surely, as eternity shall fling 
 Its ages round them both, as both have striven 
 
 With equal strength in lots so diftbring, 
 An equal sphere to both shall there be given, 
 Mid thrones, dominions, principalities of heaven I 
 
 »- 
 
 '»
 
 I 10 THE UNSEEN WITNESSES^ 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Of little worth a human life appears, 
 
 A round of duties dying with the day ; 
 And when by scenes like these we count our years, 
 
 Reminding us anew how far away 
 
 From youth and college days our footsteps stray ; 
 When there, where once a busy part we bore 
 
 We are forgotten ; — all things seem to say 
 How quickly will our earthly life be o'er, 
 And they who fill our place, remember us no more ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet on ! with higher hope and better cheer ! 
 
 What tho' our manhood passeth rapidly, 
 And our best years accomplish nothing here 
 
 But seems with us to share tho destiny 
 
 To die and be forgotten: — Let us be 
 In these our few things faithful, and no fame 
 
 Of earth shall equal ours, tho' history 
 Unites its many voices to proclaim 
 Abroad from age to age, a favorite hero's name. 
 
 xxrii. 
 
 The first creation, — earth, and skies, which seem 
 A veil translucent drawn before God's throne, 
 
 Surround us here; and 'twas no baseless dream 
 Of olden time ; nor poet's myth alono 
 Which saw in all a spirit ; and would own 
 
 A deity in every breeze that stirred, 
 
 A god who ruled the sea, and one whose tone 
 
 From high Olympus in the storm was heard ; 
 There is a God in all — our God — the Eternal Word !
 
 THE UNSEEN WITNESSES. 11 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And by His presence, Lo ! this sphere of earth, 
 The place whereon we tread is holy ground ! 
 
 And holier far the place of our new-birth, 
 
 Where He with joy receives the lost and found. 
 And Angel-ministers our paths surround ; 
 
 Where great results make all our doings great. 
 And daily tasks, to which our lives are bound, 
 
 May win us crowns they cannot emulate, 
 Who watch us here unseen, and for our coming wait. 
 
 K ^
 
 Collegiate (Sbn cation. 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 PROXOUXCED BEFORE 
 
 THE HOUSE OF CONVOCATION, 
 
 OP 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 HARTFORD, 
 
 AUGUST 4th, 1847. 
 
 BY THE llEV. J. M. WAINWRIGHT, D. D., 
 
 ASSISTANT MI.MSTGR OF TKI^•ITY CHURCH, NEW YORK, AND FEIXOW OF TRINITY COLXXCr. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY ORDER OF CONVOCATION. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 PRESS or CASE, TIFFANY & BURN HAM. 
 1847.
 
 Edidi qu^ potui, non ut volui, sed ut me temporis 
 ANGUSTiJE COEGERUNT. — Cic. de Orat. Lib. iii. Cap. Gl.
 
 ADDEESS. 
 
 Mr. Dean, and Gentlemen of the House of Convo- 
 cation, 
 
 The statute of the Coi'poration of Trinity College, 
 under the authority of which we are now met together, 
 eminently liberal and wise in its inception, appears to me 
 already to be giving proof of its beneficial operation. 
 Heretofore the literary festival we are about to celebrate, 
 has attracted us from our distant homes and various pur- 
 suits to testify our respect for this seminary of learning, 
 and our sympathy with the young brethren who are to 
 receive its honors ; and, at the same time, to enjoy 
 amongst ourselves the pleasures of social intercourse. 
 But I feel confident that I speak your sentiments when I 
 say that we are now drawn hither by an additional and 
 even a higher motive ; and that we are prepared to man- 
 ifest a much warmer love for Trinity College, and a far 
 deeper interest in its welfare than we have ever felt be- 
 fore, in consequence of the trust with which we have 
 been honored, and in view of the duty which that tnist 
 calls upon us to discharge. As the House of Convoca- 
 tion, we have a distinct being in connexion with the Col- 
 lege, and are recognized as having a constituent depart- 
 ment in the management of its concerns. We are not, 
 indeed, endowed with any positive legislative or execu- 
 tive authority, for no such could well be delegated to us ; 
 but our advice is solicited upon measures which involve 
 the best interests of the institution, and we have every
 
 assurance that our recommendations will receive always 
 most respectful consideration from the other house of the 
 Senatus Academicus, the Corporation.* 
 
 I anticipate from this new arrangement a very marked 
 and quick return of favorable results ; and I cannot but 
 congratulate you, gentlemen, and all who have been in- 
 strumental in bringing it about, that this important for- 
 ward movement in collegiate life in our country can claim 
 this institution as its starting place. The sons of this 
 college can no longer feel, that when they have completed 
 the four years of their academic life, and have received 
 their first degree in arts, they are then severed from their 
 Alma Mater, and that thenceforward nothing more can 
 be expected from them than to cherish a grateful recol- 
 lection of her. She will not permit them thus to be cut 
 loose from her. She solicits them to change the tie of 
 discipline and instruction, sometimes perchance painful 
 or irksome, into a bond of love, which shall draw them 
 frequently to come and revive pleasing and profitable as- 
 sociations, and bring with them offerings of filial gratitude. 
 Thus the annual return of the commencement season, 
 while it will offer to a greater extent even than before, 
 the opportunity for social intercourse between the com- 
 panions of former days, will become a stated occasion for 
 grave conference, and for friendly and truth-finding de- 
 bate upon the all-important subject of education. Are 
 we over sanguine in the belief that the results of a counsel 
 thus gathered from widely distant sections of our land, 
 from all the varied pursuits of life, and from the contrasted 
 experience of the young and the aged alumnus ; and these 
 maturely weighed and modified, if need be, by the upper 
 
 • As this address may possibly fall into the hands of those who are not 
 acquainted with Trinity College and its organization, and who niay feel 
 some interest in knowing about it, I have thought it expedient to put 
 into an Appendix, a brief statement, taken from the College Calendar for 
 1847.
 
 house, will recloimd to the honor and usefulness of our 
 seminary, and will preserve it from being justly obnox- 
 ious to the charge of falling behind the age, or of opposing 
 any real and well tested improvement which the spirit of 
 the age may suggest ? 
 
 Upon the occasion of the first public meeting of this 
 body last year, there could not have been selected a sub- 
 ject of discourse more appropriate than the one to which 
 your attention was directed.* How fully, clearly, and 
 eloquently it was treated, and how great the satisfaction 
 and instruction those of us who had the privilege of being 
 present derived from it, I need not say. Assembled once 
 again as " Christian Scholars,^'' I cannot doubt that we 
 are all anxious to discharge, as opportunity may bring 
 them up, the various duties which that favored character 
 has devolved upon us. Adverting, then, to our new posi- 
 tion as members of this Convocation, a prominent duty, 
 here and noio, seems to me to point us to our connexion 
 with colleariate life. Our thouo-hts and conversation at 
 our annual gathering beneath these classic shades are 
 naturally directed to this class of reminiscences, and 
 hence the principles upon which collegiate education and 
 discipline should be conducted will as naturally present to 
 us a subject for discussion. At least I will venture to say 
 that I hope this will follow as one of the signal benefits of 
 our organization. 
 
 So impressed am I with the importance of this pros- 
 pective result in its happy influence upon the well-being 
 ot this seminary, and also in exciting inquiry and extend- 
 ing knowledge amongst educated men in relation to a 
 subject which should be dear to them, tiiat I feel con- 
 strained to offer myself as a humble pioneer to direct 
 
 "The Christian Scholar ; his iiosition, his danger and his duties. An 
 Address pronounced before the House of Convocation of Trinity College, 
 Hartford, August 5th, 18-16, by Rev. John Williams, M. A., Rector of St. 
 George's Church, Schenectady, and a Junior Fellow of Trinity College.
 
 6 
 
 your attention to it. It covers a very large extent of 
 ground, and will require many successive years to occupy 
 and improve it in a suitable manner. My allotted task 
 would seem to be the simj)le attempt to clear away some 
 obstructions, as a preparation for a higher and more suc- 
 cessful culture which is to follow. Expect me, then, and 
 permit me, to be somewhat discursive in my remarks 
 while I suggest some of those many topics connected with 
 the one great subject of collegiate education and disci- 
 pline, which I trust will receive from abler and better 
 prepared occupants of this place than he who now has 
 the honor of addressing you can presume to imagine him- 
 self, distinct and adequate examination. 
 
 But that I may not be tempted to wander without a 
 definite purpose over too wide a space, I shall direct my 
 observations. 
 
 First, to the general state of education, its defects and 
 their remedy : and 
 
 Next, to the outline of a plan which may exemplify 
 what will thus be put forward as the true idea of a sound 
 collegiate education. 
 
 It is a strange fact and one difficult to account for, that 
 education, which has ever been held in the highest esti- 
 mation by the thoughtful and well informed, should yet 
 be so uncertain as to its fundamental principles and its 
 practical administration. A distinguished scholar and 
 eloquent writer, the late Dr. Thomas Brown, deliberately 
 asserted from his Professorial chair in the University of 
 Edinburgh, that " the noblest, but, in j^roportion to its 
 value, the least studied of all the arts is the art of educa- 
 tion."* Another Professor now filling a high place in the 
 city of London, within the present year aflirmedthat " all 
 education has hitherto been and long will be a mixture of 
 some truth with more fancy and error."! And an able 
 
 ♦ Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind, Lecture IV. 
 t Dr. Elliottson, Harveian Oration for 184G.
 
 and most earnest writer thus commences his valuable 
 treatise upon Popular Education, published only a few 
 years since. " It is a matter of deep regret to the first 
 men of the age that education has not yet been placed 
 upon a practically useful basis. It is felt that it is im- 
 perfectly enjoyed even by the educated, utterly withheld 
 from the multitude, and not yet systematized either in 
 principles or plan."* These are startling declarations, 
 and if we are not prepared to admit them in all their 
 breadth, I fear we shall be constrained to acknowledge 
 that they are too near the truth for the satisfaction or 
 repose of those who have any charge in directing this 
 great instrument of human improvement. 
 
 Perhaps it may help to a better understanding of these 
 assertions and a more ready assent to their ti-uth, if I ask 
 my hearers to make a clear distinction in their minds be- 
 tween the art of education as such, and the various arts 
 and sciences upon which it may be employed. Education 
 is not an intimate knowledge of these, or of any one of 
 them, although it implies, and, in order to its successful 
 exercise, demands this knowledge. In its own separate 
 nature it relates simply to the method of communicating 
 in the quickest and most effectual manner to the subject 
 of its training, the principles and practice of some art or 
 science other than itself. This distinction may tend to 
 soothe that intellectual pride so natural to the human 
 mind, and which perchance might be offended at the bare 
 suggestion that the present generation is not in all respects 
 wiser and better off than those which have passed away. 
 It will be universally conceded that in many of the de- 
 partments of human knowledge, there has ever been a 
 gradual, and in some of them, in recent times, a rapid 
 and wonderful advancement. If this camiot be affirmed 
 
 ♦ Necessity of Popular Education, &c. by James Simpson.
 
 8 
 
 of literature generally, of the fine arts, or of mental and 
 moral philosophy, or what in college phrase are termed 
 humaniores litercB, there can be no doubt but that in exact 
 science, and science as adapted to the arts of life, a mar- 
 vellous progress has been made and is still making, in 
 consequence of which the family of civihzed man now 
 enjoys advantages immeasurably greater than those pos- 
 sessed by any former generation. But this is not the 
 question before us. The point is simply, whether or not 
 for centuries past there has been any marked improvement 
 in the art of training the faculties of the human intellect, 
 and of communicating the literature and science of a par- 
 ticular age to the youthful minds of that age.* Is philoso- 
 phy, then, better taught now than it was in the lectures of 
 the Porch or the Academy ? Is there any where a more 
 thorough school for the discipline of rhetoric and oratory 
 than that to which the youthful Cicero resorted? Has 
 there yet been a better plan devised, one fuller and more 
 judicious in its directions as to the management of the 
 child from the first development of the faculty of speech 
 to the crowning work of education in the formation of the 
 perfect orator, than is to be found in the Institutiones 
 Oratorice of Quintilian ? As to the knowledge of lan- 
 guage and appreciation of the beauties of style, no one 
 acquainted with the subject, I presume, would assert that 
 in any community whatsoever, at present existing, they 
 are as thoroughly or widely disseminated as they were at 
 
 ♦ "Though the subject has of late been brought forward, it may with 
 confidence be asserted, that the important theory of education has by no 
 means kept pace with the improvements which have been made in the 
 various departments of science and art, during the last century." Re- 
 marks on Scholastic and Academic Education. Part 1st of Phantasm 
 OF AN Univkrsity, by Charles Kelsall, Esq. A fanciful work gotten 
 up with great expense of beautiful but impracticable architectural de- 
 signs for an University. It contains, however, wise and profitable sug- 
 gestions upon the subject of education.
 
 9 
 
 Athens, when the whole mass of the people was so well 
 educated in these respects that not a i^rammatical error, 
 not a defect even of pronunciation could escape detection 
 by the very women about the market place.* 
 
 These illustrations, however, must not be pressed be- 
 yond their due and prescribed limits. I cannot, I trust, 
 be suspected of adducing them in order to raise the shght- 
 est doubt of the reality of progressive improvement in 
 the social condition of man. " Knowledges manifold,"! 
 which either had not sprung into being, or were the jeal- 
 ously guarded inheritance of the few, are now freely dis- 
 tributed amongst the many. The rights of man are far 
 better understood than they have ever been before ; they 
 are more safely protected by popular institutions, and the 
 physical comforts of man are vastly increased. But no 
 one can imagine what would have been his condition at 
 this time had the art of education kept an equal pace of 
 improvement with many of the other arts of social life, 
 and had a true idea of its grand purpose been ever held 
 out in prominent view so that all intelligent and benevo- 
 lent minds could have worked towards one certain and 
 well defined object. That it would have been far wiser, 
 happier and more peaceful will hardly be denied. Some 
 portions of the poet's description of the primitive but 
 imaginary age would have found their counterpart in the 
 present actual one. 
 
 • The allusion here is to a passage in that delightful classical romance 
 Voyage du Jeune Anacharsis en Grcce. It is so long since 1 read it, 
 however, that I cannot recur to it. The learned Abbe doubtless had au- 
 thority for his assertion, and according to his custom has most probably 
 given it at the bottom of his page. But I am reminded of Cicero's state- 
 ment to the same effect,— tamen eruditissimos homines Asiaticos quivis 
 Athenicnsis indoctus, non verbis, sed sono vocis, nee tarn bene, quam 
 suaviter loquendo, facile superabit. De Orat. Lib. III. Cap. 11. 
 
 t Coleridge. 
 
 2
 
 10 
 
 ^tas, quffi, vindice nullo, 
 Sponte sua, sine lege, lidem lectumque colebat. 
 
 Non galese, non ensis, erant ; sine mililis usu 
 Mollia securae pei-agebant otia gentes.* 
 
 In advancing- an opinion, however, so unfavorable in 
 one important respect to an age w^hich is accustomed to 
 boast itself mightily of great achievements, and vshich 
 certainly has many undeniable reasons for self-laudation, 
 I may be excused for seeking to fortify what I assert by 
 an appeal to other testimony. I will direct your notice, 
 therefore, to one who has discussed this question, and 
 others kindred to it, with sagacity, knowledge and a be- 
 nevolent zeal, although I cannot sympathize with him in 
 all his complaints, or acknowledge that there is value in 
 all his suggestions. His work, from which I quote, was 
 written for England, and was designed for an exposure of 
 the great faults in society existing there ; but the remarks 
 which I here offer for your consideration are not less ap- 
 plicable to ourselves. " No error is more profound or 
 prevalent than the persuasion that we are an educated 
 class in the best sense of the term. Our complacent con- 
 clusions on the subject are however exceedingly natural. 
 Look, it is said, at our libraries, our encyclopedias, teem- 
 ing as they do with knowledge in every branch of science 
 and literature. See our chemical, mathematical, mechan- 
 ical powers, with all their realized results, which seem to 
 mould nature at our will and render life proudly luxuri- 
 ous. Then turn to our classical literature, our beUes let- 
 tres, our poetry, our eloquence, our polished intercourse, 
 our refined society ; consider our fine arts and elegancies, 
 and above all think of our legislation and political econ- 
 omy, our institutions of benevolence and justice, and the 
 {gigantic combinations of our entire national system. 
 There is much in these high-sounding claims that deceives 
 
 • Ovid. Metam. Lib. I. 89.
 
 11 
 
 us. We are prone to borrow from the large fund of credit 
 we possess in the exact and physical sciences, to place 
 the loan to the account of universal intellectual and moral 
 attainment, and to conclude that a pitch of improvement, 
 which enables us to travel thirty miles an hour, must 
 comprise in it every thing else of knowledge and power. 
 But alas ! when we look beyond the range of physical 
 tangibilities, and, it may be, elegant literature, into the 
 region of mental and moral relations, in short the science 
 of man, upon which depend the wisdom of our legislation, 
 and the soundness of our institutions and customs, what 
 a scene of uncertainty do we see ! Fixed principles in 
 social affairs have not yet been attained. Scarcely shall 
 we meet two individuals who are guided by the same 
 code. Hence controversy is the business of the moral, and 
 assuredly we may add, of the religious world. To engross 
 as much wealth, gain as much of what is miscalled dis- 
 tinction as our neighbor, and outstrip him in the business 
 of life. A catalogue of our defects — all referable to the 
 education where\\dth we are mocked, might be expatiated 
 upon to the extent of a volume."* 
 
 This is certainly a forbidding picture, and drawn with 
 a severe pencil, but in the main features delineated, it is 
 doubtless a truthful one. It behooves us therefore not to 
 turn from it in anger or contempt, but rather to look upon 
 it ourselves, and hold it up to others, until we have start- 
 led the whole community of thinking men, and especially 
 those who have any responsible charge of education, into 
 the conviction that the true idea of this art is as yet 
 vaguely existing amongst us, and very imperfectly accom- 
 plishing its legitimate design. 
 
 Do you seek for the causes of this lamentable deficien- 
 cy 1 We believe that one of them at least does not lie 
 
 * Simpson, Chapter 11/
 
 12 
 
 very remote, nor is it difficult of detection. If we mis- 
 take not it consists in this, that the great and essential 
 element in all investigations touching the training of man, 
 is most generally either overlooked, or not allowed to 
 have its due preponderance. And this element is the real 
 nature of man, and the true purpose of his being. No 
 system of education can be a wise or successful one, into 
 which these all-important considerations do not fully 
 enter. The etymology of the word alone, if we would 
 attend to it, might lead us to this conclusion. To edu- 
 cate is to draw forth or to bring out. To bring out what ? 
 Obviously the faculties of our nature — all the faculties of 
 our entire nature. To draw out these faculties, then, to 
 direct them to their appropriate objects, and, while thus 
 training them, to put the subject of education in posses- 
 sion of all the knowledge which had been accumulated 
 by the generations of men who had gone before, — this 
 would constitute a perfect education. But such perfec- 
 tion, at least for years to come, we fear, can be contem- 
 plated in theory only. We will not however allow it to 
 be chimerical to anticipate a much nearer approach to it 
 than we now perceive. One obvious fault of the sys- 
 tems of education which have had the greatest currency 
 amongst men is that the intellectual faculties have been 
 in a manner kept distinct from the moral and religious, 
 and have too generally been cherished and strengthened 
 to their detriment. Now we believe that all the constit- 
 uent parts of the one nature of man should be trained in 
 happy harmony, and in due subordination to their relative 
 importance in accomplishing the great end of his being; 
 and we will affirm that the art of education will never be 
 placed upon a solid foundation, and be built up in a pro- 
 gressive manner as other arts have been, until this truth 
 is appreciated and acted on. No one will deny that a 
 man whose intellectual faculties have been cultivated to
 
 13 
 
 the neglect of his moral, will exhibit a character radically 
 defective. Furthermore, we who take the Gospel of 
 Christ as our rule of life, are fully satisfied that no moral 
 training can be thorough or secure, which is not fortified 
 by religious principle. It is not therefore pure intellect 
 alone, or the moral sense, or the religious sentiment, that 
 education is intended to draw forth, but all, and all as we 
 have said, in subordination to the great end of his being. 
 
 Since I have thought seriously upon this subject, I 
 have often admired the wisdom and felt the importance of 
 Milton's words in liis Tractate upon Education, which, 
 although only a letter addressed to a friend, detailing the 
 substance of previous conversations held between them, 
 is yet worthy the attention and repeated perusal of all 
 who are concerned in education. " The end of learning," 
 says the great poet, " is to repair the ruin of our first par- 
 ents, by regaining to know God aright, and out of that 
 knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him as 
 we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, 
 which being united to the Heavenly grace of faith, make 
 up the highest perfection. But because our understand- 
 ing cannot in this body found itself but on sensible things, 
 nor arrive as clearly to the knowledge of God and things 
 invisible as by orderly conning over the visible and infe- 
 rior creature, the same method is to be followed in all 
 discreet teaching." 
 
 To the same eflfect also, although not in a tone so 
 Christian like, writes Locke, in a treatise replete with 
 valuable practical suggestions for the training of youth. 
 " 'Tis virtue then, direct virtue, which is the hard and 
 valuable part to be aimed at in education. All other con- 
 siderations and accomplishments should give way and be 
 postponed to this. This is the solid and substantial good, 
 which tutors should not only read lectures, and talk of ; 
 but the labor and art of education should furnish the mind
 
 14 
 
 with, and fasten them, and never cease till the young man 
 had a true relish of it, and placed his strength, his glory 
 and his pleasure in it. The more this advances, the easier 
 way will be made for other accomplishments in their 
 turns."* t 
 
 Now it is obvious that what Milton calls the end of 
 learning, should be ke})t in constant view in all systems 
 and institutions which profess to promote learning, and 
 that so far forth as this end is undervalued or lost sight 
 of, such systems or institutions may justly be regarded as 
 radically defective. Were this principle to be strictly 
 applied, I fear that there are few seminaries of learning 
 whose course of instruction and discipline could abide the 
 test. An author whom I have before quoted, makes this 
 strong and unqualified assertion. " No sect in religion 
 has yet addressed itself to the duty of teaching the nature 
 of man, the value of pursuits in life, the institutions of 
 society, and the relation of all these to the religious and 
 moral faculties of man." This condemnation is too sweep- 
 ing to be entirely just, and if amongst what he calls sects 
 in religion, he includes, as it is probable he does, the 
 Church, we might in some few instances be prepared to 
 
 * Locke's Works, Vol. TIL page 26, folio edition. 
 
 t We may learn something of the paramount importance attributed to 
 moral training even in heathen Rome, and of the mode in which it was 
 cared for, by a passage from a chapter of Tacitus, in which he places in 
 strong contrast the ancient discipline with the degeneracy of later times. 
 "Jam primum, suus cuique filius, ex casta parente natus, non in cella 
 emptse nutricis, sed gremio ac sinu matris educabatur, cujus praecipua 
 laus erat, tueri domum et inscrvire liberis. Eligebatur autem aliqua 
 major natu propiruiua, cujus probatis spcctatisque moribus omnis cujus- 
 piam familiae soboles committeretur, coram qua neque dicere fas erat, 
 quod turpe dictu, neque facerc, quod inhoncstum factu viderctur. Ac 
 non studia rnodo curasque, sed remissiones etiam lususquc puerorum 
 sanctitate quadam ac verecundia temperabat. ..... 
 
 Haecdisciplina ac severitas eo pertinebat, ut sinceraet integra etnullis 
 pravitatibus detorta uniiiscujusquo natura toto statim pectore arriperet 
 artes honestas." — Be Oratoribus iJia/ogus, § 28.
 
 15 
 
 appeal from it.* But this we are constrained in sorrow 
 and humiliation to affirm again, that notwithstandino; all 
 that has been said, written, and attempted in relation to 
 education, the true idea of it is as yet imperfectly received 
 amongst men, and unsuccessfully carried out in places 
 assigned to it. The true idea is that religion is " the 
 King's daughter, all glorious within, whose clothing is of 
 
 *In justice to luy friend, the Rev. Dr. Muhlenberg, I must here state 
 that he was one of the first, if, as I believe to be the fact, he was not the 
 very first amongst us to advocate the cause of Christian Education accord- 
 ing to a positive form both in faith and worship. And at great sacrifice 
 of time and toil and property, (if indeed that can be called sacrifice which 
 has been cheerfully as well as conscientiously and with a successful re- 
 sult devoted to so good a work) he has sought to carry out his grand prin- 
 ciple. Upon this basis the Flushing Institute was founded in I'^SO, which 
 has since become St. Paul's College, now under the Rectorship of Mr. 
 J. G. Barton, one of Dr. M.'s earliest pupils. From this as a root have 
 sprung St. James's College and St. Timothy's Hall, Maryland, respect- 
 ively under the charge of the Rev. John B. Kerfoot and the Rev. Liber- 
 tus Van Bokkelcn, pupils also of Dr. M. — all imbued with his principles. 
 And now under the auspices, and through the enlightened zeal and un- 
 tiring labors of my friend of many years, the Rt. Rev. the Bishop of New 
 Jersey, Burlington College is wisely and securely laying the foundation 
 of an institution to be built up on the same true principle. These Sem- 
 inaries of learning are all by the Church, in the Church, and /or the 
 Church. But for the Church in no narrow sectarian intention. " I wish 
 it to stand," says Bishop Doane of Burlington College, " no longer than 
 its best exertions shall be made for every real interest of man. I desire 
 God to bless it no longer than it shall be true to our whole country, and 
 true to all mankind. I scorn the shield, however proud its blazonry 
 may be, which does not bear the blessed scroll to every wind of heaven : 
 Pro ecclesia, pro patria, pro gcnere hxnnaiio — For the church, the 
 COUNTRY AND ALL HUMAN KIND." May the Spirit of this motto ever 
 pervadi> all Church seminaries of learning ! There are, in other Dioceses, 
 Colleges and Sciiools, which profess the same great principle, but I speak 
 of those only in this note of which 1 have some personal knowledge, and 
 I have spoken at all to this point only for the purpose of bearing my hum- 
 ble testimony to the long and faithful labors and large pecuniary sacrifices 
 of my friend, devoted to sustaining a principle of education which I trust 
 will ere long be universally acknowledged and acted on by the Church.
 
 16 
 
 wrought gold,"* and the virgins that do follow her are the 
 arts and sciences, and as her inferiors they should attend 
 upon and minister unto her, and are sufficiently honored 
 in being permitted to enter with her into the King's house. 
 But how do they on numberless occasions lose their mod- 
 est demeanor, and forget their place, and one or another 
 as the case may be, strive for preeminence, not only 
 amongst themselves, but over their sacred and queenly 
 mistress ; who, if not treated with absolute neglect and 
 banished their company, is Jooked upon as patronized by 
 their notice, and as depending upon them for protection, 
 and almost even a being. 
 
 Friends of truth and righteousness, of sound learning 
 and Christian education, it is for us to vindicate her rights 
 by restoring her to her disputed sovereignty, and giving 
 her the chief place of honor and of influence wherever 
 youthful minds are to be trained. An arduous underta- 
 king, I acknowledge, and one that for its accomplishment 
 will demand on the part of the many faithful hearts and 
 minds that must be engaged in it, consummate prudence, 
 and untiring zeal and patience under disappointment, op- 
 position and delay. It cannot be accomplished in all 
 places at once, nor in every community with equal facil- 
 ity and success. But it is a work which at some day shall 
 most assuredly be triumphant, for it is the purpose of Him 
 who hath determined that "the earth shall be full of the 
 knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea."t 
 And being his purpose, he has committed its execution to 
 those three institutions which he has appointed as the 
 visible representations of his economy on earth, the Fam- 
 ily, the State, and the Church. When it shall come to 
 pass that these three work together with common intelli- 
 gence, upon a common principle of mutual support, and 
 with a common reference to one great law and its sanc- 
 
 * Psalm XLv, 13. f Isaiah, xl. 9.
 
 17 
 
 tinns, the Gospel of Christ, then will the true idea of edu- 
 cation be universally recognized, and its Ijenign influence 
 be felt, and each rising- generation shall succeed to greater 
 measures of knowledge, virtue, prosperity and happiness 
 than their fathers enjoyed. 
 
 But these abstract and speculative, and, as they may 
 be termed by some, fanciful reflexions, are in danger of 
 leading me into the region of topics which cannot be fully 
 or satisfactorily treated within tlie limits which I must 
 prescribe to myself on the present occasion. 
 
 I may however venture to occupy your attention a little 
 longer while I attempt, as was proposed in the second 
 place, to give the outline of a plan which shall be a prac- 
 tical exemplification of the true idea of education that has 
 now been aflJirmed, though by no means fully elaborated. 
 This idea demands that all the faculties of the one nature 
 of man should be trained with a view to his restoration, 
 as far as may be, to that Divine image in which he was 
 originally created ; and as the religious sentiment consti- 
 tutes his distinguishing and most important faculty, this 
 must be cherished whatever else be neglected, and in due 
 subordination to it must all the other faculties be cultiva- 
 ted. Now the problem is so to connect this idea with a 
 collegiate institution, as to make it the hfe principle 
 thereof. This can be accomplished as I can conceive, 
 only in one way ; by the authority and with the aid 
 OF THE Church of Christ on earth. As the reliffious 
 sentiment h^is been committed by Him who made man 
 and knew what was in him to the charge of this Church, 
 and as for this purpose he has endowed the Church m ith 
 a ministry and sacraments and the custody of the Holy 
 Oracles of wisdom, it is impossible for the Church to trans- 
 fer her responsibility to any oilier institution, and more 
 especially to one of acknowledged human origin. She 
 may make use of means devised by human wisdom, to 
 
 3
 
 18 
 
 facilitate the o^reat object, but she cannot divest herself of 
 its charge. The college, then, should be the Church's 
 institution, founded under her auspices, built up under the 
 influence of her prayers, and by the help of her offerings, 
 and haA'ing its whole course of instruction and internal 
 police devised and carried on in accordance with her 
 spirit. Here religion will be the chief object of notice, 
 and the source of all healthful discipline. It will be the 
 central light and the attractive power, and around it the 
 arts and sciences will be made to move in their due order 
 and relation, acknowledging this as the revealer of their 
 beauties and utilities, the source of their warmth and life, 
 and the great regulator of their beneficent combinations 
 and mutual influences. And furthermore believing that 
 religion can thus subsist and maintain this steady and 
 uniform action only in the manifestation of some positive 
 form both of faith and worship, and that all attempts to 
 reach this object under the vague statement of such fun- 
 damentals as all may agree in, Jiave heretofore proved 
 and for ever must prove futile, the Church should dictate 
 the articles of faith and direct the mode of worship. The 
 collegiate year too should be the Church's year — its move- 
 ments, its succession of seasons, its weeks of work and 
 weeks of rest, its holy-days, joyous festivals, and self- 
 denying fasts, all going on in well known rotation, all 
 tending to Him who is the fountain of knowledge, of order 
 and of love, and seeking to make his blessed life on earth 
 the exemplar of its own. And all this may be devised 
 and should be carried out in the spirit of Christian love, 
 and in the exercise of an enlarged tolerance. While the 
 sons of the Church should be encouraged and exhorted to 
 observe her godly discipline, to frequent her inner courts 
 and assist at her high solemnities, kindly provision should 
 be made for " proselytes of the gate," who may be drawn 
 hither, and full liberty of faith and worship be conceded 
 to them.
 
 19 
 
 This great principle, moreover, of putting a seminary 
 of learning under the direct influence ot a distinctive faith 
 and worship, which I would contend for as right and true 
 in the abstract, I would willingly see adopted and exem- 
 plified by those who hold different views of religious truth 
 from myself. And I honestly believe that were such the 
 avowed policy of all the colleges in this land, as in fact in 
 some of them it is the operative policy, it would be better 
 for the cause of religion and learning, and for that too 
 Avhich is so much talked of and lauded at the present day, 
 a comprehensive liberality. That unhappy jealousy which 
 now so often manifests itself in the management of our 
 seminaries of learning, lest one set of religious opinions 
 should obtain a more preponderating influence than anoth- 
 er, would disappear. Each resting quietly upon its o\x\\ 
 acknowledged and distinctive character, the greatest in- 
 ternal obstacle to concentrated and harmonious action 
 would be removed, and thenceforward the diflferent col- 
 leges in the land would be excited only to a generous 
 rivalry as to which should most faithfully fulfill the great 
 designs of their institution. As to the fear that seminaries 
 of learning so constituted would become nurseries of bigot- 
 ry and fanaticism, I believe it to be entirely groundless. 
 Such a result, wheresoever it should manifest itself, would 
 only prove a woful misapprehension of the true spirit of 
 the Gospel, or a wretchedly narrow cultivation of the 
 liberal arts and sciences.* 
 
 But again, in exhorting the church to assume a greater 
 w^eight of the responsibility which partly belongs to her, 
 and in pleading for her restoration to her ancient privi- 
 leges in this respect, I am very far from wishing to become 
 the advocate of priestly rule. He must have been a very 
 superficial or a very prejudiced reader of ecclesiastical 
 
 * Adde, quod ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes, 
 EmoUit mores, nee sinit esse feros. 
 
 Ovid Ex. Pont. Lib. II. Epist. IX.
 
 20 
 
 history who is not aware of the evils to which pure reh- 
 gion and sound learning and progressive science have all 
 been subjected from this source. In the present age, and 
 under our happy constitution of government, giving pre- 
 cedence to no religious persuasion, but conceding equal 
 rights to all, there can be no just apprehension of such 
 dangler. And moreover in a church organized as is our 
 own, where the laity have a voice potential in our coun- 
 cils, all tendency to sacerdotal domination would be re- 
 pressed as soon as discovered. 
 
 This principle too, which we advocate, and which we 
 would see carried out to its rightful results, is no newly 
 started theory. It was the foundation principle of the 
 oldest and most renowned seminaries of the land. Har- 
 vard College was established upon it, and the spirit and 
 intention of the founders of that noble institution still 
 speak forth in the language of the motto of its public 
 seal. And what is not a little remarkable, the successive 
 changes in this motto seem to manifest the progress of 
 truth in the gradual development of a sound principle. 
 First it was *' Veritas" simply.* To this divine but ab- 
 stract idea, was the institution as it were, consecrated. 
 But we may imagine some Pilate demanding in contempt- 
 uous skepticism, "What is truth?"! The wise and holy 
 men who controlled the destinies of the college could not 
 hesitate for an instant in their reply. The truth which 
 they would confess alone to be such, and the truth which 
 they exclusively would teach was " In Christi gloriam." 
 This then displaced the vague generality. But it soon 
 was felt that as the chief glory of Christ upon earth was 
 manifested in his church, with his blessed name there 
 should be associated that of his beloved and acknowledged 
 spouse, and "Christo et Ecclesise" was emblazoned on 
 
 • See President Quincy's History of Harvard College, Vol. I., p. 49. 
 
 t John xviii. 38.
 
 21 
 
 the honored shield. And always and every where may 
 the spirit of this motto rightly understood, sanctify the 
 fountains of human learning and make them as 
 
 «' Siloa's brook that flow'd 
 Fast by the oracle of God."* 
 
 The next ])orn sister of New England, younger in years 
 b\it not perhaps inferior in literary labors and renown, 
 sprang into being under the same holy impulse. The 
 preamble of the Charter of Yale College proclaims as the 
 leading motive of its establishment, " a sincere regard to 
 and zeal for upholding and propagating of the Christian 
 Protestant religion, by a succession of learned orthodox 
 men,"t and the very first act of the Trustees under this 
 Charter was to take order for the rehgious education of its 
 students. 
 
 This idea of the sacred and indissoluble connexion 
 between religion and learning thus recognized in the earh- 
 est and most successful attempts to estabhsh education 
 firmly on our soil, by the civil and religious fathers of 
 Ncw^ England, was by them brought from the Universities 
 of their native land, in which so many of them had been 
 taught, and for which they ever cherished deep veneration 
 and love. That it is there still watched and guarded 
 WMth holy zeal as the ark of their safety we know, and 
 may no want of wisdom or of vigilance within, and no 
 sacrilegious violence from without, ever wrest it from 
 them. 
 
 The church, then, we affirm to be the appropriate 
 guardian and guide of education ; and with all who be- 
 lieve that God has given to man such an institution, what- 
 ever views they may respectively hold of its essential form, 
 this should be received not as a proposition to be proved 
 but as an axiom of truth. 
 
 ♦Milton. t Baldwin's History of Yale College, p. 13, 21.
 
 22 
 
 Having thus in our imaginary plan named the sub- 
 stance and sketched the form of the foundation we would 
 lay, let us look briefly at the principles by which we would 
 raise the superstructure. 
 
 A collegiate or liberal education, as it is termed, stands 
 between an elementary and a professional one, having an 
 important influence upon both, but requiring to be kept, so 
 far as practicable, distinct from either. To the one it is 
 in the place of a parent, to the other in that of a child. 
 To elementary education it is a parent, as having brought 
 forth and nourished all the processes by which it is con- 
 ducted. Were it not for the higher education, the lower 
 could never have been advanced to its present condition. 
 Those therefore who look with jealousy upon our colleges, 
 who contend against the expediency of affording them 
 liberal endowments under the pretence that it is favoring 
 the few at the expense of the many, and who are liberal 
 in their views of expenditure towards common schools, as 
 being for the benefit of the people, while they stint our 
 colleges, and in some instances would deprive them even 
 of their present resources, betray a lamentable ignorance 
 of the true policy of administering the educational system 
 of a community. Did they apply to this question enlarged 
 and intelligent views, they would at once perceive that 
 there is no more effectual method of improving common 
 schools and elevating the mass of the people in knowledge, 
 than by enlarging the means of collegiate education. In 
 a country blessed with free institutions as ours is, it is im- 
 possible to advance one class of the community in know- 
 ledge and virtue at the expense of the others. There is a 
 reciprocal action constantly going on among them. The 
 higher the grade of instruction given in our colleges, the 
 more surely its effects, flowing down through those who 
 are educated in them, and who mingle afterwards with 
 their fellow citizens in all the oflices of social life, will be
 
 23 
 
 felt in the improved condition of the common schools. 
 And attain, in proportion as the common schools are bet- 
 ter taught, the academies and classical schools will rise in 
 the scale of improvement, and the preparatory studies for 
 college in these being wider and more thorough, the terms 
 of admission into our colleges may be extended, and of 
 course their whole scheme of study be made to embrace 
 a wider range. But abolish colleges or institutions for 
 higher learning, or cramp them in their efforts for im- 
 provement, and the deleterious influence will be felt 
 through all grades of seminaries of learning, down to the 
 very primary schools for training the infant mind. 
 
 As the influence of the college, rightly directed, should 
 be to foster and expand all the educational institutions 
 which in regular gradation descend from it, so its actual 
 system of discipline and instruction should be a rigid pre- 
 paration for professional studies or the pursuits of adult 
 years. Therefore in a college which would exemplify the 
 true idea of education, many departments of learning 
 should be cultivated, which though not to be directly em- 
 ployed in professional life, have yet an important bearing 
 upon its success. There has been a tendency in some of 
 our liigher seminaries of learning, to relax the ancient 
 system of scholastic discipline by encouraging what are 
 called partial courses of instruction, through an undue 
 anxiety to gratify the utilitarian spirit of the age, and to 
 hasten forw^ard the young aspirants towards their respect- 
 ive permanent pursuits in life. Hence often, classical 
 studies, and general philosophy, and even pure mathemat- 
 ics are not honored, encouraged and promoted as they 
 should be. The demand is for such particular studies 
 and such an extent alone of familiarity \\'\\h tiiem, as may 
 be made instantly and obviously available ; and by yield- 
 ing to this demand, encouragement is given to superficial 
 education, and the very end proposed, that of making well
 
 24 
 
 informed and efficient 'practical men for the varied uses 
 of social life, is thus seriously interfered with. 
 
 This however is not a recent evil, nor one fostered, as 
 some might suppose, by our peculiar institutions, for 
 Lord Bacon detects it and thus reproves it : "If any man 
 thinke Philosphy and Universality to bee idle studies ; he 
 doth not consider that all Professions are from thence 
 served, and supplyed. And this I take to bee a great 
 Cause that hath hindered the progression of learning, be- 
 cause these fundamental knowledges have been studied 
 but in passage. For if you will have a tree bear more 
 fruit than it hath been used to do, it is not any thing you 
 can do to the boughs, but it is the stirring of the earth, 
 and putting new moulde about the Rootes, that must 
 worke it."* In a subsequent age, and one much nearer 
 to our own times, another distinguished scholar, and able 
 writer, was led to remark upon the same unhappy ten- 
 dency in seminaries of learning to slight scholastic studies 
 in eagerness to engage in professional ones. His earnest 
 words addressed to the students of the universities of our 
 mother-land, but equally worthy of our attention, I am 
 glad to rescue from a note in an almost forgotten book. 
 " I would call the rising youth of this country to the in- 
 tense, and frequent, and unremitting study of the ancient 
 classical writers as their primary choice. I call upon 
 them to have the courage to be ignorant of many subjects, 
 and many authors, at their inestimable age. I exhort 
 them affectionately, as a matter of the most serious im- 
 portance, never to pretend to study, in their first academ- 
 ical years, what they design as the ultimate end of their 
 labors, I mean, their profession. Their whole business is 
 to lay the foundation of knowledge, original, sound, and 
 strong. They who, by a patient continuance and undi- 
 verted attention to academical studies alone, have sought 
 
 ♦ Of the Advancement of Learning. The Second Booke.
 
 0-. 
 
 for the original materials of science and of solid fame, 
 have seldom failed in their great pursuit."* The leading 
 point to which 1 wish to direct attention in this eloquent 
 passage, is its enforcement of the necessity of making the 
 course of collegiate studies strictly and thoroughly pre- 
 paratory. I sympathize with the author in his warm ap- 
 proval of classical studies, but I am by no means prepared 
 to recommend them, as he seemingly does here, to the 
 exclusion of mathematical and philosophical pursuits as 
 a discipline of the mind. The comparative merits of the 
 two in this regard, is a question, we know, long mooted 
 and still unsettled. I do not design however to obtrude 
 myself into this discussion. Had I even the presumption 
 to suppose myself capable of throwing any additional 
 light upon it, I would not consent to treat it in so per- 
 functory a manner as would be necessary at this period 
 of my address, I may venture nevertheless to say, in 
 passing, that the peculiar benefit of classical or mathe- 
 matical studies, considered as intellectual gymnastics, 
 must after all be decided by a careful reference to the 
 idiosyncracy of the mind that is to be placed under disci- 
 pline. Sir John Herschel, in treating of this question, 
 has well observed that " there are minds which though 
 not devoid of reasoning powers, yet manifest a decided 
 inaptitude for mathematical studies — minds which are 
 estimative not calculating, and which are more impressed 
 by analogies, and by apparent preponderance of general 
 evidence in argument than by mathematical demonstra- 
 
 * Pursuits of Literature, page 264 American edition. This powerful 
 satirical poem, with its learned, copious, and much amusing notes, wor- 
 thy the attentive perusal of all who are engaged in the higher depart- 
 ments of teaching, has been sometimes ascribed to GifTord, and is so by 
 Watt in his Bibliotheca. But it contains internal evidence in sundry 
 places to the contrary. Matthias is now, I believe, the acknowledged 
 
 author. 
 
 4
 
 26 
 
 tion, where all argument is on one side, and no show of 
 reason can be exliibited on the other."* 
 
 This fact, then, will have its full influence in every well 
 de\-ised scheme of education, and while the subject of 
 college training and the candidate for college honors 
 will not be allowed to be ignorant of the chief classical 
 writers in Latin and Greek, and of the general principles 
 of mathematics and their applications, the degree of at- 
 tention to be given to these studies respectively will be 
 measured l)y the intellectual faculties which shall be 
 manifested by each student. 
 
 But while thus, according to our idea of collegiate edu- 
 cation, an unremitting attention should be given to stud- 
 ies the chief objects of which are intellectual discipline 
 and what we may call preparatory knowledge, there are 
 other branches of knowledge which must not be neg- 
 lected, — branches which are more immediately called 
 into requisition in social life, and without a competent 
 acquaintance with which no one can be esteemed thorough- 
 ly educated. 
 
 The present distinguished master of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, in his admirable treatise upon a liberal edu- 
 cation, has very happily distinguished between the two, 
 and described them as Permanent and Progressive Studies. 
 " To the former belong those portions of knowledge 
 which have long taken their permanent shape ; ancient 
 languages with their literature, and long established demon- 
 strated sciences. To the latter class belong the results of 
 the mental activity of our own times ; the hterature of our 
 owTi age, and the sciences in which men are making pro- 
 gress from day to day. The former class of subjects 
 cormects us with the past ; the latter with the present and 
 
 • Views on Scientific and General Education, by Sir John Herschel, 
 F. R. S., M. A., as quoted in Newman's translation of Huber on the 
 English Universities, Vol. II. part II. p. 645.
 
 27 
 
 the future. By the former class of studies, each rising 
 generation, in its turn, learns how former generations 
 thought, and felt, and reasoned, and expressed their 
 thoughts, and feelings, and reasonings. By the latter 
 class of studies, each generation learns that thought, and 
 feeling, and reasoning, are still active, and is prepared to 
 take a share in the continuation and expression of this 
 activity. Both these kinds of studies give man a con- 
 scious connexion with his race. By the former he be- 
 comes conscious of a past, by the latter, of a present, hu- 
 manity."* 
 
 In these progressive studies we include those which 
 treat of the nature and propensities of man as developed 
 in the history of nations and the biograjihy of individuals; 
 the constitutions of human society including our respon- 
 sibilities to individuals and to the community of which we 
 are members ; the general principles of political economy 
 and of jurisprudence ; the nature and constitution of the 
 earth we inhabit — its animal, vegetable, and mineral pro- 
 ductions, and their uses and propensities as subservient 
 to human wants ; and the relation of this earth to the 
 system of the Universe as manifested in the sublime dis- 
 coveries of modern astronomy. Amongst these studies 
 those which bring into view the social relations of man 
 are obviously of the highest importance, especially in a 
 country where free institutions are the blessed birthright 
 of the people, and where every man is called to the re- 
 sponsible duty of protecting them by his vote, and often 
 to the more responsible duty of managing them by being 
 made the depository of legislative, judicial or executive 
 power. As to the studies which are embraced under the 
 general head of Natural Science, they are not only of 
 
 * Of a Liberal Education in general ; and with particular reference to 
 the leading studies of the University of Cambridge. By William Whe- 
 well, D. D., Master of Trinity College, and Professor of Moral Philoso- 
 phy in the University of Cambridge. Chapter I., Sec. I., p. 7.
 
 28 
 
 deep interest in themselves, as exciting and gratifying an 
 intelligent curiosity, but they prefer higher claim? upon 
 our attention. "Natural science, when pursued with a 
 right spirit, will foster the reasoning powers, and teach 
 us knowledge fitted at once to impress the imagination, 
 to bear on the business of hfe, and to give us exalted 
 views of the universal presence and unceasing power of 
 God."* 
 
 Thus it will be seen that in rnifoldins: our idea of a 
 sound collegiate education, while we would have the 
 principal attention given to the religious and moral fac- 
 ulties, and then to the training of the intellectual powers, 
 we would also aim at as extensive a knowledge as can be 
 grasped and conveyed in an elementary course, of the 
 actual system and laws of nature, both physical and 
 moral, and the means of adapting this system and these 
 laws to the elevation of man's social condition. When 
 judiciously and faithfully administered, the benign ten- 
 dency of such education will be to bring out all the fac- 
 ulties of the youth who is placed under its direction ; 
 those that are weak in fibre will be strengthened by ap- 
 propriate exercises ; those that have marked developments 
 will be trained to graceful and appropriate movements ; 
 amongst those that threaten irregular action from want 
 of a just counterpoise, the balance will be restored ; and 
 thus while the chief hope and eflTort will be to make " the 
 man of God perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good 
 works,"t there will be no neglect of means or exertion 
 to make the intellectual man symmetrical and strong, 
 fitted to encounter all that he may be exposed to in the 
 combat of life. 
 
 But when I speak of the combat of life, and of the 
 
 * A Discourse on the Studies of the University, by Adam Sedgwick, 
 M. A., F. R. S., and Woodwardian Professor, and Fellow of Trinity Col- 
 lege, Cambrids^c. Appendix p. 155. 
 
 t II. Timothy, III. 17.
 
 29 
 
 intellectual trainino;- that is essential to entering^ into it 
 with a reasonable prospect of success, I am reminded 
 that there is another constituent part of man which de- 
 mands, though not 1o an equal degree, the superintend- 
 ing care of education ; and this is his physical constitu- 
 tion. Were I to say that its healthful or diseased condi- 
 tion exerts a very powerful and obvious influence, not 
 only upon the comfort of his daily life, but upon the 
 growth of his intellectual, moral, and even religious facul- 
 ties, I should be only repeating what has been said a 
 thousand times over upon that trite theme, " mens sana in 
 corp07-e sano." But yet I will ask, has this subject re- 
 ceived by any means the attention its importance de-. 
 mands ? From all I can learn and have observed, it is 
 treated with greater neglect amongst us, both by educa- 
 ted men and youth in the process of education, than 
 amongst any other civilized people. Whether it be from 
 the effect of climate, or from some peculiarity of consti- 
 tution, I know not, but the fact is certain that our young 
 men, in colleges especially, are too little disposed to take 
 that amount of exercise which is absolutely needful for 
 health. The consequence is that we have a larger pro- 
 portion of feeble and sickly students, and of men break- 
 ing down in the early stages of professional life, than is 
 found in other countries. How different the habits of 
 English college life are, let me show by adducing the tes- 
 timony of a scholar who, after spending a portion of his 
 time in one of the chief and the most populous of our 
 American colleges, passed several years in the University 
 of Cambridge, " There is one great point where the 
 English have the advantage over us : they understand 
 how to take care of their health. Every Cantabrigian 
 takes his two hours exercise per diem, by walking, 
 riding, rowing, fencing, gymnastics, &c. How many 
 colleges are there here where the students average one 
 hour a day of real exercise ? In New England the last
 
 30 
 
 thinsf thouofht of is exercise — even the mild walks which 
 are dignified with the name of exercise, how unlike the 
 Cantabrigian's constitutional of eight miles in less than 
 two hours ! And the consequence is — what ? There is 
 not a finer looking set of young men in the world than 
 the Cantabs, and as to health — why, one hundred and 
 thirty freshmen enter at Trinity every year, and it is no 
 unfrequcnt occurrence that, whatever loss they may sus- 
 tain from other causes, death takes away none of them 
 during the three years and a half which comprise their 
 undergraduate course."* 
 
 Now what remedy can be proposed for the mitigation 
 or the cure of this acknowledged evil ? Compulsory 
 measures are of course out of the question. Discipline 
 which it may be highly expedient to apply under certain 
 circumstances for the quickening of mental effort, could 
 answer no good purpose in this relation. All that can be 
 done then, is to enforce the necessity for bodily exer- 
 cise upon our students, and supply them with suitable 
 facihties for its practice. We learn that this has been 
 attempted in some of our literary institutions by means 
 of farms and workshops. I would by no means under- 
 value such attempts — on the contrary, in carrying out 
 the system now suggested, I would propose that space of 
 ground, and opportunity, for horticulture, if not agricul- 
 ture, should be furnished for all those who felt drawn to 
 these health-giving and useful pursuits, and that accom- 
 modation also should be supplied for those who in the in- 
 clement season of winter would seek for exercise by the 
 saw, the hammer, or the turning lathe. But still I am 
 not utilitarian enough to despise plays which are nothing 
 more than plays ; and which on account of the greater 
 relaxation of the mental powers they induce, the freer 
 use of all the muscles they occasion, and the joyousness 
 
 • American Review, Vol. V. p. 354.
 
 31 
 
 of spirits they excite, I should prefer for students to j)lay- 
 ing at farming or trades. I would encourage, then, the 
 ball ground, the cricket field, and the boat race, and re- 
 joice to see on classic soil, sports that should recall the 
 graphic descriptions of the classic page. 
 
 For example, on occasions like the present festival 
 week, in order to exhibit what improvements the physical 
 exercise of a year had produced, I would be reminded of 
 the boat race, the poet's animated description of which 
 even school boys must remember. 
 
 Prima pares ineunt gravibus certamina remis, 
 Quatuor, ex omni dilectae, classe.carince. 
 
 Vir. Mneid. V. 114. 
 
 Then when all are ready, the active youths 
 
 Considunt transtris intentaque brachia remis : 
 Intentique expectant signum, exultantiaque haurit 
 Corda pavor pulsans, laudumque arrecta cupido. 
 
 JEneid. V. 136. 
 
 Nor amidst the beautiful scenery which surrounds yon- 
 der favored spot, and recalls to us the Elysian fields, 
 w'ould it be displeasing to see them occasionally animated 
 with Elysian sports. 
 
 Pars in gramineis exercent membra jialscstris ; 
 Contendunt ludo, et I'ulvd luctantur arena. 
 
 .^ndd. VI. G42. 
 
 And the consequence would be, that, were athletic ex- 
 ercises like these encouraged and practised as a stated 
 relaxation from hard study, and were the fields and groves, 
 the shady walks, and breezy hills, and rippling and run-" 
 ning waters, associated with a healthiul, vigorous and. 
 joyous existence, the memory of a college life would in- 
 deed be as that of an Elysian abode, and the words which
 
 32 
 
 precede my last quotation would well describe the happy 
 haunts of a well spent youth. 
 
 Devenere locos latos, et amoena vireta, 
 Foituiiatorum neniorum, sedesque beatas. 
 Largior hie campos aether et lumine vestit, 
 Purpureo ; solemque suum, sua sidera norunt. 
 
 Virgil, JEn. VI. 63S. 
 
 But gentlemen, it is time to bring this already too long, 
 and I fear too discursive address, to its end. I have ven- 
 tured to speak thus much and thus in detail upon a sub- 
 ject, which, how trite soever, can never lose its interest 
 with those who watch and wish, and labor and pray, as I 
 trust we all do, for the progress of man in the better 
 training of the rising generation. I decided to attempt 
 the treatment of this subject after much hesitation, not 
 however in consequence of any distrust of the principles I 
 should maintain, or the measures I should propose, but 
 through fear that the inability of the advocate might injure 
 the cause, and that I might subject myself, disconnected 
 as I am with the administrative care of education, to the 
 charge of presumption in assuming the position of an 
 adviser. As 'a Fellow of Trinity College, however, 
 I have felt that I had a responsible duty to discharge, 
 and as a member of the House of Convocation, and one of 
 the older members, I have been not unwilling to take the 
 responsibihty of setting the example of trying to make 
 this a place of trust. 
 
 Certainly, gentlemen, we who have the honor of be- 
 longing to this House of Convocation, if we would not 
 unworthily content ourselves with enjoying an empty dis- 
 tinction, should feel it to be incumbent upon us, each in 
 his degree, and according to his ability and opportunity, 
 to contribute something for the advancement of this sem- 
 inary of learning with which we are associated. I have 
 not intended, nor could I have the presumption, to find
 
 33 
 
 fault with the general system of instruction and discipline 
 that has been pursued here, and whicli is substantially 
 the same with that which prevails in all the higher sem- 
 inaries of learning in our country. Under the faithful 
 labors of the able officers who have now and who have 
 heretofore had the responsible management of Trinity 
 College, the results, taking into view the limited numbers 
 of those who have been induced to resort here for educa- 
 tion, are such as its founders and patrons have full reason 
 to be satisfied with ; and following the subsequent career 
 of those who have graduated at this institution, the Church, 
 which finds them constituting one twelfth of those who 
 serve at her altars, must gratefully acknowledge that it 
 has not existed or labored in vain. 
 
 Much then has been accomplished for which we should 
 render our devout thanks to the iVlmighty, " whose inspir- 
 ation giveth man understanding." But the friends of 
 Trinity College mu.st not content themselves with this. 
 Their constant thought in relation to this place of educa- 
 tion must be of progress, and their zealous efforts must be 
 stirred up to promote those wise measures which shall 
 secure progress. 
 
 Can any thing then be proposed in conformity with the 
 principles which have thus imperfectly been set forth, 
 which may tend to give a fuller development to the true 
 idea of education, in that institution to which we owe our 
 allegiance, under whose auspices we are assembled, and 
 for whose welfare we are to consult and advise ? This, 
 gentlemen, is a question for your decision ; were I to ad- 
 vance any farther into the detail of proposed alterations, 
 you might then justly accuse me of presumption. I may 
 observe, however, that one principle for which I have con- 
 tended, has been to a certain extent carried out here. In 
 the address of last year it was stated that " this principle 
 has been recognized and has found expression in llie giv-
 
 34 
 
 ing to our college as her name henceforward through all 
 time, the thrice sacred name of the most blessed Trinity." 
 Previously she bore an honored name, — none in my 
 judgment worthy of higher earthly distinction. And so 
 far forth as that name called upon the sons of Washing- 
 ton College to emulate the wisdom, the prudence, the 
 high morality, and the noble patriotism of him who will 
 ever stand the very first upon the page of his country's 
 history, and amongst the chief of the great and good on 
 that of the world's history, it was an influential as well as 
 an honored appellation. But in view of the name by 
 which our college is now called, all earthly distinctions 
 and the emulation of the most exalted human virtues sink 
 to nothing and less than nothing. Dedicated to the Holy 
 Trinity, all who are connected with this seminary should 
 feel that they are pledged to the service of the Triune 
 God, and that every department of learning, here taught, 
 is to be made subservient to extending the faith and wor- 
 ship of God the Father who made man, God the Son who 
 redeemed him, and God the Holy Ghost who sanctifies 
 him. May His blessing ever rest upon all these and upon 
 all who shall pray and vow in its behalf — " Peace be 
 within thy walls and plenteousness within thy palaces. 
 For my brethren and companions' sakes, I will wish thee 
 prosperity. Yea, because of the house of the Lord our 
 God, I will seek to do thee good." Psalm cxxii. 7-9.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Extract from the Col/ege Calendar. 
 
 Trinity College, Hartford, is an academic Society, of which 
 llie control is vested in a Corporation, Icnown in law by the style 
 or title of The Trustees of Trinity College. 
 
 The design of a College in New England, connected with the 
 church of the mother country, and so far as possible modelled after 
 its celebrated universities, originated with the excellent Berkeley, 
 Bishop of Cloyne, who with this view purchased an estate, and 
 resided for sometime in Rhode Island. Though he was compelled 
 reluctantly to relinquish his project, it was nevertheless not entirely 
 without fruits. To his example and benefactions may be traced 
 much of that interest in sound learning and Christian education 
 which led to the first efforts for the establishment of a similar insti- 
 tution in Connecticut. 
 
 A Convocation of the Clergy of the Diocese, held in 1792, under 
 Seabl'ry, first Bishop of Connecticut, took the primary steps to- 
 wards establishing the Episcopal Academy at Chesbire; and this, 
 though incorporated with limited privileges, was intended as the 
 foundation for a higher institution, so soon as a charter conferring 
 full collegiate powers could be obtained irom the State. It was 
 often styled, fiimiliarly, The Seabury College. 
 
 Bishop Brownell, who succeeded to the Episcopate in 1819, was 
 enabled very shortly to perfect these designs. The charter of 
 Washington College was granted in 1823 ; and in the following 
 year the institution was opened at Hartford, under the presidency 
 of the Bishop, 
 
 In 1845, by permission of the Legislature, the name of the College 
 was changed to its present style, to attest forever the faith of its 
 founders, and their zeal for the perpetual glory and honor of the 
 One Holy and Undivided Trinity.
 
 36 
 
 To this brief History must be added some account of the internal 
 organization and condition of the College. 
 
 Tiie Senates Academicus consists of two housCs, known as the 
 Corporation and the House of Convocation. 
 
 The Corporation, on which the other house is wholly dependent, 
 and to wiiich, by law, belongs the supreme control of the College, 
 consists of not more than twenty-four Trustees, resident within 
 the State of Connecticut ; the President of the College being ex 
 officio one of the number, and president of the same. They have 
 authority to fill their own vacancies ; to appoint to offices and pro- 
 fessorships ; to direct and manage the funds for the good of the 
 College ; and, in general, to exercise the poAvers of a Collegiate 
 Society, according to the provisions of the charter. 
 
 The House of Convocation consists of the Fellows and Profes- 
 sors of Trinity College, with all persons who have received any 
 academic degree whatever in the same, except such as have been 
 lawfully deprived of their privileges. 
 
 Its business is such as may from time to time be delegated by the 
 Corporation, from which it derives its existence ; and is, at present, 
 limited to consulting and advising for the good of the College; 
 nominating the Junior Fellows, and all candidates for admission ad 
 eundem ; making laws lor its own regulation ; proposing plans, 
 measures or counsel to the Corporation ; and to instituting, endow- 
 ing and naming, with concurrence of the same, professorships, 
 scholarships, prizes, medals, and the like. 
 
 The Chancellor and Visitor. Such are the titles, under which 
 supervisory powers, with special reference to the moral and reli- 
 gious interests of the academical body, are entrusted to the Bishop 
 of the Diocese of Connecticut. 
 
 The President. This officer, as his title imi)orts, is the resident 
 head and Rector of the College, and the Executive of all laws for 
 the discipline of under-graduates. 
 
 The Fellows. There are six Fellows appointed by the Corpora- 
 tion alone, and six Junior Fellows, who iimst be Masters of Arts, 
 appointed by the Corporation on nomination of Convocation ; and 
 these together make the Board of Fellows. To this Board the 
 Corporation commits the superintendence of the strictly academical 
 business of the College; of the course of study and examinations; 
 of the statutes and discipline ; of the library, cabinet, chapel, halls, 
 grounds, collegiate dress, and tlic like; and also certain powers and 
 privileges in recommending for degrees. Each Fellow and Junior 
 Fellow is elected for three years ; but there is no emolument con- 
 nected with the office, besides a provision for necessary expenses
 
 37 
 
 incurred in its discharge. The Fellows therefore, under existing 
 laws, are not ordinarily resident. 
 
 The Dean of Convocatio.n presides in that House, and is elected 
 by the same, biennially. 
 
 The Professohs liold their appointments from the Corporation, 
 and by lectures and otherwise, instruct in tlieir several depart- 
 ments. With the President and Tutors, they also form a board of 
 government and control over the under-graduates. 
 
 Tutors and Lecturers are api)ointed from time to time by the 
 Corporation to assist the proles.sors in several dei)artnients of in- 
 struction. Private Tutors have no recognized character as offi- 
 cers of the College. 
 
 ScnoLARsiiu's. These arc i)eimanent endowments, held by cer- 
 tain under-graduates according to the terms of their Ibundationjand 
 paying stipends of diflerent amounts to their incumbents. 
 
 Halls. There are three buildings belonging to the College, 
 which in 1S45, received the name of the first three Bishops of the 
 Diocese. Seabury-Hall, erected in 1825, contains the Chapel, 
 and the Library, Cabinet, and other public chambers. Jarvis- 
 Hall, erected in the same year, and Brownell-Hall, erected in 
 1845, contain rooms for the officers and students ; and one of the 
 wings of the latter is the residence of a Professor and his lamily. 
 
 The Grounds, on wliich the halls are erected, are an area of 
 fourteen acres, laid out with walks, and ornamented with shade 
 trees and shrubbery. The site is elevated, overlooking on one side 
 the city of Harttbrd, within the limits of whicli tlie grounds are 
 partly situated; and on the other the Little River (a branch of the 
 Connecticut,) which forms their western boundary. This river is 
 suitable for boating and for exercise in swimming. 
 
 The Library and Cabinet. There are three thousand volumes 
 belonging to the College, arranged in alcoves, and occupying a 
 room in Seabury-Hall, in which are also the portraits of several 
 officers and benefactors of the College. There are also two libraries 
 belonging to societi(!s of under-graduates, containing an aggregate 
 of six thousand volumes. The cahiiift is an extensive collection 
 of minerals and geological specimens. A valuable philosuphical 
 apparatus is distributed tlu'ough the lecture-rooms of the several 
 professors requiring its aid in their instructions. 
 
 Terms. There are three terms in llie year, of from twelve to 
 fourteen weeks eacii : during which every under-graduate is re- 
 quired to be resident, unless under special dispensation from the 
 President.
 
 38 
 
 Examinations. These are held at the end of each Term, in 
 presence of examiners appointed by the Fellows, from their own 
 number, or otherwise j and every nnder-graduate is required to be 
 present and sustain his prescribed examinations at such times, un- 
 less a special examination is allowed for sufficient causes. 
 
 Vacation. The Christmas vacation is two weeks from the 
 Thursday preceduig Christmas day. The Easter vacation, four 
 weeks from the Thursday before the 12th of April. The Long Va- 
 cation is seven Aveeks from Commencement day. 
 
 Commencement. The first Thursday in August is Commence- 
 ment day. On the day preceding, the Corporation and House of 
 Convocation assemble, and an address and poem are pubUcly pro- 
 nounced before the latter. There are also academical exercises 
 publicly performed by the Junior Sophisters in the evening. On 
 this day all applications for degrees ad eundem must be made to 
 Convocation ; and the annual elections of Fellows and Junior Fel- 
 lows are usually held on this day, or on the morning following. On 
 Commencement-day, candidates for degrees perform appointed 
 exercises in public ; and all degrees are conferred and announced 
 with prescribed forms. 
 
 Degrees. Tlie Corporation is authorized by its charter to confer 
 degrees in the Arts, and in the faculties of Law, Medicine and Di- 
 vinity. Nominations for degrees may come from the Fellows and 
 Professors, or from the House of Convocation; but the candidates 
 are admitted only by vote of the Corporation; and ail degrees are 
 publicly conferred in its name, by the President. 
 
 Degrees in the faculties of Divinity and LaAV are conferred, at 
 present, only honoris causa, or on admissions ad eundem. For 
 the degree of Bachelor of Arts, the candidate must have sustained 
 all his examinations, and paid all fees and charges ; and must be 
 nominated to the Corporation by the Fellows, and the Faculty of 
 Arts. To proceed Master of Arts, a like nomination is requisite at 
 a period of not less tlian three years after commencing Bachelor. 
 The candidates for the degree must have performed their prescri- 
 bed exercises ; and it is desirable that the President should have 
 received application before the ammal meeting of the Fellows. 
 The right to nominate for admission ad eundem is exclusively the 
 privilege of the Convocation.
 
 (Si\)t Poets of Hcllglon. 
 
 A POEM, 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
 
 HOUSE OE CONVOCATION 
 
 OP 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 IN 
 
 CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, AUGUST 4, 1847. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. GEORGE BURGESS, D. D, 
 
 HECTOR OF CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD. 
 
 PITBLISHEO BY THE HOUSE OP CONVOCATION. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 PRESS OF CASE, TIFFANY & BURNUAM. 
 
 1847.
 
 Nothing but the desire to advance in any manner the interests 
 of an endeared institution, and a wish to cheiish, amongst our edu- 
 cated men, the honor and the love of sacred and generous poetry, 
 persuaded the writer to undertake the taslj of delivering a poem 
 before the Convocation of Trinity College, Hartford. Nothing else 
 has induced him to consent to its publication. In both instances, 
 his refusal was sincere and earnest, and was only overcome by 
 considerations which were not personal.
 
 ARGUMENT 
 
 rkmonstranrk. spensertan poets. ministry. recollections. claims. 
 Scene. Vision. Human History. Aoencies. Agency of the Poet. Poetry 
 THE Mcsic OP History. Moses. Miriam. Deborah. Job. David. Solomon. 
 Asaph. Jeremiah. Isaiah. The N.\.tivity. The Last Supper. The Cross. 
 The Ascension. Psalmody of the Cuurcu. Early Christian Hymns. Gregory 
 Nazlanzbn. Prcdentius. Alfred. Dark Ages. Dante. Tasso. Filicaia. 
 Manzoni. Lvtiier. Germ.^n Hymns. Gellert. Klopstock. Herder. Novalis. 
 Claudius. Stilling. Stolbero. Schubert. Franzen. Tegner. Manrique. 
 Lamartine. British Poets. Spenser. Milton. Pope. Addison. Youno. 
 Herbert. Walton. Kenn. Bunyan. Quarles. Crasiiaw. King. Marvell. 
 Hervey. Mrs. Rowe. Doddridge. Watts. Johnson. Goldsmith. Metho- 
 dist AND Moravian Hymns. Blair. Grahams. Cowper. Montgomery. Cole- 
 ridge. Southey. Wordsworth. Kirke White. Charles and Robert Grant. 
 Heber. Milman. Mrs. Hemanh. Pollok. Keble. Universal Power of 
 Poetry. Return. Poets of the Land. Poets of the Spot. Value and 
 Dignity of Poetry. Apology. Aim. Consecration.
 
 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 I. 
 
 As mid the strings an answering note I sought, 
 " Tempt not the lyre !" a genius seemed to say ; 
 " If once thy youth the spell one moment caught, 
 Content thee still to wear thy sprig of bay : 
 Eve has its ease, and morn its hour of play ; 
 For sterner toil was given the noonday fire ; 
 Bear yet a little while thy dusty way. 
 Nor pause for fancy, nor in bold desire 
 Of wreaths thou canst not reach, tempt thou the lofty lyre ! 
 
 11. 
 
 The Fairy Queen forbids the Fairy rhyme ; 
 The bard of Idlesse warns thee from his towers ; 
 The Minstrel sings, ' how hard it is to climb ;' 
 And Harold's brow beneath its laurel lowers ; 
 The virgin's gates are fenced by jealous powers ; 
 Who fails to win must perish at their feet : 
 Then flee, light pilgrim, floe th' enchanted bowers ; 
 Rest, if thou must, on some green wayside seat ; 
 But haste to find afar thy safe and still retreat.
 
 III. 
 
 As yet, nor safe nor still ! In fields of fight 
 A spotless banner thou wert pledged to bear : 
 The Red Cross streams along its folds of white, 
 And pours defiance on the hosts of air : 
 They threat the leaguered camp : thy place is there ! 
 On wings of wind the fiends of battle hie, 
 And all thou dar'st, the time draws near to dare ; 
 Oh, who shall stand if standard-bearers fly. 
 Or change for sportive tilt the conflicts of the sky ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Those solemn arches heard thy pastoral vow ; 
 To guard that board no hand is charged but thine ; 
 And forms beloved around thee seem to bow. 
 Who hve and worship near a happier shrine ; 
 Seem their kind eyes along those aisles to shine, 
 As when thy voice their mounting fervor led ; 
 That voice whose prayer could soothe their pale dechne ; 
 That voice which rose above their clay-cold bed ; 
 And has that voice a strain less sacred than the dead ?" 
 
 I paused and turned ; again, the call came near 
 From those fair walks that love their holiest name ; 
 It spoke of song to youth and genius dear. 
 Song that may die, yet dying may enflame : 
 And with it hopes, and with it memories came ; 
 Hopes that must soar with yon yet dawning sun. 
 And grateful memories with their gentle claim. 
 Binding the scholar when his race is run. 
 To hang the chaplet high, where first the flowers are won.
 
 VI. 
 
 While thus I mused, light breezes from the West 
 Swept the thin clouds that s])read their fleecy trail 
 Wliere, like a conqueror in his gorgeous vest, 
 The reddening day rode downward o'er the vale : 
 On the broad river swelled the transient sail, 
 And silver ripples caught the beams of gold : 
 Beyond, green hills, a vast, encircling pale, 
 Clasped the sweet meadows like some peaceful fold ; 
 And in the North, far, far, the long, low thunder rolled. 
 
 VII. 
 
 To fancy's glass, that all things dreams to life. 
 Earth lay within that narrow scene outspread : 
 Clouds hung above, the clouds of woe and strife, 
 But all the higher heaven rich glory shed : 
 On its calm course, time's sweeping current sped, 
 Its banks resounding with the toilsome throng ; 
 And judgment pealed afar its trumpet dread. 
 And guilt recoiled, amidst its march of wrong, 
 And the earth travailing groaned, "why wait His wheels so long! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The dream grew stronger, and the scene more vast ; 
 Those distant hills like Alps or Andes frowned ; 
 While o'er the plain the mighty ages passed ; 
 And nations' voices swelled the rushing sound : 
 Tall cities rose, with fanes and castles crowTied; 
 The wealth of realms in yellow harvests sprung; 
 The step of armies shook the blood-stained ground ; 
 Fleets to the winds their venturous streamers flung; 
 And round their thrones and laws embattled milhons clung.
 
 8 
 IX. 
 
 The reverend senate sat in halls of state ; 
 Do\^-n the plumed ranks T saw the chieftain dart ; 
 Held the wise judge the impartial scales of fate ; 
 Hurried the keen-eyed merchant in the mart ; 
 Bright figures g-rew beneath the touch of art ; 
 I saw the sage amidst his listening ring ; 
 I saw the patient scholar toil apart ; 
 I saw the priest his living censer bring : 
 I saw not yet the bard, nor heard th' impassioned string. 
 
 X. 
 
 At length it came ; it came ! As when at mom 
 From the thick grove a thousand voices float ; 
 As when the clash of cymbal, fife and horn 
 Swells through some mountain gorge's iron throat ; 
 So on my soul the strains of gloiy smote ; 
 So streamed the varied lays in one high chime ; 
 The lover's plaint, the minstrel's jocund note. 
 The ode's wild thrill, the drama's pomp sublime, 
 The flood of epic song, the hymns of every clime. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Mingled they came ; and all that breathing scene 
 To careless glance had seemed a troubled maze ; 
 But ever a soft sunlight fell between, 
 And beauteous order shone beneath its rays ; 
 The comet is not lost, though far it strays ; 
 The spheres have music such as seraphs hear ; 
 So the full torrent of ten thousand lays 
 Rolled an hannonious measure o'er mine ear ; 
 Song was the pulse of life, and song to heaven was dear.
 
 XII. 
 
 In ancient lands where springs the day to birth, 
 I saw a chosen shepherd as he sang, 
 " In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
 Rose out of chaos :" then with timbrel's clang 
 On the seashore the song of freedom rang ; 
 Then fought the stars from heaven with Barak's thrust ; 
 Then, pierced by wounded friendship's sternest pang. 
 The patient patriarch, seated in the dust, 
 Sang to the Arab winds, his sad, victorious trust. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A ruddy boy sang carols by his flock ; 
 Their stripling champion sang a maiden train ; 
 A hunted exile trod the desert rock ; 
 A generous mourner wept the kingly slain ; 
 A warrior bard had triumph on his strain ; 
 A harper bowed where that dread ark abode ; 
 A crownless father fled across the plain ! 
 So passed a prince along his wondrous road. 
 And ever where he passed, a psalm's sweet echoes flowed. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A son's calm forehead wore his sacred crown ; 
 A son's rich hand his sacred harp-strings tried ; 
 He sang in peaceful days of wise renown. 
 The heavenly bridegroom and the mystic bride ; 
 But from his own bright shrine he trod aside. 
 And idol sorceries stole his grayer years ; 
 Then, rushed the solemn lay that wailed his pride, 
 And told how vain the joys, or cares, or fears, 
 That fill the golden cup where guilt shall leave but tears. 
 ^ 2
 
 10 
 XV. 
 
 Then, in that temple's halls the priestly saint 
 To awful hymns the choral psaltery sweeps : 
 Then on the gale is borne the tuneful plaint 
 Where by the willo\Ae(i streams the captive weeps : 
 Then, while on ruined towers the moonbeam sleeps, 
 The patriot seer tells o'er his scroll of woes : 
 Then, his lone watch a loftier warder keeps. 
 The blood-red vision forth from Bozrah goes, 
 And far the desert smiles, and blossoms as the rose. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A psalm from heaven along the pastures fell, 
 Fast by a city slumbering deep in night : 
 The King of kings had come with men to dwell ; 
 And the glad skies burst forth in song and light : 
 A holy song was heard, when, meek in might, 
 To the last strife for man's dear sake He bowed ; 
 Hymns were His cries, while hung His soul in flight ; 
 And when He passed by yon blue archway proud, 
 Followed the songs of earth, beyond the enfolding cloud. 
 
 XVH. 
 
 They pierced the lattice from those upper rooms. 
 Where in rapt love the cup of grace was poured ; 
 They swelled victorious o'er the place of tombs ; 
 Up from the nuptial train in joy they soared ; 
 Th(!y cheered the bench of toil, the homely board, 
 The lonesome exile's desert way beguiled ; 
 To their soft fall his oar the boatman lowered ; 
 And where the mother lulled her hstening child. 
 She sang of Jesus' love, and angels stooped and smiled.
 
 11 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 names most bless'd, though all on earth unknown ! 
 There is a page where all resplendent stand ! 
 
 Ye whom I saw where, in your chambers lone, 
 Ye touched the chords that thrilled from land to land ; 
 Till where the Atlantic kissed the Culdces' strand. 
 And where the morn broke purpling o'er the Nile, 
 That " holy, holy," met the seraph band. 
 That first with earthly notes in Milan's aisle 
 Shook all th' adoring throng, and shook the echoing pUe. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Him, who, with hot Byzantium's mitre tired. 
 Longed for his Nazianzum's loAvly cell. 
 Though his rich lips the vast assembly fired. 
 And princes hung entranced within the spell ; 
 Him who had loved not wisely yet too well, 
 
 1 saw where, hid from men, he strove to sing : 
 Faint was the flame, and rough the numbers fell ; 
 Yet his owTi soul was on the bird's light wing. 
 
 And caught, above the whirl, sweet gales of balmy spring. 
 
 XX. 
 
 In the red sunset of her Pagan fame, 
 When o'er her plains the Gothic vultures hung, 
 Rome held Prudentius : his the foremost name 
 That bound to Christian strains that classic tona^ue : 
 He on the martyrs' graves his lilies flung ; 
 He rushed from prostrate shrines, too long adored, 
 And fast to Caesar's knees a suppliant clung, 
 And for the captive, Rome's new grace implored : 
 Th' arena rang with hymns, and sank the bmtal sword.
 
 12 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Alaric, Theodoric, Clovis, Charlemagne, 
 Ye long-haired kings that walk on Roman dust, 
 WTio treads so bright amidst your iron train ? 
 Alfred, the wise, the brave, the pure, the just ; 
 Alfred, who chased the fiends of war and lust ; 
 Alfred, Avho spoils from fifty battles bore ; 
 Alfred, who hung the victor's blade to rust ; 
 Then sang, a psalmist, with a sage's lore, 
 And fenced with royal prayers, his Albion's well won shore. 
 
 XXTI. 
 
 Now on the hills and plains and streams came down 
 A mist that heaved like billows on the deep : 
 It breaks by gleams, and here a bannered tovm, 
 And there a castle nodding o'er the steep : 
 On Eastern plains the knightly chargers leap : 
 Gray convent turrets rise in pensive vales : 
 And solemn strains round ancient ruins sweep. 
 Blending for man's sad state their plaintive wails 
 With strong, heroic deeds that live in minstrel tales. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Lo, from the screen emerged to clearer light, 
 Florence, the land where freedom blooms or l)leeds ! 
 And exiled Dante dares the gates of night. 
 Mounts the dread car that owns no mortal steeds ; 
 Scowls o'er the abyss, its direful secret reads ; 
 Then, crag by crag, ascends the toilsome way : 
 On ! on ! 'tis thine own Beatrice that leads ! 
 Soon shalt thou tread the heights of upper day, 
 And heaven and hell shall gleam from one wild, wondrous lay.
 
 13 
 XXIV. 
 
 As softly rich as when a tender flute 
 Melodious steals across some orange grove, 
 While eve descends, and stars seem listening mute, 
 Of Godfrey's triumph and Erminia's love 
 Was Tasso's tale ; then far it swept above ; 
 And dazzling armies hung in Salem's sky : 
 Th' enthusiast lyre was crushed ; but like the dove, 
 Sweet peace came answering to his contrite cry, 
 And in his convent cell he died as breezes die. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But now, no arms of song assail mine ear ; 
 No fabled chiefs yon turbaned hosts control : 
 O for a shout to bring all Europe near. 
 Where leagured Austria waits the royal Pole ! 
 As from the cliflf the broken billows roll. 
 Fled from Vienna's wall the Moslem trains ; 
 O for a song for every Christian soul ! 
 Then rolled the pomp of Filicaia's strains, 
 And throbbed with Europe's joy through all her sweUing veins ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Sad to my heart that o'er each Southern throne 
 In jewelled falsehood towers the Roman shrine ; 
 Yet shall that heart the hallowed music own, 
 That breathes along the sweet Italian line ; 
 Thine, Filicaia ! and, Manzoni, thine ! 
 Thou, purest of all pencils of romance ! 
 Thou, whose bright song its flowers disdained to twine 
 Around the reveller's cup, or conqueror's lance. 
 But built the cross of love o'er fields of change and chance.
 
 14 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I pass the Alps ; along their Switzer side, 
 Hark, like the wind that scales the icy steeps ! 
 It is the hymn of Lvither ! Far and wide 
 From old Germanian towns the tempest sweeps ; 
 O'er the broad oaken forests on it leaps : 
 He wields the axe ; and Babel's pillars fall ; 
 Then in his Catharine's arms, he smiles or weeps ; 
 And lifts in sacred song his clarion call ; 
 Oh, bravest heart on earth, since heaven miclosed for Paul ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Oh, rich and dear the good Teutonic tongue ! 
 And rich and dear its thoustmd holy lays ; 
 By humble hearths, in solemn church-yards sung, 
 Where the green lindens hide the grassy ways : 
 Rist, Gerhard, Angelus, from elder days. 
 These are the voices of the German's home, 
 Where by the broad Missouri now he strays, 
 Where Elbe spreads onward to the ocean foam, 
 Or where with thunder bursts fair Bremen's ancient dome. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When royal Frederick and Theresa strove. 
 And blazed on Saxon heights the camp-fire red. 
 Day after day through Leipsic's murmuring grove, 
 Repose and health a gentle student led : 
 His name was Gellert, and his fancy fed 
 On no light splendours of a poet's dream, 
 But in the region of pure joy and dread : 
 Goodness he loved, and goodness was his theme, 
 And his calm verse flowed on, a bright and nurturing stream.
 
 15 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Not such the torrent of deep song that gushed 
 Over the harp of Klopstock : on the air 
 The pinions of bright angels round him rushed, 
 And all creation's voice was praise and prayer : 
 He sang Messiah ; from this vale of care 
 As high his heart, his numbers soared as high, 
 As w^hen a spirit mounts the heavenly stair, 
 Casts, with a song, its mortal vestments by. 
 And sees th' eternal gates with meek, undazzled eye. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The courtly prophet of a doubting age. 
 Who leaned in Weimar's park on Wieland's arm, 
 I cannot praise ; yet. Herder, on thy page 
 The patriarch's word has left its hoary charm : 
 Genius was thine : if faith, with quick alarm. 
 Shall bid thee think thou tread'st on holy ground. 
 And put thy sandals off, yet, safe from harm, 
 She loves thy Syrian plains, with dew-drops crowii'd. 
 And joys to hear thy hymn through Mamre's oaks resound. 
 
 XXXH. 
 
 Nor all unmixed the praise that waits on thee, 
 O young Novalis, with thine azure glance, 
 Following the changeful lights thou may'st not see. 
 And bathing in the heaven's bright blue expanse. 
 Where thou, with Plato, knew'st the mystic dance ! 
 In deepest hearts thy thoughts had readiest room : 
 But thy Moravian parents, in thy trance. 
 Were with thee still ; and amaranth flowers shall bloom, 
 By Christian fingers set, round thy too early tomb.
 
 16 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And bards, I deem, and faithful bards were they, 
 Though oft the rhyme to lofty periods change ; 
 Claudius, who trilled his playful, tender lay 
 From the green covert of his village grange ; 
 Stilling, strange walker in a world more strange ; 
 Stolberg, the noblest name an age enrolled ; 
 Schubert, who lives the soul's wide world to range. 
 And truths like gems to fix in words like gold, 
 And tell what saints have been, and be what saints have told. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 I saw two poet prelates of the clime 
 Which that brave Charles and each Gustavus bred; 
 Stars of the North, they cheered this latter time : 
 Franzen was one, a pure and honored head ; 
 And one was he who Frithiof 's legend said. 
 And sang the lambs his pastoral hand had bless'd : 
 Once at his side, so strange our destined thread, 
 I sat, a youthful wanderer from the West, 
 And listened with fond ear, the brightest German's guest. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Another age ! Along a Spanish plain 
 Chargers and knights bestrewed the bloody ground : 
 They searched a warrior, foremost of the slain, 
 And on his breast a bloody scroll they found ; 
 There, his own death-song George Manrique bound, 
 Those solemn couplets, made so lately ours. 
 That, age by age, o'er pomp and greatness sound. 
 Like the deep knell from some old, cloistered towers, 
 Then roll away, away, to rest's eternal bowers.
 
 17 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Another scene ! Emerging from wild wars, 
 France for her struggUng freedom sues release : 
 Dinted her helm, her bosom seamed with scars, 
 She longs for exiled faith and law and peace : 
 Hark ! Lamartine's high numbers roll and cease ; 
 Blending the ancient fire, the modern thought, 
 Tlie song of Sion and the harp of Greece, 
 "What Charles had planned, or Fenelon had taught. 
 Or good Saint Louis prayed, or strong Napoleon wrought. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Now the sweet accents of our fathers' land. 
 The glorious accents of the wise and free. 
 Came to my ear from many a silver strand. 
 Mingling their voices with the conquered sea ! 
 O England, mother, burns our heart for thee ! 
 For truth has made thee sacred ; and so long 
 As from thy rocks the baffled waves shall flee. 
 Shall he who thinks what thou hast been be strong, 
 Nerved for his saintly war by thy religious song ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The master of my lyre, apart, alone. 
 On Mulla's bank his mighty fable wove : 
 Untired he watched, and saw the elfin throne, 
 The cave, the castle, the enchanted grove : 
 The champion knight the cowering monsters drove, 
 The self-same knight with many a shield and name ; 
 For faith, for love, for temperance still he strove. 
 Still strove the hallowed warrior and o'ercame ; 
 And the bright queen's reward was virtue's peerless fame. 
 
 3
 
 18 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And yet a greater ! old, and blind, and poor, 
 A father sits, and bending daughters write ; 
 A while the song shall seek its way obscure, 
 Then roll in floods of everlastina: liffht : 
 The song of Milton ! up the starry height. 
 Where Uriel stands, l)right regent of the sun. 
 The soul with him shall wing his Raphael's flight, 
 And look o'er Eden lost and Eden won, 
 And, yet a pilgrim, hear the strains of home begun. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And noble was his verse, whose lofty plan 
 From link to link th' eternal chain pursued : 
 "The proper study of mankind is man," 
 He said, and sang of man's supremest good : 
 On the low meads of earth-bom taste he stood, 
 Yet with calm skill could point th' adorer's eye, 
 Till nature's God in nature's face it viewed, 
 While the charmed rhyme, that flowed unruffled by, 
 In memory still must flow, till memory's self shall die. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Near him was one, w^ho brought his fresh, fair youth 
 From the good lessons of a pastor's hearth, 
 To gild his native tongue with beauteous truth, 
 With graceful rhetoric, and with blameless mirth : 
 All palms he bore o'er wealth and power and birth ; 
 But crowned his Christian deathbed best the lays. 
 Where chant the spangled heavens all round the earth. 
 Where mercies past the rising soul surveys. 
 Or where the peaceful flock mid verdant pastures strays.
 
 19 
 
 XLII. 
 
 E'en mightier thoughts from spangled night came do-wTi 
 On him whose harp the night's lone musing chose : 
 The dark hours fled, and each with heavier frown, 
 The sad reflection of his inward woes ; 
 Then, with the midnight stars on stars he rose ; 
 Not smooth the strain, but grand and strong, and deep ; 
 And there the mourners of all lands repose, 
 And still, with Young, their thoughtful vigils keep, 
 And at Narcissa's grave their own loved lost ones weep. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 I saw a courteous shepherd, as he pass'd. 
 The chimes of Salisbury floating to his ear ; 
 The garb of highborn state aside he cast, 
 And sought the rural pastor's modest sphere. 
 And trod the house of prayer with reverent fear : 
 The saintly Herbert ! From his tranquil cot 
 Came the quaint song that makes the church-porch dear, 
 And binds the country priest to love his lot. 
 While peace with calm, white wings bends o'er the fragrant spot. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 His tale was told by one whom next I spied, 
 The gentle angler, singing in the glen ; 
 A poet he, in heart and blood allied 
 To that thrice reverend name of holy Keim ; 
 Kenn, who returning from the strife of men, 
 Found in his lowlier walks no time to grieve, 
 But from the labors of a cheerful pen. 
 Left the dear liymns that yet at morn and eve 
 O'er countless Christian beds their balmy blessing leave.
 
 20 
 
 XLV. 
 
 A dreamer lighted on a den, and slept, 
 And when he woke, the pilgrim's progress told : 
 In every tongue, though scarce the lyre he swept. 
 His pictured page its poetry unrolled : 
 Song of the young, and solace of the old ! 
 Oh, matchless guide along th' eternal way, 
 Whose fable's robes so light the truth enfold, 
 Each graceful line in all its form display, 
 And melt beneath the gaze as twilight melts to day. 
 
 XLVL 
 
 And there was earnest Quarles, whose moral line 
 So well could preach o'er man's terrestrial doom ; 
 And fervent Crashaw, rapt in hopes divine 
 Till his heart soared as on an angel's plume ; 
 And mitred King, who mourned in radiant gloom ; 
 And patriot Marvel, with his moonlight flow ; 
 And pious Hervey, musing o'er a tomb ; 
 And the veiled tresses of seraphic Rowe ; 
 And Doddridge, when from heaven he caught th' inspiring glow ; 
 
 XLVIL 
 
 And one whose head with better wreaths was bound 
 Than all that rovers to Parnassus gain. 
 And yet no stranger on Parnassian ground : 
 Though now, perhaps, on tlioughtless lips and vain. 
 The songs of Watts be coupled with disdain, 
 Yet oft to hear shall taste delighted bend ; 
 Yet shall they sound from many a heaving fane ; 
 Yet infant tones with angel themes shall blend ; 
 And with th' expiring saint to one bright home ascend.
 
 21 
 
 XLVITI. 
 
 Nor e'er rose England's loftiest sage so high, 
 As when, all vainer wishes cast behind. 
 He bade thee, when thou liftst the supphant cry, 
 " Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind. 
 Obedient passions, and a will resigned :" 
 Nor spot more loved could Auburn's bard portray, 
 Than where the village preacher stands enshrined, 
 " Truth from his lips prevails with double sway. 
 And fools that came to scoff, remain in tears to pray." 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And lo, with downcast eyes, and souls above, 
 Of pilgrims of plain garb yon swelling host ! 
 And lo, another band, whose burning love 
 Bears the dear name of Christ, their only boast. 
 From Afric's cape to Greenland's icebound coast ! 
 With each the tide of song and music w^ent ; 
 Humble the best, and all unskilled the most ; 
 Yet myriads of strong hearts the chorus sent. 
 That rose with Wesley's fire, or Gambold's bless'd content. 
 
 L. 
 
 Forth from the casement of a Lowland manse, 
 Blair looked on graves that sparkled in the dew ; 
 The Grave his theme, the faithful poet's glance 
 Passed upward from the shades of solenni yew, 
 And life in death burst glorious on the view : 
 From such a scene, with memory's fondest skill, 
 The Sabl)ath's bard his holy ])icture drew, 
 Where flocks and clouds slept tranquil on the hill. 
 And rose the wide earth's prayers, like smoke-wreaths calm and 
 still.
 
 22 
 LI. 
 
 Wlio yonder walks, his playmates at his feet, 
 Lingering at sunset by the winding Ouse ; 
 Then, home returning, draws his fireside seat, 
 And sheltered safely from the evening dews, 
 Looks from his loophole o'er the world of news, 
 And sings his morning song, that, upward nursed, 
 Climbed from the Sofa to the heavenliest muse ? 
 He sang of comfort while his heart-strings burst. 
 And poured the stream of life, and died in fancied thirst. 
 
 LIL 
 
 A happier fate, nor less renowned a song. 
 Was his, who still his life's long honors wears ! 
 Still may Montgomery stay to wear them long ; 
 They blend no stain amid his hoary hairs ! 
 And when to that departed train he fares. 
 Whose tender forms he oft beheld so near. 
 Shall thousands of sweet voices bless with theirs, 
 The harp that woke and dried the sacred tear, 
 And bless the gentle eye they loved yet knew not here. 
 
 LIIL 
 
 From a wild land of lofty floods and lakes. 
 Three mighty streams of song come side by side ; 
 The strain of Coleridge like a cataract breaks. 
 Then through the plain its waves refreshing glide ; 
 As vast is Southey as his Severn's tide ; 
 As deep is Wordsworth as his lake's deep blue. 
 Whose breast, alone with heaven, the mountains hide 
 Oh, happy then was Britain when she knew 
 Her three divinest songs to British faith so true !
 
 23 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And next I looked where Gray's once favorite bowers 
 To sacred strains the lyre of genius strung : 
 From toils and victories of his midnight hours, 
 White to the tomb passed beautiful and young, 
 For his owni dirge his own sad verse had sung : 
 But to the heirs of Grant's true worth and name. 
 Was given the brilliant mind, th' enchaining tongue, 
 The soft rich hymn, so various yet the same. 
 That bears to coming saints their undivided fame. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Best of the bright, and brightest of the good. 
 Before me, graceful in the scholar's gown. 
 Next, mid applauding scholars, Heber stood. 
 And wore unmatched the youthful laureate's cro^^^^, 
 Then, trod the radiant paths of pure renown : 
 His song, his heart, his hfe, to Christ he bore ; 
 And, when, beneath the palms he laid them down, 
 His glorious chant of One who passed before, 
 Died o'er his grave, and came, returned from every shore. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The meet companion of his lyre I spied 
 In the robed student of that stately fane 
 Whose Gothic towers look down on London's pride 
 And grand and gorgeous as an Eastern train 
 Floats the majestic pomp of Milman's strain ! 
 Master of words, like orient pearls that fall, 
 When in the dust sad Zion wails her slain. 
 Or the wild shout goes up from Babel's hall, 
 Or the glad martyr hastes to heaven's high festival.
 
 24 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Like mellow tints that end th' autumnal clay, 
 Like fragrant blushes of the moss-girt rose, 
 Felicia bloomed, Felicia passed away. 
 The song still deepening to the heavenly close ; 
 But, where in love the household altar glows. 
 Or patriot freedom lifts the steady spear, 
 Or on in tears the way-worn pilgrim goes, . 
 Tliat bird-like, woodland note shall still be near. 
 And gushing sounds of home the wandering heart shall hear. 
 
 LVIIL 
 
 On Scottish moors, in humble labors bred, 
 In the kind rigors of his faith and clime, 
 The Bible and the sky young Pollok read. 
 And the old tales of conscience and of crime. 
 And chose in lonely hours his theme sublime : 
 Far on, beyond the mortal mists he pass'd. 
 And backward glancing, told the course of time, 
 Its wondrous course, so wondrous till the last. 
 In numbers bold and harsh, like the strong pibroch's blast. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Once more, once more ! How sweet a note was there ! 
 From oriels of high Oxford forth it steals, 
 And all the gales the gentle echoes bear, 
 Where'er the Sabbath bell of England peals ! 
 On rolls the sacred Year its awful wheels ; 
 And every sacred theme has dear regard : 
 He sings so sweetly that so true he feels : 
 Oh, though a thousand colder strains be marr'd. 
 Still clasp the purer church her tenderest, holiest bard !
 
 25 
 LX. 
 
 So, mid earth's many voices, passed the voice 
 Of hallowed song, far up th' eternal hill : 
 I saw the nations tremble, and rejoice, 
 And weep, and rally, at its mighty thrill ; 
 Lord of the fancy, o'er the realms of will, 
 Th' anointed poet fixed his welcome throne: 
 And my full soul bowed down and blessed the skill 
 That wakes in human hearts their deepest tone, 
 And lifts them high as heaven, and clasps them for its own. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Meanwhile mine eye had crossed the Western main. 
 And a fair s})ot its gaze in passing drew ; 
 And while I caught no unfamiliar strain, 
 That little spot to fill the vision grew ; 
 The fancied scene was yielding to the true : 
 Our own broad river in the sunset glowed ; 
 Our own green hills shut in the fading view ; 
 It was the valley of my dear abode, 
 And my own city's chimes along the breezes flowed. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 And here, I said, where once my country's morn 
 Saw her young bards attempt the epic height, 
 Saw her own song in infant beauty born. 
 With Barlow, Trumbull, Hopkins, Humphreys, Dwight ; 
 I^e, where the church whose very prayers are bright 
 With all that poets love, her watch-tower rears, 
 And calls the Muses to her sacred light ; 
 Here should the hallowed verse find eager ears. 
 And pour its burning swell far o'er perpetual years. 
 4
 
 26 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Such strains have floated round those walks and walls, 
 From one who changed the youthful harpstring bold 
 For every task whose urgent labor calls 
 The pastors' pastor to his well watched fold : 
 And one whose strength his lyre but half has told, 
 And half concealed; and one whose brilliant way 
 A brother's heart in silence fond may hold ; 
 And one, whose gentler praise I must not say, 
 But the wide English world gives back that kindliest lay. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Oh precious, precious be the warbled charm 
 Within whose flow such might of sweetness lies ; 
 Might, to high deeds that lifts the strenuous arm, 
 And draws high thoughts, the wisest from the wise ; 
 That lures the fount of tears from hardiest eyes ; 
 And sways all souls with love's divinest art : 
 Sing he who may : if loftier bards despise, 
 Sing like the songsters of the grove apart. 
 And trust to every wind the numbers of the heart. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 So wooed the Muse, and so the Muse has won ; 
 And half in shame, and half in pensive joy. 
 Through one bright hour the man has lingered on. 
 In shades that once could chain the ardent boy : 
 Oh, but too happy in his light employ. 
 Might but his verse some youthful bosom lure 
 From sloth that taints, and trifles that destroy. 
 To love the flowers whose vernal hues endure, 
 To court the glowing harp, and let that harp be pure :
 
 27 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Not in brief play the earnest mind to waste, 
 Not from stern tasks life's little space to rend ; 
 But truth's firm pile to twine with wreaths of taste, 
 And man's deep strength with woman's grace to blend ; 
 O'er storms of care a rainbow-arch to bend ; 
 With bounding step the hidden snare to spurn. 
 Then on, far on, th' exploring pinion send, 
 Till faith to sight, and praise to rapture bum. 
 And with one swan-like hymn the spirit home return. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Thou, on whose altar all my toils are laid. 
 Accept e'en this ; e'en this beseems thy shrine ! 
 Thy children come, nor thankless nor afraid ; 
 For all they have, and all they are, is thine ! 
 Song is thy gift : be here that gift divine 
 Winged by thy love, and chastened by thy fear ; 
 And while, like setting stars, our lives decline, 
 Still in the East let purer orbs appear, 
 And strains that seraphs sing find answering accents here !
 
 (H (5 e 5 £ i a I £i n s t c m . 
 
 AN ADDl^ESS 
 
 rUONOUNCED liEFOUE 
 
 THE HOUSE OF CONVOCATION, 
 
 OF 
 
 TllINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 HAllTFURI), AUGUST 2, 1848. 
 
 BY 
 
 DANIEL D. fJARNAIlD, LL. D. 
 
 i-UBLISllEO AT TUB UEQUKST OK CUM VOCATION. 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 
 SAMUEL IIANMEH, JR. CALENDAPw PRESS. 
 
 1 b -1 S .
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Mr. Dean, and Gentlemen of Convocation, 
 
 Trinity College, with its peculiar organization, cannot fail 
 to have a good deal to do with the opinions which shall be held 
 in this country on a good many questions of great practical im- 
 portance, interesting alike to the statesman, the philanthropist 
 and the Christian. It has that peculiar organization believed to 
 be best calculated to presei've and maintain within itself all foiTns 
 of sound doctrine — not only in religion, but in all ethical ques- 
 tions, and all questions touching the relations of men in the 
 social state. Like all our other Colletres it has its lec^al existence 
 and government in a Corporation ; but it has an internal organi- 
 zation and government of its ovv^n, which, in its religious aspect, 
 is according to Episcopal fotms and polity. The President of 
 the College is the Ilector of the Academical body, which is 
 supei"v'ised, in its moral and spiritual interests, by the Bishop of 
 the Diocese in which it is situated. It is thus formed into a 
 Religious, as well as an Academical Society, and is so far built 
 on better foundations than human hands could lay. It is a Chris- 
 tian Brotherhood, domiciled in their own Halls of College, and 
 devoted to personal cultivation and discipline, and to the business 
 of education — to the intellectual, moral and religious training of 
 young men. 
 
 A feature, quite novel, I believe, in this country, in the organ- 
 ization of this Collegiate Society, is found in this House of Con- 
 vocation. This is the second House of the Academical Senate ; 
 the other being the Corporation, consisting of the legal Trustees 
 of the College. This House is composed of the Fellows, twelve 
 in number, and the Professors of the College, with all persons
 
 4 
 
 admitted to any Academic degree therein. In this way, besides 
 those admitted to de"-rees in the Arts, or in the hio^her Faculties 
 of Law, Medicine, and Divinity, causa honoris, or ad eundem, the 
 ranks of the Collegiate Society are recruited every year with a 
 body of young men trained in the Institution, and nurtured in the 
 Faith which it professes. Of course the resident members of the 
 Collegiate body are comparatively few at all times ; the rest are 
 found in the community at large, but gather here in Convocation 
 in considerable numbers, on stated occasions, like that on which 
 they are now assembled. Nor is this House a mere voluntary 
 Association, like the Societies of Alumni found in our Colleges 
 generally. It has an official existence, so constituted by the legal 
 authority of the College, with appropriate duties assigned to it in 
 the affairs and business of the Institution. 
 
 I believe I am not mistaken in supposing — at least I hope I 
 am not — that, while the hiQ;her business of this Collesje is to be 
 that of educating young men, having in contemplation an educa- 
 tional system somewhat after the plan of the old Univei'sities, 
 there is also an open design to make this Collegiate body an Aux- 
 iliary and Helper, in its appropriate and subordinate sphere, to 
 those other and higher, because divinely-constituted, organiza- 
 tions — that of the Family, that of the State, and that of the 
 Church — by and through which, indispensably, men are every 
 where in this world to be trained, governed, civilized and saved. 
 I suppose that the true design and attitude of this College before 
 the country, will not be materially misapprehended or misrepre- 
 sented, if it shall be regarded and understood as professing alle- 
 gience to the Church, as well as to the State, and pledged to 
 maintain and teach all forms of sound doctrine, according to the 
 only standard of Truth and Duty recognized among Christians, 
 touching whatever may affect the social as well as the spiritual, 
 condition and progress of mankind. 
 
 Such a College, so constituted and organized, and imbued 
 with principles which never have failed and never can fail any 
 thing or any body tliat relies on them, must, as I have said, come 
 to exercise a marked influence on the opinions and affairs of the 
 community. It may be expected that a body of opinion, having 
 its foundation always broadly laid in religious truth, and bearing 
 on a great variety of practical questions of the highest interest to
 
 society, will bo built xip and steadily maintained here, and at the 
 same time, reprcsentetl abroad in the country wherever the mem- 
 bers of Convocation may be iound. Meanwhile, the members of 
 the Collegiate body, through this membership, standing every 
 where as the I'eprcsentatives and sponsoi's of the sound opinions 
 maintained in this place, will l)e multij)lied with every revolving 
 year ; and when other Colleges, following this good example, 
 and organized upon this plan, shall be established and multiplied 
 in various quarters, the way may be opened for a better feeling 
 of security than can prevail at present, for those pnnciples and 
 institutions on which society, and civilization, and all true pro- 
 gress depend, against the devices and passions of restless and 
 reckless men, by which now they are almost every whei'e assail- 
 ed. Such Collegiate societies, so compacted and consolidated in 
 moral sentiment, and resting on foundations that can never be 
 moved, may stand towards this agitated and abused world of ours, 
 in a relation not unlike that of the Breakwater to the troubled 
 Ocean — presenting a solid wall, against which all the turbulence 
 and fury which rage without may spend themselves in vain, and 
 within and behind which the feeblest vessels, as well as the stout- 
 est and bravest, may ride in safety. 
 
 The present is a penod of great restlessness and agitation 
 among the popular elements of the world. The established or- 
 der of things is almost eveiy where being questioned, disturbed, 
 and, in many cases, subverted. There is a great demand for 
 rights, and for the redress of wrongs — which is all very well, only 
 one would like to be able to discover, along with these, some 
 corresponding enquiry after duties and obligations. While every 
 body is thinking of rights and nobody is thinking of duties, it is 
 not likely that any very valuable discoveries will be made or 
 improvements effected. Statesmanship, or what goes by that 
 name, is very much employed of late in teaching mankind that 
 political government, even in the mildest and purest fomi yet 
 devised, instead of be'ng something ordained of God, if necessary 
 at all is a necessaiy evil, and is little else any where than a stu- 
 pendous fraud on human rights and human liberty, devised and 
 pi-actised by cunning and wicked men for their own purposes of 
 oppression and profit. Philanthropy, becoming speculative and 
 philosophical, seems to discover no way of rigJiting the wronged,
 
 redressing the grievances and remedying the miseries of man- 
 kind, but by turning society the bottom side up, and the upside 
 down. Even in RcHgion, there are so many short and easy 
 methods to the conversion of the woi'ld, and men love indepen- 
 dence so much better than obedience, that any way seems better 
 to multitudes of men than the appointed way ; this becomes a 
 naiTOw road which shows only here and thei'e a traveller. Pop- 
 ular revolutions are now-a-days eficctcd with strange facility — 
 happily with comparatively little bloodshed, even in countries 
 little given to change ; and in this country, we have discovered a 
 method of revolutionizing a state or government, with about as 
 little trouble as a reverse motion is given to the engine of a loco- 
 motive, or a steamer. We can go forward, or back, or turn on 
 our course by a sharp angle, without seeming to derange the 
 political machinery in any sensible degree. All this we do in the 
 name of reform and of progress, INIen are becoming wise above 
 what is written, whetlier on profane or sacred pages. Govern- 
 ment and Law are allowed to have very little stability, and 
 therefore command very little respect. And as for the Func- 
 tionaries of Government, and the Ministers of the Law, they are 
 apt to be regarded, and too often, personally considered, seern 
 only worthy to be regarded, not as governors and rulers set up, 
 according to divine authority, "for the punishment of evil-doers 
 and the praise of those that do well" — not as representing the 
 majesty of the Law or of the State — but as sei^vile placemen, who 
 perhaps have forfeited their honor in gaining their places, and 
 who represent nothing — but a job. 
 
 Perhaps the severest trial to which the virtue of any people 
 can be subjected, is when every man has a share in the Govern- 
 ment ; for when every one governs, few indeed are willing to 
 submit to be governed ; when every one commands, nobody likes 
 to obey. Yet the habit and practice of obedience is indispensa- 
 ble to the moral health of every people ; and there can be no 
 habits of obedience, when there is no habitual reverence or 
 respect for the laws, or for the public authorities. No commu- 
 nity can very long govern itself by popular forms, which discards 
 or turns its back on the cardinal principle of loyalty and obedi- 
 ence as a religious sentiment and duty. When demagogues take 
 the control of the pcojile, and become their schoolmasters, they
 
 will very soon bo educated out of every true notion of govern- 
 ment and every true idea of liberty. Liberty which does not 
 consist with government and law, is not that sort of liberty which 
 Angels enjoy, and is quite as little suited to the condition of those 
 who are made a little lower than the Angels. Liberty without 
 government and law, properly befits only those indejiendent spir- 
 its, to whom belong 
 
 "tho unconquerable will. 
 And study of revenge, immortal hatp. 
 And courage never to submit or yield.'' 
 
 But not to rest, in what I have to say, altogether in generali- 
 ties. Perhaps I cannot better acquit myself of the duty imposed 
 upon me here, than by offering to those Avho are doing me the 
 honor to listen to me on this occasion, some observations on tho 
 idea of the Social State, with some reference to the foundations, 
 in respect to political organizations, on which Modem Civiliza- 
 tion stands, and with some reference, also, to the principles on 
 which all improvement and all progress in the social condition of 
 mankind must depend. 
 
 It cannot be too often repeated, or too strongly insisted on, 
 wherever the tiiith on this subject is meant to be sternly vindica- 
 ted — and in this I do but respond to tho sentiment of both tho 
 eloquent gentlemen who have preceded me in an Address before 
 this body — that there are three organizations in the world, of 
 special and divine appointment ; that of the Family, that of the 
 State, and that of the Church. These are three distinct yet par- 
 allel and consistent forms of organic existence and order, which 
 together, in their pei"fection and purity, and according to their 
 universality, must give and secure to mankind all the comfort and 
 happiness which they are capable of in a life of trial and disci- 
 pline. The first of these social organizations, through which the 
 human being is introduced into this mortal state, reaches back to 
 that void region of nothingness out of which he is taken ; the last, 
 through which he may hope to be finally introduced into a new 
 existence and a more perfect society, connects itself with that 
 boundless Future aiter which every rational mind lifts a hopeful 
 aspiration.
 
 8 
 
 If men cannot be made happy in this life, in and through these 
 three organizations, they cannot be made happy at all. If they 
 cannot be made hapi)y in subjection to the fundamental and ne- 
 cessary principles involved in these three organizations, they 
 cannot be made happy at all. And the great fact in regard to 
 each and all of them is this ; that there are law^s, to be enforced 
 and to be obeyed ; there is authority on one side — authority of 
 divine ordination — and there must be obedience on the other. — 
 Men can never be happy till these laws, and this authority, are 
 reverenced, submitted to, and obeyed. 
 
 There have been a great many devices first and last in the 
 world for escaping from the restraints of necessary law and 
 authority. Demagogues and disorganizers must be expected to 
 go wrong in this matter of course. They go wrong of purpose, 
 or they follow a will and way of their own, no matter whether it 
 be right or wrong. But there are Refoitners, who do as much 
 mischief in their way as the others, who yet probably mean well, 
 and really desire to serve the interests of mankind in the best 
 manner. And there are Philanthropists who devote their lives 
 to doing good — and it is really wonderful how much good some 
 of them seem to do, considering the pei-verse and wrong way in 
 which they set about it. If these RefoiTners and Philanthro- 
 pists had always kept in mind and in view, the necessary exis- 
 tence and sacred character of the three organizations, or forms 
 of social life, to which I have refeiTed, with some proper appre- 
 ciation of their claims on the reverence and obedience of all men ; 
 if their plans had been formed with reference to them ; if they 
 had acted, or professed to act, in and through them, and by 
 means and agencies strictly auxiliary to them ; it cannot be doubt- 
 ed that the cause of Humanity and Civilization would have been 
 much better sensed by them than it has been. Indeed, the 
 cause df Humanity and Civilization — the permanent bettering of 
 the social condition of mankind — has never been promoted at all, 
 by any moans or agency whatever which was essentially at war 
 with these social foniis, or which was designed to operate, and 
 did operate, independently of them. 
 
 I recur to the fact, that the necessary constituent parts of the 
 social system of a Christian country like this, are the three Or- 
 ganizations or Associations, to which I have referred ; namely :
 
 9 
 
 that of the Family, that of the State, and that of the Church. — 
 Let me, in the fli.st place, take a brief view of our Political organ- 
 ization. It is in this Political organization that the Social Sys- 
 tem of any country has its chief outward expression and mani- 
 festation, in the view and estimation of the common mind. 
 
 The Social System of the country is not a thing about which 
 we, or any body who lives under it, may be indifferent — unless 
 we are indiderent to life, and nearly all that renders life worth 
 having. It touches every one of us very nearly ; it connects 
 itself intimately with our life, in all its relations, with what we 
 are, and what we have, and what we enjoy, or may hope to en- 
 joy. It connects itself intimately with our intellectual life, our 
 moral, religious, and social life. None of these could be what 
 they are without it. It guards our infancy, it nourishes our 
 manhood, it comforts our age — in so far as these are guarded, 
 and nourished, and comforted at all in the social state — and when 
 it can no longer give us present enjoyments, or we can no longer 
 taste or relish them, it comes to us with Hopes and Promises 
 that light up the darkness of the Future, and enable us to see 
 our children, and those who shall stand in our places, with the 
 uncounted hosts to which their numbers shall be swelled in suc- 
 cessive generations, fortunate and happy as we have been, and 
 perhaps far more fortunate and happy than we have been. 
 
 The first thing to be remarked in this connection is the neces- 
 sary existence in every country of a social system of some sort. 
 Man is essentially a social being. This is his state of nature. 
 He is under a positive necessity to live in society, and form social 
 relations with his fellows ; and it is not a mere instinct with him 
 to live in society, as it is with many creatures lower down in the 
 scale of animal life ; it is a real necessity. He cannot live at all, 
 except in the social state — I mean he cannot live as man, he can- 
 not be man, except in ihe social state. He may exist in solitude, 
 but undisputed facts have shown that he ceases to be human, and 
 becomes the most abject and miserable of brutes. His structure 
 and constitution make it just as certain that he was formed to 
 live in society, as the structure and constitution of fishes that they 
 were made to live in the water, or those of birds that they were 
 made to live in the air. His faculties cannot grow, they cannot 
 be developed, in any otlier state, any more than fishes could grow 
 
 2
 
 10 
 
 in the air, or birds grow under the water. His faculties are 
 adapted to the Social state — all of them, moral, and religious, and 
 intellectual, and mechanical ; there they have their aliment, and 
 find employment and exercise, and get their growth and their 
 sti'ength. How else is he to have any affections, reflections, sen- 
 timents, opinions, judgments '? These must have related objects 
 towards which, or by which, they are to be drawn out and exer- 
 cised ; and where else is he to find these related objects 1 As 
 man, his education, the eduction of all the powers and feelings 
 that constitute him man, begins in the cradle, and goes on, to the 
 grave ; it begins in the cradle, because there human eyes watch 
 over him, and human voices are about him, and he is the object 
 of human ministrations. He is born into society, and his teach- 
 ers are always near him, and if they were not, he would know 
 nothing, and he would be nothing, but a very miserable and bru- 
 tish animal. On the mother's knee, in the bosom of the family, he 
 has his fust lessons, reaching the heart, and the fancy, and the 
 mind, through the electric chain of human sympathies which 
 binds heart to heart, and fancy to fancy, and mind to mind. And 
 so the eduction of his powers and feelings goes on, througli all 
 the stages of his mortal being, and he is man, with the faculties 
 and senses, the sense and sensibilities of man. In every new 
 condition, in every new relation of life, he receives this education 
 and development ; in his youth, manhood and age ; in the family, 
 the seminary, and the church ; in the walks of pleasure, and in 
 the walks of business; in the field, the work-shop, the counting- 
 house ; in popular assemblies, in courts, and halls of legislation ; 
 and wherever his lot is cast, be it among the great, the affluent, 
 the luxurious, or away down among the humblest of his kind, 
 where he struggles with the hardest necessities ; be it in pros- 
 perous or adverse fortune, in sickness or health, in joy or grief; 
 whatever he may be, and wherever he may be, and however his 
 life or lot be cast, if only it be among men, in society and not in 
 solitude, he is always under instruction and discipline, and always 
 receiving this education and development and exercise of his fiic- 
 ulties — it may be a very partial development, or it may be full 
 and ample, according to circumstances and condition ; but what- 
 ever it be, and however inconsiderable, he could not have even 
 that little in any other way. Man in solitude could not even
 
 11 
 
 have the faculty of speech ; and as ho could not converse, he 
 could not think or reason ; he could not have reflection, or sym- 
 pathy, or sense, or allcction. And what sort of a human being 
 would that be '/ 
 
 Man is, then, essentially a social being ; and wherever men are 
 found on this earth, they are found in society, and with some sort 
 of social organization. They live together in the social state; 
 and this social state implies organization and regulation, it im- 
 plies polity and government. Men cannot live together without 
 regulation, without rule, without authority. And this is just as 
 much a law of their nature, and a law of necessity, as that they 
 should live in society at all. There is a popular phrase, often 
 employed and applied to the human being — namely — "living in 
 a state of nature ;" and by which it is meant to express, or as- 
 sume, what cannot possibly be true, cither first, that man as man, 
 may live and grow \ip in solitude, without connection or associa- 
 tion in any way Avith his fellows ; or, next, that men may aggre- 
 gate, and so live together in herds, as wild horses do r).i the great 
 prairies, without any principle of association or rtgiilation, and 
 with a complete personal independence in each individual — in 
 short, that men may live together, without living together in soci- 
 ety, without living in the social state. But this is impossible ; 
 the constitution of his nature does not admit of any thing of the 
 sort. Men must not only live together side by side, but they 
 must live together in relationship. Their natures are expressly 
 adapted to their living together in relationship. All their great 
 interests in life are interests of mutual or reciprocal relation- 
 ship, and about these their best and highest faculties and affec- 
 tions are employed and exercised. Without them, indeed, their 
 higher faculties and affections would not be developed at all. — 
 The relations of men to each other in society, especially where a 
 high state of civilization has been attained, are almost infinite, 
 and all these bring with them reciprocal obligations and duties, 
 and these obligations and duties bring with them in their turn, the 
 necessity of regulation, of rule, of authority, of government. 
 There has been no society, no aggregation of men on the earth — 
 History does not inform us of any — so rude and savage, as to have 
 been without some sort of organization, some sort of rule and 
 government. All have had their laws, and some authority by
 
 12 
 
 which those laws are enforced. Cimmerians, Scythians, Sarma- 
 tians, even these had their laws, and tlieir public authority. In 
 its more advanced stages, human society comes to be filled with 
 complex relations, and is governed by complex laws. And under 
 and through these relations and laws men come into life, receive 
 nurtui'e, receive instruction, receive protection, establish connec- 
 tions, labor in their callings, acquire and hold proj^erty, are fed 
 and clothed, and warmed, and sheltered in houses, rear and edu- 
 cate children, worship God, and so, having finished their course, 
 pass away, and sleep in protected, and it may be honored 
 graves. 
 
 Of necessity, then, according to the constitution of human na- 
 ture, and by the appointment of God, men live together in society, 
 in the social state, and under some sort of social organization, 
 and civil polity. Every peojjle must have a social system, of 
 one kind or another ; it may be very complete, or it may be very 
 imperfect. If it be not one thing, it must be another*. If it do 
 not indicate a high state of civilization, it will indicate a mode- 
 rate degree, or a low degree of civilization, or no civilization at 
 all. The Social System of any country, as it is found embodied 
 in its political forms, may be propei-ly regarded as expressing 
 the state of civilization to which that country has attained. This 
 is a point of principal interest belonging to the political organi- 
 zation ; and another is this ; that it forms and constitutes a guar- 
 anty for the conservation and maintenance of its civilization up to 
 the point to which it has already been carried. If besides this, 
 the political organization be such as to foster and favor a spirit 
 of improvement and progress in the line of genuine civilization, 
 and so expansive and elastic withal as to comprehend and secure 
 every advance that is made, every new point of good and excel- 
 lence that may be attained, to the entire avoidance of all neces- 
 sity or excuse for violent changes and revolutions, whether bloody 
 or bloodless ; if such be the political organization of any coun- 
 try, happy and blessed are the people that are in such a case. — 
 But, then, they must know and understand themselves, and the 
 real advantages of their condition, and they must be capable of 
 conducting their affairs in moderation, and under the lead of wise 
 and moderate counsels, in order to secure to themselves the 
 greatest amount of present benefit and enjoyment, and, at the
 
 13 
 
 same time, and all tho while, to be laying broader and deeper 
 the foundations of public virtue and public happiness. 
 
 We will look, then, briefly, at our political organization in this 
 country — the forms of our American civil polity. 
 
 Taking, in tho first place, altogether an outside view of our 
 political organization, we notice here a nation, properly so cal- 
 led, and a national government, or central governing power. 
 And do not let us make the mistake of supposing that this is too 
 common-place a fact, to be of any account or consequence. We 
 could not well be a civilized people without this strictly national 
 organization and government. European civilization exists un- 
 der this form of polititical organization — about all there is of it ; 
 and it is under this form that civilization has made the highest 
 advance thus far in the history of the world. 
 
 And let it here be observed, that it took Europe a thousand 
 years to reach this advanced political condition. From the fall 
 of the Roman empire in the fifth, to the middle of the fifteenth 
 century, there was properly no such thing as a nation in Europe ; 
 there was no nationality, in the true, modern sense of the word. 
 Alfred in England, came nearer to making a national establish- 
 ment than any body else in all Eui'Ope down to the fifteenth cen- 
 tury ; but the English nation was not actually formed and estab- 
 lished till the period of the accession of Henry VII., and the union 
 of the rival houses of York and Lancaster. Charlemagne was 
 the head of a mighty kingdom, but he was not the sovereign of a 
 true nation. The idea of a modern nation is this : That it is 
 composed of one homogenous people, forming one body, with a 
 certain distinctive character, and having a certain principle of 
 unity ; occupying a fixed residence and home, that is, having a 
 country to which fixed limits are assigned ; and subject, as a 
 nation, and in its unity as such, to one central government. There 
 must be a people, forming a body politic, having a public senti- 
 ment, and will, and wisdom of its own, such as these may be; 
 and there inust be a government representing the nation, as the 
 Patriarch represents the Family, or the Tribe, and presiding and 
 rulinsr over it. Such is a modern nation with its jrovemment. It 
 is a political family ; and it was the marshalling of mankind into 
 great political families, each having its own proper representa- 
 tive and governing head, and in each of which a certain character
 
 14 
 
 and principle of unity prevails, which marked the era and com- 
 mencement of modern civilization in Europe. This did not 
 begin, as I have said, till the fifteenth century. It is only since 
 that period, that we have the English nation, and the French 
 nation, and the Spanish nation, and the rest. The modem na- 
 tions of Europe have been formed from elements supplied main- 
 ly out of the loins of those wandering and barbaric ti-ibes of the 
 great German stock of our race, before which the Roman empire 
 fell, and which, finally, spread themselves nearly all over the con- 
 tinent. It is these Germans, with the Sclavonic population of the 
 north, supposed to be descended from the Sai'matians, as the 
 Germans were from the Scythians, which together constitute, at 
 this day, the nations of Eui'ope, now the keepei's and consei-\'a- 
 tors of the highest civilization to which humanity has yet attain- 
 ed in the Old World. That is the civilization in which we in this 
 country, having a common origin with them, participate ; it is 
 that civilization on which, as a general foundation, ours is built. 
 
 Now the great fact which the history of the races to which I 
 have refen'cd to, from the time of their irruption into Europe, 
 discloses, is that already named ; that modern civilization did not 
 begin to show itself till those tribes and hordes, after a thousand 
 years of error and confusion, of painful preparation and disci- 
 pline, were resolved into distinct nations, with a certain centrali- 
 zation of power to form a government in each case, and a certain 
 principle of unity and individuality in the nation itself. It is not, 
 of course, my purpose to undertake to show the tedious process 
 by which this point was gained ; that would involve an historical 
 review not to be attempted here. It is the fact to which I wish 
 to attract your particular attention, as one which all may easily 
 verify by a recurrence to the history of the period, and which no 
 one already familiar with that history will deny or doubt. 
 
 The political power of Europe for about four centuries, count- 
 ing from the overthrow of the Western Empire of Rome, was 
 essentially barbarian. Society itself was essentially barbarian. 
 Even the Church, as it existed among the Gennan hordes of the 
 period, when rude and ignorent men intmded into her sacred 
 offices, and priests and even bishops, like Salone and Sagittarius, 
 became chiefs of marauding bands, and wandered over the coun- 
 try, within their own bishoprics, pillaging and ravaging as they
 
 15 
 
 went — even the Church was at least half barbarian. This was 
 the piimitivc state of modern Europe, with some partial relief 
 from this general condition, in particular quarters. 
 
 The Feudal Sy.stem, rising out of the bosom of barbarian soci- 
 ety, introduced a change, in some respects salutary, but while it 
 lasted in its vigor, rendering all attempts, or tendencies, towards 
 national formation, and the centralization of power, wholly una- 
 vailing and abortive. Causes, however were at work, and events 
 came on, which favored the consolidation of states and empires. 
 When the Crusades were ended, the power of Feudalism, as a 
 political system, was very much broken. The independent juris- 
 diction and fierce authority of multitudes of baronial chiefs had 
 very much given Avay. The People began to rise into importance 
 and consideration on the one hand, and kintjs and sovereitins on 
 the other. Authority, control, the power of government, nation- 
 al sovereignty, was beginning to be centralized and exist in fewer 
 hands. And finally it resulted, as I have said already, that thei-e 
 arose in Europe real nations, and real national governments. 
 Kings began to rule as they had not ruled before ; for it is to be 
 remarked that Monarchy was the almost universal form which 
 government assumed whenever, and wherever, the Germanic and 
 Sclavonian population became really nationalized. At first, how- 
 ever, this monarchy was something very different from what it 
 afterwards became, or attempted to make itself. It was then 
 i-epresentative. The great fundamental principle of national or 
 po{)ular consent, was recognized as the foundation of rightful 
 authority, exercised under existing forms. Monarchy, as a par- 
 ticular form of government, was the expression and embodiment 
 of the collective will and aggregate wisdom of the nation. It 
 was a new doctrine, that which was afterwards set up, that the 
 Sovereign represented nothing but his own will, and that he held 
 his power, not by any consent of the nation to the INIonarchy, as 
 a particular form of government, but by an absolute and a divine 
 right personal to himself. This was a great error which has not 
 been corrected in all cases, wthout popular revolutions. And 
 though examples of absolutism in government still remain in 
 Europe, yet it may bo safely affirmed that the only kind of mon- 
 archy recognized at this day, as legitimate, by enlightened public 
 ophiion, in any part of Europe, is that which makes the Sove-
 
 16 
 
 reign only the Chief Magistrate of the nation, the center and 
 bond of society, the chief conservator of the public peace and of 
 public order, and the chief administrator of the general justice of 
 the realm ; representing in his person, the majesty of the State, 
 and the Avill and wisdom of the body of the nation, as expressed 
 in the particular form of government which it has chosen, or by 
 which it abides, and of which the office of the sovereign is only 
 an incident. 
 
 The true condition, then, of civilization in Europe, at the pres- 
 ent day, as expressed in the forms of political organization, is 
 undoubtedly this : it rests on the general fact that the population 
 has come to be arranged into distinct nations, or national fami- 
 lies, with a centralized power constituting in each the national 
 government ; and it may be remarked, that in these nations re- 
 spectively, civilization is more or less advanced, other things 
 being equal, as the principle of unity has more or less prevailed 
 in the nation, and that of representation in the centralized and 
 goveraing power. 
 
 And now to come back to the more immediate consideration of 
 our own political organization. We have here a nation, and a 
 national government ; we have this form of civilization ; and so 
 far as this is concerned, without any further comjjarison of polit- 
 ical or social systems, we stand on the same line of advance with 
 the leading civilized nations of the old world. Now, there are 
 two leading points to be considered, in order to detennine wheth- 
 er the existing condition of our civilization, so far as it depends 
 on political organization, is likely to be maintained and preser- 
 ved, and what promise there is that any advance or progress 
 will be made. These points have refei'ence, first, to the principle 
 of unity in respect to the nation — how that principle is provided 
 for and secured in its political forms, and how, if at all, it is like- 
 ly to be violated and sacrificed in the progress of events ; and 
 next, to the pi'inciple of representation in respect to the govern- 
 ment — how that principle is provided for and secured, and how, 
 if at all, it is likely to be violated and sacrificed. It will not, of 
 course, be expected that I should go into any elaborate examina- 
 tion of the points of consideration and enquiry here presented. 
 I can only speak on the whole subject in the most general way, 
 leaving it to every one, as his own inclination or desire may
 
 17 
 
 prompt, to pursue tho investigation for himself in the lino of 
 enquiry which I have indicated. 
 
 If we go back to that period of most uncommon interest, when 
 this nation was formed, when this people became a nation, and 
 provided a national government for itself, we cannot fail to be 
 struck with the remarkable completeness and perfectncss of our 
 political organization in both the important particulars to which 
 I have adverted. Representation in Government was a thing 
 the people had long been familiar with, and if a general govern- 
 ment were to be established at all, it could not be bottomed on 
 any other principle. But there was a desperate struggle against 
 forming a Union ; this was the point of difficulty. There could 
 not be a nation without it ; and there was in some of the States, 
 in the smallest as well as others, the same reluctance and resis- 
 tance to the plan, aiising from the same desire and pride of 
 wielding an independent though petty jurisdiction, and a nominal 
 sovereignty, which had operated in Europe for centuries to keep 
 up the existence of a thousand miserable, independent local ju- 
 risdictions and sovereignties, and prevent their fusion, or consoli- 
 dation into nations. But when the Union was carried, when the 
 States had agi'eed to consolidate and form a nation, it was seen 
 and felt at once, that the true elements of a nation were there, 
 and the true principles of national unity to combine and bind 
 them in one body. 
 
 In regard to this principle of unity. The people of the seve- 
 ral States had been colonists together under the same imperial 
 and distant power. They had struggled together against tha 
 exactions of that power, and what they felt to be evils of their 
 political condition. They had gone through a long, exhausting, 
 and bloody war together, for their common relief and emancipa- 
 tion, which they had secured by common and heroic sacrifices. — 
 They wei-e a homogeneous people, having had nearly a common 
 origin ; they spoke a common language, and had a common lite- 
 rature ; their moral and intellectual training had been very 
 much the same ; the principal elements of personal character 
 were very much the same in the several states ; and in reference 
 to the leading affairs and concerns of human life, they entertained 
 views, and sentiments, and feelings, in common, at least quite as 
 nearly so as the like thing had ever been witnessed in any exam- 
 
 3
 
 
 18 
 
 pie, or case, of a great community, at all distinguished for intel- 
 ligence, in any quarter, or any ago of the world ; and, finally, 
 though they occupied a country, even then, of very liberal extent, 
 which brought the very extremes of climate within its boundaries, 
 and gave great variety to their industry and their productions, 
 there was a manifest and intelligent bond of union in all the lead- 
 ing articles and particulars of their economical interests and bu- 
 siness affairs. 
 
 Such, then, was the American people, when by their own vol- 
 untary and intelligent act and action, they resolved and formed 
 themselves into a nation. They were one people ; one in race, 
 in tongue, in complexion, in habits, in ideas, in religion, in feel- 
 ings, in intelligence, in moral temperament, in general interests, 
 in laws, in manners and customs. And there was something dis- 
 tinct and distinguishing about them, which marked and separated 
 them from every other people under the sun— even from that 
 people which was the great hive out of which they had origi- 
 nally swarmed, and with which they had so long maintained an 
 intimate political connection. They were American in charac- 
 ter; and not English — they were even then, in the first hours 
 and months of their separation, scai'cely more English in charac- 
 ter, than they were French or German. Their national charac- 
 ter was Ameiican, and nothing else. And between the extreme 
 North and the extreme South, there was nothing more conside- 
 rable to break its expressive unity than such agreeable shades of 
 difference as might mark the remote descendant of the round- 
 head and puritan on the one hand, and of the cavalier of the 
 same country on the other ; such shades of difference as might 
 mark the varying moods of the same individual character, break 
 up its dullness and tedious uniformity, and give it animation, 
 strength and beauty. 
 
 The advantages of this more complete unity of national char- 
 acter to civilization, to the progress of society and of man, are 
 in most respects so obvious, that I regret the less the absolute 
 want of time on this occasion, to point them out and dwell on 
 them. As between any two nations in the world, which are 
 equal in other things, in all the other means and appliances of 
 civilization, that one which has the superior unity of national
 
 19 
 
 character cannot fail far to outstrip the other in its career of im- 
 provement, of happiness and true gloiy. 
 
 Antl in respect to this national unify in the American people, 
 — at least looking at them as they stood when first the Old Thir- 
 teen came together' — I know of nothing to compare with it in 
 any considerable nation of Europe. Though Castile and AiTa- 
 pon in Spain had formed one people politically for more than 
 four hundred years before this Union was established, yet there 
 is not that unity to-day between them which existed between 
 Massachusetts and Virginia in the fii-st month or year of their 
 coming together, Normandy and liurgundy, and Brittany in 
 France have not yet united, and probably never can unite as 
 kindly. It is only that part of the British Isles to which the 
 term England is properly applied, which constitutes a nation in 
 true unity under the reign of the British Queen. Wales is 
 Wales, and Scotland is Scotland still. Ireland is governed more 
 like a subjugated province than an integral part of the em- 
 pire. 
 
 And there is another important particular in which the empire 
 of the European nations, or of many of them, fuils of that unity 
 which the American nation had as it was originally formed under 
 the Constitution. Their governments are not merely national ; 
 they are imperial, and rule over provinces and detached or dis- 
 tinct districts, as Rome did, till her provinces turned round and 
 tyrannized over her. They have their Colonies, as England has 
 in the most distant and diverse quarters of the globe — a source, 
 no doubt, of great apparent political strength and consideration 
 in the scale and family of nations, but a source also of great moral 
 weakness at home. England, the home country and nation, 
 would be a better governed, a freer and happier, and a more civ- 
 ilized country to-day, if she had never had a Colony to look after 
 and govei'n. Colonies stand to the country that owns them in 
 the relation of dependencies ; as such, they are held and govern- 
 ed ; they arc no part of the nation — though they form a part of 
 the empire of the governing power ; the government over them 
 is one essentially offeree, and not of choice or consent ; and the 
 consequence is that as soon as they are ripe enough, as Hume, I 
 think, has said, they drop off from the parent stem — sometimes 
 they drop off before they are ripe. And this joining of far-off Co-
 
 20 
 
 lonial or Territorial possessions, or of incongi-uous and uncongenial 
 districts and peoples, to a parent state by political connection, is 
 a gross breach of the essential principle of national unity ; it is 
 tying up so many diseased and conupting limbs, or so many dead 
 corpses, to a living and otherwise healthy body. And this su- 
 peradding of the imperial power to the national authority of the 
 government, or rather this superposition of the imperial upon 
 the national power, so that the latter is often materially overlaid 
 and crushed down with the superincumbent weight of the other, 
 bodes no good, it never did and never can bode any good, to that 
 portion of the subjects of the empire which properly constitute 
 the nation. AVheii a country has as much breadth of territoiy, 
 and embraces as much variety in its population, as can be formed 
 into one nation, consistently with the due preservation of the 
 great principle of national unity, then there is enough for any 
 one government to do to take care of the public interests of that 
 nation. And whatsoever more it has to do, cometh of evil, tends 
 to evil, and is evil. 
 
 In regard to the principle of representation to which I have 
 referred ; I must now, after the time I have already occupied, 
 pass this topic over, with only some veiy general remarks. 
 
 The true idea of the representative principle I take to be this ; 
 that Government, instead of ruling by an absolute, prescriptive 
 or personal right, rules under a responsible Trust, and exercises 
 only the powers committed to it. Government is a Trust, to be 
 executed according to the intent and purpose designed to be an- 
 swered by it, and by reference to the will of those who have 
 created and established it. Thus, on the one hand, it is the will 
 of God that government should exert and possess all necessary 
 powers, and that it should be exercised for the highest common 
 good of those who are the subjects of it. On the other hand, the 
 nation itself decides, or it may do so, on the form of government 
 it will have, the kind of Constitution it prefers, and how the 
 functionaries shall be chosen or designated, and under what 
 restriction, or distribution and limitation of powers they shall act. 
 In this way it is, that government is a Trust, and is representa- 
 tive. And, in view of this fiduciary and representative character, 
 it should seem that any Government, which understands the high 
 dignity to which it is called, and the responsibilities it assumeS',
 
 21 
 
 will quite as often, and as anxiously, look up, to see if it is dis- 
 charging its great olHce acceptably to God, as it will look 
 abroad among the people for their approval. 
 
 It may often happen, even when the Goverament is adminis- 
 tered most conscientiously and wisely, that it may, for the time, 
 be little in accord with the prevailing feelings and wishes of the 
 people. Of course, in such a case, they will condemn the admin- 
 istration and seek to bring about a change. This they may do 
 under the right of Election. The true use of the elective system 
 is to enable the people to get rid of bad men and a bad adminis- 
 tration ; but, of course, it is just as potent an engine when they 
 choose to employ it against good men, and a good administration. 
 By the proper use of this power, the representative principle 
 may be preserved and maintained ; but with equal facility this 
 very power may be employed to destroy the princi})le of repre- 
 sentation, simply by converting the right of election into the right 
 of administration and government. Election is itself a Trust of 
 a very high character. The Elector does not exercise his fran- 
 chise for himself, but for the whole body politic. Properly 
 employed, Election would place the administration habitually in 
 the hands of the most worthy — ruv apiCrwv — it would make 
 the government an Aristocracy — not in the sense so properly 
 condemned in our day — but in the true, original, Greek signifi- 
 cation of the term — a government of the most worthy — such a 
 goverament as the country, in fact, once had, if never but once ; 
 I mean in the time of the first Congress and of the first President 
 of the United States. But Election may also be used to place the 
 worst men in power ; to create either a Tyranny — the worst, 
 perhaps, with which any country can be visited — the Tyranny of 
 petty Demagogues, introduced into power, and supported in their 
 pretensions and career, by an inflamed and unreasoning popu- 
 lace ; or, a worse state of things still, a rule of mingled Anarchy 
 and malignity, under an unrestrained ochlocratic domination. 
 
 Let me be allowed to say, that it seems to me the exercise of 
 this eminent right of election by the people, may well be regarded 
 as a trial, of no ordinary severity, to which they arc subjected. 
 Certainly it may be made, and ought to be made, one of the 
 highest and most effective means that could possibly be employ- 
 ed, for their discipline and cultivation, and for thuir advancement
 
 22 
 
 in intelligence and virtue. By the use of this power, they may 
 heap blessings and benefits on their own heads ; by the abuse of 
 it, they may destroy themselves. It is a means of high political 
 and moral discipline, which they have voluntarily taken into their 
 own hands, but which they may wrest to their ruin if they will. 
 That they should sometimes be misled, and go wrong, ought not 
 to surpi'ise, or dishearten, any body. They have the free use of 
 a dangerous instrument, and it is not to be wondered at if, now 
 and then, they inflict a wound upon themselves. It is in the order 
 of Providence, that men and nations should sometimes buy their 
 best wisdom at the price of a very dear experience. The point 
 for them to consider is, whether they may not, under the lead of 
 bad counsels, and of miserable passions, carry their abuse of this 
 power, some day, so far, as to forfeit its use altogether, by bring- 
 ing in scenes of terror and confusion into the country, in which 
 they may riot for a season, but only to end with thi'owing them- 
 selves down at last, to be crushed under an advancing Despotism 
 — as victims were used to precipitate themselves before the wheels 
 of Juggernaut. The point, for those who take any part inform- 
 ing the character and leading the opinions of the people, to 
 consider is, what they can do to keep the people true to them- 
 selves, and up to the high duties and responsibilities of their 
 position. One thing we may count on as pretty certain, if the 
 Leaders, Lawgivers and Instructors of the people — if Moses and 
 Joshua — be not faithful to their trust, the people will not be likely 
 to get further in their way towards the land of political promise, 
 even after having once got quite clear of the wilderness, than to 
 stand on the eminence that overlooks it. 
 
 Looking back to the period of our first enti'ance Tipon our 
 political career as a nation, we may, I think, regai"d the fust 
 administration of the General Government under Washinsfton — 
 clarum ct venerahUc nomcn — as showing by a practical and success- 
 ful demonstration, the true theory and meaning of our political 
 forms, the true characteristics, peculiarities and advantages of 
 our American system of political government, and what rank it 
 was entitled to hold in the woi'ld as a form of Civilization. The 
 question of our progress is another matter. Whether, since that 
 I)eriod, we have been altogether true to ourselves, and to the 
 responsibilities of the eminent position we then occupied ; whcth-
 
 23 
 
 er, to-day, wc could altogether justify ourselves before the world 
 for the eni})l()yincMt and use we have made of our political and 
 social forms ; whether, if wc were put to it, we could show very 
 satisfactorily, that we have made that advance in Civilization — 
 in whatsoever adonis and exalts human nature, and enhances 
 enjoyment and true happiness — which the world had a right to 
 expect from us, or even that we have faithfully kept that which 
 was committed to us ; whether we are a wiser, better and hap- 
 pier people now than we were fifty years ago ; whether we have 
 been doing all we could, and are doing all we can, to preserve 
 the great essential princi])le of national unity, and that other 
 great, essential principle, of representation in goverment ; wheth- 
 er we have been strict and vigilant to keep to the practice of 
 placing the power of Government habitually in the hands of the 
 most worthy, and to preserve the country from the insidious 
 spirit and fatal encroachments of ochlocratic rule ; whether we 
 have ke2)t steadily in view, as Washington declared the Conven- 
 tion that gave us our Constitution had done, "the consolidation 
 of our Union" — which he pronounced "the greatest interest of 
 every true American ;" whether our growth, mighty as it has 
 been and is likely to be, is altogether our strength ; whether our 
 moral greatness is keeping pace with the expansion of our phys- 
 ical and political proportions ; whether we have been always 
 and altogether content to be a nation without any aspirations to 
 become an empire ; whether the Central, governing Power is, 
 and is likely to be, merely national, as it was in the beginning, 
 or has come, or is coming, from choice or seeming necessity, to 
 be clothed also with imperial dominion and authority ; whether 
 we have perfectly understood what kind of progress ought to 
 have resulted from our political organization and social system, 
 and been content to make that progress the object of our ambi- 
 tion and pursuit ; whether we have perfectly understood what 
 the true Mission of this country was, and is, and been content to 
 fulfil it ; whether, as a nation, wc have always, and altogether, 
 pursued such a course and career — for this was our j)roper mis- 
 sion — as ought to commend our system and our example to the 
 admiration and imitation of the woi"ld ; in short, whether we are 
 what we once were, and ought still to be, a nation thoroughly 
 grounded in all good and honest principles, and growing in the gra-
 
 24 
 
 cesof all public and private virtues, under the legitimate influence 
 and operation of our social system and form of Civilization ; and 
 whether the path we are pursuing, instead of leading us on 
 through gloom, uncertainty, confusion, and thick darkness, is 
 I'eally one that promises, like that of the just, to shine brighter 
 and brighter to a perfect day ; these, these all, are questions into 
 which I do not enter. I remit them wholly to the consideration 
 of those among you who may think they have interest or impor- 
 tance enough to engage their deliberations, or their study. 
 
 One thing, however, I will say, on this matter, that though, as a 
 people, we may have committed, and are likely to commit, great 
 mistakes and great errors, there is yet, I must believe, a princi- 
 ple of soundness at the heart of the nation. If there be corrup- 
 tion any where, the young men of the nation, whatever maybe 
 said of some of those who are older and more practiced in the 
 world, are little tainted with it. The danger in their case is, that 
 they may be swept forward unconsciously, and unresistingly, 
 without reason, without examination, without reflection, by what 
 is called the spirit or movement of the age ; just as it might be if 
 they were standing with multitudes of confident and eager per- 
 sons around them on a firm bridge of ice over a broad stream, 
 which, however, the advancing season had already loosened from 
 the shores, and which was now humed along by the silent, resist- 
 less and majestic current underneath — whither they would know 
 not — to what desired haven in the tide of fortune, or to what un- 
 happy doom. 
 
 But I turn now to say a word or two on those other organiza- 
 tions, or Associations, which I have already moi'e than once refer- 
 red to. Along with the State, we must have the Family, and the 
 Church. 
 
 And first, in regard to the Family. There is, perhaps, no 
 country in the world, thus far, where the sacredness and purity of 
 the Family relations have been more scrupulously preserved, 
 than in our own. Let us hope that we are not soon to degene- 
 rate from this high position. At the same time, it is not to be 
 disguised, that there are theories of social reform industriously 
 urged on the humbler classes of society, and with no inconsidera- 
 ble effect, which are designed, or at least calculated, to strike a 
 Iktal blow at the family relations. Under the plausible promise
 
 25 
 
 of improving the condition of labor, Associations are recommen- 
 ded which are at war with the sacred institution of the family, 
 and indeed with the whole structure of society, and through 
 which, if they can have any success, a mischief will be done too 
 serious and awful to be contemplated without horror. 
 
 But this is not all. If the Family relations are to be maintain- 
 ed at all in their purity, and so as to secure and promote social 
 happiness, they must be maintained on the basis on which they 
 were originally placed by their Divine Author. The first great 
 principle to be preserved is the essential unity of the two persons 
 who compose the one head of the Family. "They twain shall 
 be one flesh." The union is a mystic one, properly existing only 
 under the most solemn religious sanctions, and with which pro- 
 fane hands should scarcely intermeddle. Happily for our coun- 
 try, as well as for that from which we have chiefly derived our 
 political and legal institutions, the system of the Common Law, 
 which generally prevails with us, accords mainly with the reli- 
 gious view and character of the conjugal relation, and of its 
 marital rights. Generally, too, it may be said, that our legisla- 
 tion on this subject — at least until within a recent period — has 
 not widely departed from the notion and spirit of the original law 
 of this relation. Unhappily, however, as it seems to me, a dis- 
 position has prevailed of late in some quarters of the country, to 
 bring this sacred relation under the rules of the Civil Law — a 
 system, so far as it is applied to the domestic relations, as much 
 below that of the Common Law, as the Heathen manners and 
 philosophy in which it originated were below the sublime and 
 elevated doctrines and precepts of Christianity. Just in propor- 
 tion as this sacred and religious relation is brought down, by law, 
 to the low level of a mere civil contract, whether by slovenly and 
 unseemly provisions, made for the solemnization of man4age, or 
 otherwise ; and just in proportion as the law shall interpose to 
 separate the temporal estates and interests of the parties, to 
 place them in antagonist attitudes to each other, to afford them 
 facilities for causes of difference, and for holding each other to 
 mutual accountability in the courts, and, above all, to multiply 
 grounds of separation ; just in proportion as these things are 
 done, will the religious tie and sanction which give this relation
 
 26 
 
 its mystic unity be weakened, its purity be degraded, and its sa- 
 credness profaned. 
 
 And now in regard to the Church, as one of the three Associ- 
 ations of pei-j5etual necessity — this being the most sacred of all — 
 which lie at the foundation of the Social System. It cannot be 
 necessary, nor, indeed, would it at all become me, to say much 
 on this subject, in the presence of those who mainly compose this 
 House of Convocation. It is the faith of this College that the 
 Church has been constituted, by the will of its Divine Founder 
 and Head, in a particular manner, and according to a particular 
 form of organization. It is deemed essential that this organiza- 
 tion should be presei-ved, in order to maintain the sacred authority 
 of its ministry, and the proper discipline of all its members, and 
 to make the Church the Pillar and Ground and Witness of the 
 Truth. Those who associate in this College intend, I believe, 
 to maintain this doctrine in this place, as every whei'e else, leav- 
 ing to all others, of course, the same liberty of free opinions 
 which they claim for themselves, but humbly hoping to set an 
 attractive, and, if possible, a convincing example of the excel- 
 lence and efficiency of their faith before all the world, in the 
 eminent practical good which they shall finally accomplish here, 
 through their strict adherence to religious principle, and to the 
 established LaAv of order and Authority in the Church as matter 
 of religious principle, in all their plans and efforts to promote 
 Education, and sound Learnixig and Morality. 
 
 Out of all doubt, the moral training of mankind — since this 
 cannot be separated from religion — is committed to the Church. 
 The law of Justice, the law of Kindness, the law of Charity, the 
 law of Brotherly Love — these are never taught and enforced 
 effectually on men any where but in the Church. True Liberty, 
 true Equahty, tme Fraternity — these are taught no where but in 
 the Church. Political leaders and social reformers, who never 
 look to Christianity and the Church for the meaning of these 
 terms and the doctrines properly involved in them, are only blind 
 guides to lead the people to their destruction. It is in the Church 
 that the tme nature of the Family, and of the domestic relations, 
 and the duties involved in them, are taught and enforced, and no 
 where else. And here, and no where else, are taught the true 
 character of poUtical government, its divine . authority and sane-
 
 27 
 
 tions, and the religious duty of reverence and obedience on the 
 part of all its subjects. Here, too, and no where else, may be 
 learned the true nature of the relations which men sustain to- 
 wards each other in the varied business and multiplied opera- 
 tions and affairs of active life, and the duties and demeanor proper 
 to every station and degree of human existence. And here, and 
 here only — in the principles and doctrines of Christianity, main- 
 tained and enforced in the Church, sternly inculcating the Faith 
 once for all delivered to it — will be found, according to my hum- 
 ble but undoubting convictions, the true method of solving all 
 those appalling difficulties which now so disturb and distract 
 communities and nations u!ider the agitations set on foot by igno- 
 rant or unprincipled men, growing out of the relations between 
 Property and Labor, and between the Rich and the Poor. 
 
 When every man shall be of the exact stature of every other 
 man, and every soul the exact pattern of every other soul ; when 
 infants shall no longer be born into the world, but full grown 
 men and women ; when time and chniico sli;i]l happen in exactly 
 the same measure, to all ; when none shall be younger or older, 
 feebler or stronger, simpler or wiser, than any and every body 
 else ; then I suppose we may expect to see that precise equality 
 of condition — that mathematical dead level in society — which 
 some modern philosophers seem to dream of as a state of human 
 perfection and fehcity. So long, however, as men shall continue 
 to be born, and live, and die, after the present fashion — so long 
 as the Sei-mon on the Mount does not become obsolete, and 
 wholly inapplicable, in every lesson and precept, to men in the 
 social state — I suppose we must expect to see great diversities, 
 oftentimes painful ones, in their condition and stations in society ; 
 we shall still have men of property and men of toil, masters and 
 servants, employers and employed, rich and poor. And so long 
 as this shall be the state of human society, I believe it will be 
 found, after all struggles to escape from it are over, that there is 
 only one effectual method of I ■ ringing about a real and lasting 
 improvement in the social condition of men, and that is bybring- 
 ino- them tosrether in one Brotherhood of Love in the bosom of 
 the Church, where all alike, of every grade and condition, shall 
 become the teachable and willing subjects of its doctrines and its 
 discipline. The poor will never be provided for as they ought
 
 28 
 
 to be, or cared for as they ought to be, till the time shall 
 come, as come it will, one day, when in every parish they 
 shall be the voluntary charge of the local Christian fellow- 
 ship of which they fonn a part. The great economical and 
 social questions between Capital and Labor, which are now 
 fast separating into hostile classes those who ought to be 
 friends, as being mutually dependent on each other, though in 
 different degrees, and between whom unwise men and bad men, 
 are every where busy sowing dissension and bitter enmity, will 
 never be satisfactorily adjusted and settled until the parties shall 
 be bi'ought together in a school and fellowship which shall make 
 them the brethren of one sacred Household, and where they shall 
 be mutually as willing and anxious to understand and practice 
 their reciprocal duties towards each other, as they are now to 
 understand and insist on their respective rights. When they shall 
 come to meet, as brothers, around a common altar of worship, in 
 the communion of the Catholic Church, then, and not sooner, will 
 they learn to do that willing justice to each othei', without strife 
 or envyings, which no laws, and no social organizations, under 
 mere civil authoi'ity, can ever teach, secure or enforce. I am 
 not preaching a seniion — that is not my calling ; but I am endea- 
 voring to state and insist on an economical tiiith. I am looking 
 after the meaTis of improving the social condition of mankind, and 
 I happen to find them just where the Church finds and offers the 
 means of their salvation.* 
 
 *After these remarks were prepared, the writer saw a notice of 
 the death of the celebrated Chateaubriand, the author of the "Genius of 
 Christianity." Dying as he did at Paris, in the very midst of those awful 
 convulsions through which Society was then passing in that unhappy 
 country, the testimony which that remarkable man left behind him is very 
 striking and instructive, and deserves to be preserved and pondered. I 
 quote from the notice referred to : 
 
 "A few minutes before his death M de Chateaubriand, who had receiv- 
 ed the sacrament on Sunday, embraced once more the cross with the 
 emotion of a lively faith and firm confidence. One of the expressions 
 •which he repeated most frequently of late years was, that the social ques- 
 tions which agitated nations at present could not be solved without the Bible, 
 without the soul of Christ, whose doctrines and example have denounced 
 selfishness, this gnawinrj worm of all concord. Thus M. de Chateaubriand 
 hailed Christ as the Saviour of the world, even in a social point of view, 
 juad he loved to call him his King as well as his God."
 
 29 
 
 The question, after all, is, in what is our hope ? How shall 
 the advantages of our social position be best secured, the hazards 
 to which we are exposed avoided, and our progress in true feli- 
 city advanced ? Others may rest their hopes in other things — in 
 a thousand new devices which ingenious men are always ready to 
 invent for the sovereign cure of all political and social ills. For 
 myself I choose to trust first of all to those Appointments and 
 Associations which were ordained of old, by a better wisdom 
 than that of men ; and then to Agencies subordinate and auxilia- 
 ry to them. Society must rest on the Family, on the State, and 
 on the Church, as organizations of divine ordination. The Fam- 
 ily must be held sacred ; Government must be respected and 
 obeyed, and the Church loved and venerated as a heaven-bom 
 mother. Education is the great auxiliary agency to be relied on, 
 ]>ut our Educational plans must stand on the right foundation, or 
 incalculable mischief instead of good, may be done. What that 
 right foundation is men will differ about. What it is in the esti- 
 mation of those who compose this Academical Society is suffi- 
 ciently shown in the manner in which this Institution has been 
 orjjanized. 
 
 "O" 
 
 Dis te minorem quod geris, imperas ; 
 Hinc omne principium, hue refer exitum. 
 
 HoR. Carm. VI. Ad. Rom. 
 
 Let the plan adopted here be carried out, and this example 
 be followed elsewhere as it ought to be, and Education will 
 stand on higher ground in this countiy than it has ever stood on 
 before. Society is swayed and governed by opinion. We say, 
 let the College stand, every where, by the side of the Church, in 
 its efforts to keep the moral sentiment of the country sound and 
 steady, and we need not concern ourselves much about the rest. 
 Political and social tranquility and felicity will be easily secured, 
 when Faith, Truth and Principle shall have that sway over the 
 minds of men which they ought to have — and which they must 
 have before their social condition will be essentially improved. 
 
 Hoc opus, hoc studlum parvi properemus et aiupli, 
 Si patriae volumus, si nobis vivere cari. 
 
 HoR. ErisT. III. Ai> Jdl. Flor.
 
 ^\]t ^vnc £it"c 
 
 A POEM 
 
 DELIVERED IJEEOKE THE 
 
 HOUSE OF CONVOCATION 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE 
 
 IN 
 
 ClIKIST CUUIICII, HARTFOKD, AUGUST 1, 1S49. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. RALPH IIOYT, A. M. 
 
 RECTOR OF THE CHURCH OF THE GOOD SHEPHERD, NEW YORK. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE HOUSE OF C ON^OCATIOX. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 CALENDAR OFFICE — S. nAX.MEU, JR., PRINTER. 
 
 1849.
 
 1 
 
 I
 
 THE TRUE LIFE 
 
 A MEDITATION. 
 
 I. 
 
 Serenest spirit of the hallowed lyre, 
 
 Sweet soother of all sorrow, come to me ! 
 My laboring thought with utterance inspire ; 
 
 Thou muse divine, th}^ heavenly minstrelsie 
 I would evoke from every truthful string, 
 And here a Lay of Life essay to sing. 
 
 For I must vigil while all nature sleeps ; 
 Not self-devoted, but ordained to be 
 
 A poor v^-^ayfarer o'er life's rugged steeps ; 
 Its sternest aspects fated still to see ; 
 
 To taste its bitter draughts at many a brim ; 
 And chant, withal, earth's earnest, awful Hymn !
 
 II. 
 
 Thou that hast tuned my reed, if tuned it be ; 
 
 If this high prayer to such low dust belong ; 
 Ineffable Inspirer ! speak to me 
 
 That I sing not an inharmonious song. 
 Speak, to me trembling in thy glory's blaze, 
 That singing Life, I also sing thy praise. 
 
 The earth-strung harp but teaches man to weep ; 
 Furrows his aching brow before its time ; 
 
 O, give me now the lyre that I shall sweep 
 Upon the hills of j'on celestial clime ; 
 
 God ! make my spirit like a surging sea. 
 Rolling its thundering anthems up to thee ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Such scope I covet, fitly to adore ; 
 
 Such scope, the import of my theme to scan ; 
 Ocean of Life ! no swimmer finds a shore ; 
 
 Unfathomable mystery of man ! 
 So vast, so various, whence, or whither, all 
 Shrouded in secrecy as with a pall. 
 
 Dread dissonance of earth ! each life a note 
 Swelling the mighty uproar tompcst-high ; 
 
 Harmonious voices few, and too remote 
 To temper the wild clamor of the sky : 
 O for a plunge that ocean to explore ; 
 O for a wing that chaos to outsoar !
 
 5 
 
 \y 
 
 Give me to love my fellow ; and in love, 
 
 If with none other grace to chant my strain ; 
 Sweet key-note of soft cadences above, 
 
 Sole star of solace in life's night of pain ; 
 Chief gem of Eden, fractured in that Fall 
 Tliat ruined two fond hearts, and tarnished all ! 
 
 Redeemer ! be thy kindly spirit mine ; 
 That pearl of paradise to me restore ; 
 
 Pure, fervent, fearless, lasting love ; divine, 
 Profound as ocean, broad as sea and shore ; 
 
 While man I sing, free, subject, or supreme, 
 O for a soul as ample as the theme ! 
 
 1 see the awful vision of all time ; 
 
 All life since man became a living soul ; 
 All change since woman taught him love ; and crime 
 
 And death's dark wave began o'er earth to roll ; 
 Stupendous pomp ; far-reaching to that night 
 Ere stars were kindled, or the sun gave light. 
 
 Swayed as eternal symphonies impel. 
 Chord answering chord, mysterious harps I hear. 
 
 And myriad voices still the anthem swell. 
 Pouring grand harmonics from sphere to sphere ; 
 Chanting historic the great psalm of Eartli 
 Since chaos labored with its mighty birlli.
 
 VI. 
 
 Dread shape ! in terror while constrained I gaze 
 
 The shadows of old ages roll away ; 
 The Past is present, and the first of days 
 
 Pours brightly down its new-created ray ; 
 Dim, mystic visions aggregate apace, 
 And primal earth stands out august in space ! 
 
 How wonderful ; Jehovah deigned to will 
 And this creation with obedient awe 
 
 Came booming forth the mandate to fulfil, 
 From darkness, glory ; from disorder, law ! 
 So pure, so beautiful, so formed for love, 
 It might allure the angels from above. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Man, the Epitome ! still chiefly he 
 
 The mighty argument of that high song : 
 Of His omnipotence who bade him be, 
 
 Sublimcst miracle of all the throng 
 That at his mandate from the nought of space 
 Came forth substantial majesty and grace. 
 
 Materiality, and essence, each 
 Its full perfection in his form to find ; 
 
 The universe articulate in his speech, 
 All spirit-greatness imaged in his mind. 
 Harp on forever, all ye bards above, 
 Man still your theme ; and man-creating Love !
 
 VIII. 
 
 There swoops, again, in solitude sublime, 
 
 The shattered remnant of that elder world ; 
 Like some primeval orb unknown to time, 
 
 Througli a wild waste of waters helmless hurled ; 
 On, on, careering o'er the vengeful wave ; 
 A. rebel skeleton, denied a grave. 
 
 Dark, silent, desolate, an outcast globe. 
 Blasted beneath the sin-abhorring frown ; 
 
 Shorn of the sunbeam, and the verdant robe ; 
 In an unbounded Delude thus to drown ! 
 Imponderable Ruin ! can it be 
 The morning stars sang sweetly once for thee ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah, must you mourn, ye minstrels of the skv ; 
 
 Through all your strains still sweeps a note of wo, 
 As myriad hearts were breaking in one sigh ; 
 
 Now in profoundest octaves moaning low ; 
 Up the careering scale now. frantic flies, 
 Shrieks its sad tale in heaven, and wailing dies. 
 
 Me now instruct ; that justly I discourse 
 Those joys and sorrows, your immortal themes ; 
 
 Reveal of each the annals, and the source ; 
 And as I listening muse along the streams. 
 
 And o'er the mountains, all my thoughts inspire, 
 "11 your high burden thrill my lowly lyre.
 
 8 
 
 'Tis evening now, and all the stars again 
 
 Like pensive mourners, look lamenting down ; 
 A sister orb wo-smitten ! and a stain, 
 
 How deep and lasting, on its old renown. 
 What envious hand so impiously could dare, 
 To mar so mournfully, a world so fair. 
 
 Would I might speak to them ; my soul would know 
 From those high witnesses, so pure and true, 
 
 Whence came, and why, the desolating blow 
 Could leave such deserts where such edens grew ; 
 Could doom to perish an immortal race, 
 And earth itself, to fail and have no place. 
 
 XL 
 
 O dream of Life ! yet good to ponder o'er 
 
 The strange vicissitudes of this low sphere ; 
 To mark how swiftly from its rock-bound shore 
 
 The voyagers set sail and disappear ; 
 How phantom-like the generations pass ; 
 Confessing, as they fly, all flesh is grass ! 
 
 How humbled haughtiness ; how calmed all rage ; 
 In vain the lance and shield and brazen mail ; 
 
 Conquered and conquerors from age to age, 
 Down the same current gloomily all sail, 
 The same irrevocable doom to read, 
 With Goth, and Roman, Hebrew, Greek, and Made.
 
 XII. 
 
 Old Nineveh, of great Aturian Phul ; 
 
 Ecbat'na, Babylon, and Tyre remote ; 
 Menuf, and Meroe, that in the dull, 
 
 Far-distant verge of mythic ages float, 
 Still gliding down upon the fated way, 
 And mote by mote, still crumbling in decay. 
 
 Great shrines of Phtha ; and hundred-gated walls ; 
 The pillared temples where old bactrians knelt ; 
 
 The chiselled marble of imperial halls. 
 Where Pharoes, Ptolemies, and Ca?sars dwelt ; 
 Strong fanes of luve, piled to meet the sky, 
 All, in the wreck of empires, long gone by. 
 
 xm. 
 
 Speak, stars, ye nightly mourners, and no more 
 
 In mute amazement wait the coming hour 
 That shall earth's wasted excellence restore, 
 
 And give man back his innocence and power. 
 Too long 3^our silent sorrow ; sootheless grief 
 May quench your glory, yet bring no relief. 
 
 Known your sad secret ; mark the fearful word 
 Rebellion, traccil on every human brow ; 
 
 And oft in scathing tempests hath been heard 
 
 The tale that moves your deep compassion now. 
 
 Yet, to our call ye weeping worlds reply ; 
 
 Man and his Home in ruin ! Tell us why ! 
 
 2
 
 10 
 XIV. 
 
 Great volume of the Word, behold, in thee 
 
 The dark enigma is resolv^ed and clear ; 
 But lo, the eye of nature cannot see, 
 
 And ah, the ear, too heavy, cannot hear. 
 His paradise how long with wo o'erspread. 
 And the immortal dweller, outcast, dead ! 
 
 Dead ; yet infatuated not to know 
 Essential vigor, beauty, truth, and love 
 
 Fled when he dealt the self-destroying blow. 
 And lost the life that cometh from above. 
 
 O Word almighty, the dread bondage break ; 
 Awake the sleeper ; bid the dead awake ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Companion mine, along this devious page, 
 
 Let me a tale discourse to thee awhile, 
 May haply much thy curious ear engage. 
 
 And this brief hour right worthily beguile ; 
 Yet, as the chronicle unfolds to view, 
 Though fancy's record, deem the burden true. 
 
 In sooth, my soul is fain to seek repose, 
 And would to thee its lore of years impart ; 
 
 The meditative gatherings disclose 
 That miser memory garners in the heart ; 
 
 A tale of death, pride, passion, riches, fame; 
 And virtue tried in love's intensest flame.
 
 11 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In a sweet vale, amid a desert waste, 
 
 There dwelt a maiden radiant as light ; 
 As a pure angel delicate and chaste ; 
 
 No lovelier form e'er greeted mortal sight ; 
 Nor lived she but to bless, and wide to show 
 The living joys that trntli and lovo bestow. 
 
 At every fount of knowledge drank she deep ; 
 Not erudition's sages so profound ; 
 
 Of things divine could scale the cloudy steep, 
 And all the depths of faith and reason sound. 
 Yet ever meek, no one desire she knew, 
 Save still to be all heavenly and true. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Such peerless charms and all-surpassing grace 
 
 That humble vale might not unknown retain ; 
 A world were blest to look upon that face, 
 
 And conLemplate a heart that knew no stain. 
 From hill to hill wide flew the wondrous tale, 
 So bright a gem in such a lowly vale. 
 
 Came one and knelt adoring at her shrine ; 
 And sooth, a great and seemly suitor he ; 
 
 Could she his prayer and proffered hand decline ? 
 Ah, who can know a maiden's mind, perdie ! 
 Not all unmoved his suppliance she heard, 
 Yet gave no hope, save only hope deferred.
 
 12 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Ah, gentle fair, why thus my suit disdain, 
 
 Cried he reproachful, with offended pride ; 
 A. nohler name in story must I gain ; 
 
 What task performed shall win thee for ray bride ? 
 Though years attest my studious toil for thee. 
 Yet sav what more to do : what more to be. 
 
 Then she, all-pitying, raised a tearful eye, 
 And owned the fond emotion of her breast ; 
 
 But, thoughtful, drew a deep, deploring sigh. 
 And a strange, startling answer thus expressed ; 
 
 O noble youth, though earth's best gifts are shed 
 Around and on thee, thou, alas, art dead ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Life's germ from heaven, though on earth the bloom ; 
 
 And seems the flower with full perfection blest ; 
 But ah, there's poison in its sweet perfume. 
 
 And spots appear within its snowy breast. 
 How could I weep in sootheless, ceaseless grief, 
 That life so soon is sere and yellow-leaf. 
 
 Perfidious heart ; so subtle, so debased, 
 But for the bitterness in it that springs, 
 
 The tearful history were soon erased. 
 And eardi-born man would soar on seraph wings. 
 Thy nature needs the re-creating sway. 
 Of Him who is the Life, the Truth, the Way.
 
 13 
 
 XX. 
 
 As starts a dreamer when some hideous shape 
 
 The slumberino: sense with sudden terror thrills ; 
 So he, with shuddering soul, would fain escape 
 
 Back to the refuGje of his native hills. 
 But still transfixed he stood in mute dismay, 
 Till all like some dread vision passed away. 
 
 Again ere long to conscious thought returned. 
 He sighed the import of her words to know ; 
 
 Dead ? while his bosom with such ardor burned ; 
 Love, reason, and ambition all a-glow ; 
 
 Yet oh, that word, with such dread meaning fraught, 
 And that sweet spirit ; could they be for nought ? 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Stern lesson ; yet much profit to the soul ; 
 
 Good to be taught the worthlessness of pride ; 
 To free the spirit from earth's strong control ; 
 
 And on the sea of sorrow heavenward glide. 
 Humilit}'- ; the burthened heart's release ; 
 Who enters that low portal findeth peace. 
 
 Not fair Avoca's deep sequestered dell, 
 Such sweet serenity and rest bestows ; 
 
 Nor winding Arno's bowery banks can tell 
 
 The weary traveller of such repose 
 
 As soothes the soul when humbly it adores ; 
 And from above the promised blessing pours.
 
 14 
 XXII. 
 
 The maiden's bower again he trembhng sought, 
 
 And prayed a lover's pure, impassioned prayer ; 
 O nii^hl he at her feet the truth be taudit ; 
 
 Or would she but vouchsafe to tell him where. 
 Where might he terminate the doubtful strife, 
 And find, if he were dead, the soul's True Life. 
 
 O sweet to see how she inclined her ear ; 
 How soon disclosed the true and living way ; 
 
 And ah, how brake his heart the brimming tear, 
 That bade him never from her love to stray, 
 
 As forth, elate, with hastening step she trode. 
 And showed a temple, — Truth's august abode. 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 Now onward thou, she cried ; the mountain climb, 
 
 And press for yonder porch with stedfast heart ; 
 There enter, and the wisdom of old-time 
 
 Its prophet-voices shall to thee impart ; 
 Obey, and lo, thoushalt to life arise, 
 And this, my long-sought hand, shall be thy prize. 
 
 Then thitherward a hopeful look he cast. 
 Bending his step within a narrow way ; 
 
 And on his joyous pilgrimage he passed. 
 Still wending onward all the weary day, 
 Till at the portal pausing, lowly there 
 He knelt and breathed a penitential prayer.
 
 1.5 
 XXIV. 
 
 Deluding world ! yet how the moments roll, 
 
 That still unfold its fanciful disguise, 
 And show the sterile winter of the soul ; 
 
 Blight on its blossoms, gloom upon its skies ; 
 Its buds of innocence unblown depart, 
 Strewing their leaves all withered on the heart. 
 
 Nor Flora's beauty, nor her sweet perfume 
 O'er hills, and vales, and woodlands, can restore 
 
 The fallen tree of life its eden bloom ; 
 It cannot see the sun it saw before ; 
 
 It cannot its decaying stem renew ; 
 
 Dead ; in the wintry garden where it grew. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 O Fount of Life ! in thy blest courts how free 
 
 The sacramental stream all-cleansing flows, 
 
 When the benighted wanderer bends the knee, 
 And o'er his head the mystic waters close : 
 
 Baptismal Jordan ! and the Spirit-Dove ! 
 
 Life, reconciliation, peace and love ! 
 
 So knew the pilgrim as the Ghostly shower 
 
 From holy hands descended on his head ; 
 
 Regenerated ! By redeeming power 
 
 Awaked from sleep ; arisen from the dead ! 
 
 How flashed the light ! what rapture filled the youth; 
 
 There, and forever his, were Life and Truth !
 
 3.cai)£mic S tubus. 
 
 AN 
 
 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE, 
 
 PRONOUNCED BEFORE THE SENATE 
 
 OF 
 
 ^liniti] CoUccje, jl^^i^^tfo^^^ 
 
 ON COMMENCEMENT DAY, 
 
 MDCCCXLIX. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. JOHN WILLIAMS, D. D., 
 
 PBESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY ORDER OF THE CORPORATION. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 CALENDAR OlFlCE— S. UANMEU, JK,, TRINTEK. 
 
 1849.
 
 TO 
 
 THE SENATE, 
 
 AND 
 
 UNDERGRADUATE MEMBERS, 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 THIS DISCOURSE 
 
 IS INSCRIBED.
 
 INAUGURAL DISCOURSE. 
 
 Mr. Chancellor, 
 
 AND Gentlemen of the Corporation, 
 OF THE Board of Fellows, 
 AND OF Convocation ; 
 
 It has become my office on tliis, the first of our 
 Collegiate Festivals, which has occurred since the 
 assumption of the duties to which I now stand 
 pledged, to offer to you some thoughts and observa- 
 tions, which shall be connected with one or another 
 of those important subjects which on such an oc- 
 casion come naturally under review. For though I 
 do not know that our own precedents, absolutely 
 demand this at my hands, yet custom long sanc- 
 tioned elsewhere, does ; and the dictates of pro- 
 priety are obviously in agreement with it. My ob- 
 ject must be, to avoid on the one hand, all con- 
 siderations of a nature so merely general, as that 
 their direct and practical bearing could not well be
 
 6 
 
 discerned : and on the other, to escape the tempta- 
 tion of entering into such minuteness of detail, as 
 woukl perplex the mind, and prevent it from taking 
 a wider range and gra])pling with great principles. 
 And this so desirable result, I have hoped might be 
 attained, by calling your attention to what in regard 
 to Human Learning, our own College actually pro- 
 poses to accomplish ; by considering the various 
 great divisions and departments of study, with which 
 she concerns herself ; by observing the reasons for 
 their adoption, the ends which they are intended 
 to subserve, and the spirit in which they should be 
 conducted. The plan is indeed a simple one, per- 
 haps almost too much so ; and yet I see no other 
 way in which I can bring before you the views and 
 principles which it seems needful to set forth . 
 
 Adopting, then, the language* of one of the lights 
 of a foreign University, which fortunately with hardly 
 a change, we can adopt, though speaking from a far 
 humbler position, I would say in the beginning, that 
 " The studies of this place, so far as they relate to 
 merely human learning," and so far only at present 
 we propose to speak of them, " divide themselves 
 into three branehes. 
 
 I. The study of the laws of nature, comprehend- 
 ing all parts of inductive philosophy. 
 
 II. The study of ancient and modern languages, 
 and literature ; or in other words, of those authentic 
 records which convey to us an account of the feel- 
 ngs, the sentiments and the actions, of men prom- 
 
 *Professor Sedgwick, in his "Discourse on the studies of the Univer- 
 sity." I have slightly changed some portions of the ijuotation. Its spir- 
 it, however, remains untouched.
 
 inent in the most famous empires of the ancient and 
 the modern workl. In these works we seek for ex- 
 amples and maxims of prudence, and models of 
 taste. 
 
 III. The study of ourselves considered as social 
 and intellectual bein<^s. Under this head, are in- 
 cluded ethics, and metaphysics, political philosophy, 
 history, and some other kindred subjects of great 
 complexity, which can be only briefly touched in 
 our academic system, and are to be followed out in 
 the more mature labors of after life." 
 
 This ancient and venerable system of instruction, 
 comes into our hands from other times and from far 
 distant generations, bringing with it the sanctions 
 of old experience, and laden with accumulated hon- 
 ors. No one would venture so much as to assert, 
 that it could never admit changes or modifications, 
 or that the proportions of its combined elements 
 must continue without alteration. To say this, 
 would be to forget, What ought never to be forgot- 
 ten, that the character of a scholar's preparations, 
 the plan of that instruction by which his mind is to 
 be formed and moulded, must receive modifications, 
 and must admit changes, accordant with and regu- 
 lated by the necessities of the period in which he 
 lives, and the intellectual requirements of those, 
 amongst whom his lot is cast. But while this 
 is fully and freely granted, still the great fact re- 
 mains, that the elements of all true instruction, con- 
 tinue in all time the same ; their combinations may 
 change, their proportions may vary, but they them- 
 selves do not. Such is tin; law of the human mind,
 
 8 
 
 such is the rule of human knowledge. There are 
 here, as every where, ultimate elements beyond 
 which we cannot go, and from which we cannot rid 
 ourselves. And the scheme of instruction which 
 should endeavor to omit them, w ould only be mark- 
 ed by the presumption of the sciolist, or the fan- 
 cies of the dreamer. The only question, then, in- 
 volving any idea of change which can arise in ref- 
 erence to these elements of knowledge, is simply in 
 regard to the proportions in which they are to be 
 combined ; and so far as this is a practical question, 
 it will come under our consideration bye and bye. 
 At present I must pass to another preliminary con- 
 sideration of no small moment. 
 
 There are two points of view from which, in ref- 
 erence to these general heads of instruction, w hich 
 have been laid down, and to their development^ 
 every college is to be considered. In the one, it 
 will appear to be in advance of the age, and in the 
 other, very far behind it. In the one, it will lead, in 
 the other it will follow. In the one, it will eagerly 
 urge on, in the other, it will as resolutely hold back. 
 And most probably it will more frequently appear 
 in the latter character, than in the former. In 
 times of general mental depression and inactivity, 
 when people slumber on contentedly amid old truths 
 or old errors, as the case may be, instead of reach- 
 ing on to new positions and new ideas, it is most 
 probable that a College, if it be at all answering 
 the ends of its establishment, will lead, and rouse, 
 and press men onward. In fact, this is illustrated 
 and at the same time proved, by the position of the
 
 I) 
 
 Universities in the earlier portion of the Middle 
 Ages. 
 
 On tlie other li.ind, in times of f^eneral mental 
 aetivity, when minds are up and doini»", Avhetiier for 
 ^•00(1 or ill matters not here, when all is in rapid 
 movement, Avhen prineiples are set forth on insnlH- 
 cient grounds, ehanges introduced for insuthcient 
 reasons, and in short, all intellectual movements are 
 characterized by rash advances, hasty generaliza- 
 tions, and ill-considered conclusions, then the Col- 
 lege must appear in a different attitude. Then she 
 must restrain, then she must check and even wisely 
 discourage, content meanwhile to bear reproach, 
 and endure opi)rol)ium, and be pointed at in scorn, 
 as anticpiated and lagging, as timid and behind the 
 spirit of the age. And this view also finds an il- 
 lustration in the history of that period to which we 
 have before referred. For it wfis doubtless in no 
 small deii-ree, the feelini»- that men of letters were 
 rashly rushing to extremes, as indeed the event 
 shewed they were, which later on in the Middle 
 Ages, arrayed the Universities so strongly against 
 the revival of classical pursuits. It is also illustra- 
 ted, — and this is much more to our purpose now, — 
 in every part of the civilized world. For what 
 oracular declaration is more common on the lips of 
 self-complacent superficialism, than that the Col- 
 leges are all behind the age? In one sense, they as- 
 suredly are so, and considering the tendencies of 
 the aoe, it is fortunate that they are. For at this 
 mojnent, with all their defects, they constitute the 
 
 irreat, and almost the oidy barrier, against the flood 
 
 2
 
 10 
 
 of crudities in science, and follies in philosophy, 
 >vhich sweeps the world wherever it can find its 
 way. And when they are thrown, if so their guar- 
 dians shall suffer them to be, into the stream, then 
 it will bear us all on together to a state of intellect- 
 ual barbarism : where an Encyclopedia will be the 
 ne pins ultra of effort or of study. 
 
 We take our ground, then, in the outset, on these 
 two principles : that in all time the elements of in- 
 struction must remain the same ; that the general 
 features of the scheme can admit no essential 
 change : and that in reference to these elements 
 and this scheme, the position of every well-consti- 
 tuted and rightly working College, be its sphere of 
 action large or snmll, will be either one of urging on, 
 or else of holding back ; and that this position will 
 be regulated and determined by the necessities of 
 the case, and the* exigencies of the times. This 
 prepares us to approach the consideration of the 
 elements themselves ; remembering ever that in us- 
 ing and applying them in the Collegiate curriculum, 
 the object is far less to store with actual knowledge, 
 tlian to train up to a capacity for storing. So that 
 the measure of a person's progress, who has passed 
 through his undergraduateship, and is proceeding to 
 his first degree, is by no means the amount of facts 
 or even principles, of whicli lie has made himself 
 the master; but rather the condition of his mind, 
 as to spring and saliency, and ability for grappling 
 with great principles, and storing in orderly and use- 
 ful arrangement all those " manifold knowledges," 
 as Lord Bacon calls them, which it will be the la- 
 bor of hi> life to gather and preserve.
 
 11 
 
 In comino' now to spojik somewhat of tl»o tliree- 
 fold division of our system of instruction, tiie very 
 unchangcableness of the main features of the sys- 
 tem, do themselves present to us, tlmt compulsory 
 reason for their adoption from which there is no 
 possible escape, and thus preclude the necessity of 
 any farther words. 
 
 It mi<iht also seem that under any circustances 
 there would be little need, in our day and in this 
 country, of insisting* upon the first division, which 
 comprised the study of the laws of nature, accom- 
 panied as they must be, with the pure mathematics ; 
 in short, the whole of inductive philosophy. And 
 yet I do not think, that there is no need to insist 
 upon it. Rather I would say, that there is great 
 need. And there are two reasons why this is so; 
 both of which proceed from the disposition of hu- 
 man nature to vibrate between extremes. In the 
 first place, the inductive method, has unquestiona- 
 bly been pushed much farther than its great expos- 
 itor ever designed it should be. The illustrious au- 
 thor of the Novum Organum, never intended that 
 the principles laid down by him should be applied 
 beyond the region of the physical world. However 
 he may at times have been led into strong expres- 
 sions and exaggerated statements, still it was physi- 
 cal science that was uppermost in his mind : and 
 there is most abundant evidence, that he never con- 
 temi)lated the aj)|)lication of his process of induc- 
 tion to JMorals or Theology. This application was 
 indeed the natural result of an age, in Avhich every 
 question assumed a theologicid aspect, but it is not 
 a result for which Bacon is accountable. The effect
 
 1-2 
 
 however of this DiisajipHcation of his principles, of 
 this pushing his induction from the region of the 
 ohjective into that where the subjective is also 
 found, has beeu to make many earnest minds sus- 
 picious of the very process itself. And we accord- 
 ingly, at this moment, may find not a few persons, 
 who confounding the use and abuse of this induc- 
 tive process, hold Bacon responsible for a mistake 
 of his narrow-minded contemporaries and succes- 
 sors ; and mIio thus are led to decry that sound 
 principle, which regulates scientific pursuits, and 
 with it the pursuits themselves. In the next place, 
 owing to the immense development of mechanical 
 agencies which the last quarter of a century has 
 witnessed, and their immediate and wonderful ope- 
 rations in all the intercourse, arrangements and 
 habits of social life, working as they have done to 
 the most brilliant results, an undue degree of im- 
 portance has undoubtedly been attached to those 
 branches of study which are occupied with their 
 exposition. But is there no danger of a reaction ? 
 Are there not symptoms in truth that a reaction 
 has beo:un 1 Are there not signs of a school of 
 sickly sentimentalists, who mistake play for work, 
 and dimness for profundity, and a shallow dis- 
 cursiveness for a wide grasp of things ; whose fa- 
 vorite topic is the lamentation for these disjointed 
 times ; who are forever decrying what they are 
 pleased to term material tendencies, and exalting 
 what they call spiritual ; using each word in an ut- 
 terly perverted sense. For their materialism, is 
 simjjly the every day common sense of all man-
 
 13 
 
 kind, niid their spiritiitilism is that false and misera- 
 ble "stutK that (h*eaii»s are made of," which spends 
 itself in theories of proi»ress, and schemes of per- 
 fectibility- 
 
 And both these thin»s tend towards one issue, and 
 that issue a most disastrous one. For, leaving all 
 other considerations out of view, is not the effect of 
 scientific pursuits, when entered upon and prose- 
 cuted as they should be, most healthful, not only 
 on the mind, but also on the heart i I know indeed 
 that shallow minds may be puffed up with them, 
 and so they will be with any thing whatever : I 
 know that the principles which govern in them may 
 be transferred to other fields of knowledge and of 
 truth to which they do not belong, and that men by 
 attempting to reason in morals and theology, as 
 they do in physical science, may make themselves 
 fools, amid a show of seeming wisdom : I know 
 that minds may linger among them in a low ma- 
 terialistic way, till they themselves become cramped 
 and fettered. And to all this, there is for a reply, 
 the trite old adage, Abusus non toUit usuin ; and it 
 is reply enough. While the habits of patience, hu- 
 mility, and self-control, which these pursuits when 
 rightly followed out, engender, are quite as impor- 
 tant in a moral point of view, as they can ])e in an 
 intellectual ; and suggest in connection with intel- 
 lectual discipline, some of the great and holy ends 
 for which science should he pursued. 
 
 It will be observed, that 1 have all along gone 
 on the supposition, that this branch of study was 
 prosecuted in the right spirit. The very supposi-
 
 14 
 
 tion ndniits that there may be a wrong one. But 
 here I trust that spirit Avill never find an entrance. 
 Here I trust, there will ever be an humble rever- 
 ence ; a patient waiting upon God's unseen work- 
 ino's ; an awful recognition of the solemn truths that 
 nature every where shews forth ; a feeling that she 
 addresses the imagination as well as instructs the 
 reason. "Science then," to use the words of our 
 greatest living Poet, 
 
 " Science then, 
 Shall be a precious Visitant : and then, 
 And only then, be worthy of her name. 
 For then her Heart shall kindle : her dull Eye, 
 Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang 
 Chained to its object in brute slavery : 
 But taught with patient interest to watch 
 The processes of things, and serve the cause 
 Of order and distinctness, not for this, 
 Shall it forget that its most noble use. 
 Its most illustrious province must be found, 
 In furnishing clear guidance, and support 
 Not treacherous, to the mind's excursive power." 
 
 And thus — 
 
 " Whate'er we see, 
 Whate'er we feel, by agency direct 
 Or indirect, shall tend to feed and nurse 
 Our faculties, shall fix in calmer seats 
 Of moral strength, and raise to loftier heights. 
 Of love divine, our intellectual soul."* 
 
 In proceeding to comment upon the second 
 branch of our studies, the languages and literature 
 of ancient and of modern times, I must confine my- 
 self to a few more prominent points, and leave by 
 
 ♦The Excursion, Book IV.
 
 15 
 
 far the greater portion of the fiehl imtfjuched. And 
 the first (|iie.stion which naturally presents itself, re- 
 fers to the relative position which is to be assigned 
 respectively, to what are strangely called the dead 
 languages on the one hand, and to those which are 
 termed living on the other. And this cpiestion in- 
 volves with it moreover, the consideration of the 
 whole vexed subject of classical studies. 
 
 It seems to me that a great deal of apparent 
 difhculty is removed, by simply observing how much 
 misunderstanding has arisen from the improper use 
 of the word "dead." Just as the word Gothic has 
 been used at times to cast a slur upon that noblest 
 architectural development that the world has ever 
 seen, so has this term "dead," been the occasion and 
 the source of numberless prejudices against the 
 languages of Greece and Rome. For it can cause 
 no wonder, that an age teeming with life and in- 
 stinct with action, should look coldly upon things 
 whose very appellation seems to remove them far 
 from both. And yet under what circumstances 
 would the term be pro})erly applied ? Shall we call 
 a language dead simply because it has ceased to be 
 heard in the mart or the assembly, or the ordinary 
 mtercourse of social life? Is a language dead 
 because ledgers are not posted in it, or news- 
 papers printed in it, or diplomatic correspond- 
 ence carried on by its instrumeiittility 1 AVhen 
 its elements, and laws, and whole living form 
 and spirit, enter into the language of every civilized 
 nation under heaven 1 Are oaks dead when around 
 one or two venerable parent stems, a whole green
 
 16 
 
 and 2:lorioiis forest has burst into existence? In 
 the name not ah)ne of scholarship, hut even of 
 common sense, we protest aa^ainst such a perversion. 
 "In what a condition shoukl we be, if our connection 
 with the past were sna})ped, if Greek and Latin 
 were forijotten 1. What shoidd we think of our 
 own languages? They would appear a mere mass 
 of incoherent caprice, and wanton lawlessness. 
 The several nations of Europe would be in this re- 
 spect at least, like those tribes of savages who oc- 
 cupy a vast continent, speaking a set of jargons in 
 which scarcely a resemblance can be traced in any 
 two, or a consistency in any one. The various 
 European languages," and I must of course include 
 our own among them, "appear to us obviously con- 
 nected, mainly because we hold the Latin thread 
 which runs through them ; if that were broken, the 
 pearls would soon roll asimder. And the mental 
 connexion of present nations with each other, as 
 well as with the })ast, would be destroyed. What 
 would this be but a retrograde movement in civili- 
 zation ?*" For be it remembered, at the very in- 
 stant when the dismembered nations of the Ro- 
 man Empire, began to come out of their fragmenta- 
 ry states of barbarism, at that very moment, and by 
 that very impulse, classical studies revived, the deep 
 common bond of the foundation language was re- 
 curred to. Nor can I coimt it as anything but a 
 sign of a return to old separations, and elementary 
 nationalities, which must issue in barbarous and 
 even savage individualism, when the use of this 
 
 •The Master of Trinity, Cambridge.
 
 17 
 
 common bond is denied ; and men with words 
 which they never wouhl have used, and forms 
 which tliey never wouhl have known l)ut for the 
 lan«j^uai»es of Greece and Rome, pronounce them 
 dead I 
 
 Tiiere is no greater error than to imagine that 
 any age can dispense witli the intellectual advance- 
 ment of the ages which preceded it. Least of all 
 can this be done in language, that most delicate 
 and wonderful of all thin"s on which intellectual 
 cultivation can expend itself. Nor can we possibly 
 estimate the importance in view of this fact, that all 
 modern civilized nations have learned the forms 
 and processes of general grammar from common 
 sources, and referred them to a common standard. 
 Let these common sources be abandoned, let this 
 common standard be thrown aside, and what be- 
 comes of all those advantages which have resulted 
 to the nations, from a common intellectual training, 
 in the most delicate and deep reaching of all parts 
 of mental cultivation 1 
 
 And there is another and a higher view of this 
 matter, which should be much insisted on. There 
 has been a })hilosophy in the world, which happily is 
 rapidly passing away, that among a vast many other 
 crude and debased notions, held that words were 
 mere arbitrary signs of thought, possessing no real 
 connexion with that which they represented. Far 
 dift'erent is that stirring and noble view of language, 
 which recognizes the intimate aiul intrinsic connex- 
 ion of thought and speech, which, in the words of 
 its greatest expositor, regards speech as a thinking
 
 18 
 
 outwardly projected and manifested, and considers 
 thinkino; to be an inward speaking, and a never end- 
 ing dialogne with one's ownself. Indeed, what pow- 
 ers of the mind are there, which are not developed in 
 lajiguage 1 The reason working in its structure, 
 the fancy soaring in its figures, the understanding 
 adjusting its arrangement, surely here is wide and 
 glorious play of intellectual strength. For so it is, 
 to use his noble words to whom I just referred, that 
 " the growth of languages," springing from a divine 
 original, " and shooting forth from epoch to epoch, 
 with all the vast riches of art, does but hold before 
 us as it were a w ritten monument and memorial of 
 the thinking conciousness of our race ; assuming as 
 it were a bodily shape, and presenting itself before 
 us, as the common memory of all mankind."* Now 
 who can trace and tell, the ten thousand ways, in 
 w liich this mighty memory, this history of the uni- 
 versal thinking consciousness, must be connected 
 w ith the living thoughts of our own age and gene- 
 ration ? What are those material chances and 
 commixtures of the earth we tread on, wonderful 
 as they are, and worthy of being reverently studied, 
 what are these, compared with those changes, 
 and shiftings, and commixtures of word-projected 
 thought, in which there live not elements of being 
 which spring up in forms of fair material beauty, 
 but principles of life, which have issued in all those 
 spoken thoughts, those thoughtful words, which 
 adorn the world of man's intellinfence ? And if this 
 
 •Frederick Sclilegel.
 
 19 
 
 be so, if there l)c in languai^c all this (loop philoso- 
 phy, this stroiii^ exercise of every mental power, this 
 training of the reason, this working; of the fancy, 
 these movements of the nnderstandini^, how can a 
 conrse of study, which proposes to itself to serve 
 the ends of liberal cidture and elevated scholarship, 
 allot any other than the first place among the "hu- 
 manities," to those two languages, which have thus 
 far made all lettered nations one, and every scholar 
 a sharer in the general civilization ? 
 
 This, then, I hold to be a sufficient vindication, 
 on deep and elemental grounds, of that position 
 which has always been given to the ancient lan- 
 guages, in well tried courses of liberal studies. A 
 position which here, I trust, will never be infringed, 
 but guarded and kept with jealous care, a venera- 
 ble depositum inherited from ilustrious sires, a safe 
 standard and abiding j)()int of great and lofty effort, 
 amid present littleness, and shifting theories, the pet 
 barbarisms of a contracted present. It may suffice 
 here to add, the simple statement, that next in 
 place to these, should stand the study of our moth- 
 er tongue ; not only because it is our mother tongue, 
 but also because it is the youngest and the noblest 
 of the languages, which have grown up with the 
 growth of modern civilization. 
 
 In this brief survey, I have not attenn)ted at all 
 to urge the value of the Literature, which can be 
 reached by classical studies, and by nothing else. 
 It is not that I would be uinnindful of it. It is not 
 that I forget, how the proudest triumph of Chris- 
 tian Letters was its appropriation, ami subjection
 
 20 
 
 to the Faith's great rulersliip. It is not tliat I do not 
 hear the voices of the whole ninhitude of scholars 
 in all time, whose mighty sonnd overpowers the pet- 
 ty cavilling of a single generation. But it is sim- 
 ply because I have desired to dwell upon the study 
 of the learned lanouasres as such, and to indicate 
 some reasons, few indeed, but I hope solid and con- 
 vincing, why, irrespective of their literature, and all 
 its treasiu'es, they should still occupy that high po- 
 sition which thus far they have sustained, in every 
 liberal course of study. 
 
 The third division of our academical studies, is 
 one which covers so wide a field, that it must be 
 touched upon in even a more cursory manner, than 
 those which have preceded it. I do not know in- 
 deed that more can or need be accomplished here, 
 than to indicate the leading principles which must 
 guide and govern in its subdivisions, and then to 
 say a few words of the modes of instruction in 
 them. History, Metaphysics, Ethics, and Politics, 
 using the latter word in its original and proper 
 sense, and not in its debased and improper one, 
 these are the principal subdivisions, which cover 
 the consideration of man in all his possible condi- 
 tions and situations, as well as in his actual doings. 
 
 Beginning then here, with the actual, that is with 
 History, if it be taught to any real purpose, it must 
 be taught philosophically ; and if it be taught philo- 
 sophically, it must be taught with a constant refer- 
 ence to the Holy Scriptures. AVithout the key, 
 which they alone afford, History is but a mass of 
 disconnected facts, and purposeless events, the blind
 
 21 
 
 chance rnedley wliicli admits no explanation, and 
 l^ivcs no deep and solcnui tcacliin<^. In history al- 
 so, rightly taui>ht on the sound princi[)l('s set forth 
 hy the illustrious Bossuet, and the no less illustrious 
 Frederick Schlegel, must be found the chief, I h.ul 
 almost said the only antidote to some of the most 
 pestilent and intolerant speculations of the day. 
 For he who would meet the dreams of unbroken 
 progress which are floating all around us, he who 
 would contend against that optimism at once pan- 
 theistic and atheistic, which finds votaries on every 
 side, he who would expound the true idea of real 
 progress, and vindicate the ways of God in his deal- 
 ings with our race, where can he take his stand, 
 but amongst the mighty lessons of the past ? And 
 here, and only here, as starting from the sad com- 
 mencement in human history in the fall of man, he 
 sees the nations each with a nation's life, issuing from 
 the troubled elements, and enn)ire after empire, dim 
 expressions of man's deep longings for that which 
 God alone could give, following in rapid and awful 
 march, till the fifth great empire, filling man's need 
 and reforming the world, descends from heaven, and 
 rises amid the ancient wrecks, as the eartli itself 
 sprang forth from chaos, here, I say, and onl} here, 
 can he make successful issue for those miiihtv truths, 
 which are linked with all our highest destinies, our 
 noblest efibrts, our holiest aspirations. Away with 
 that low, unworthy view, which looks upon this 
 study, as the amusement of a vacant hour, or at 
 best the solace of learned leisure. It may be made
 
 22 
 
 no more, but it is a hazardous and a wretched thing 
 to make it so. 
 
 And the same general remark must of course ap- 
 ply to the three other subdivisions which have been 
 noted. The object is not here to amuse with fine 
 spun theories, to sharpen with dialetical niceties, or 
 in short, to trifle in any manner or to any degree. 
 But in a true and earnest spirit, as knowing what 
 deep and living things are dealt with, to give in 
 each case the sound and guiding principles, the safe 
 and fixed stand points, which shall furnish beacon 
 lights in the darkness of human doubts, and secure 
 footholds in the deluge of human speculations. 
 
 Avoiding in Metaphysics the mere sensualism of 
 the school of Locke, and the wild idealism of Kant, 
 and Fichte, and Schelling, and Hegel, the extremes 
 of utter empiricism and as utter speculation, of the 
 denial of imagination, and its unbridled license, we 
 are to recognize the great fact that the soul does 
 not come into the world a blank, even in the mere 
 matter of acquired knowledge : " that it has been 
 touched by a celestial hand, and when plunged into 
 the colors which surround it, takes not its tinge by 
 accident but by design, and comes forth covered 
 with a glorious pattern." That having thus enter- 
 ed on its earthly being, it is not by the senses alone 
 and their experience, that knowledge is acquired ; 
 but that the affections, the moral faculties, the im- 
 agination, the reason, the understanding, all have 
 their place ; while some of the very highest truths 
 he ever learns, are reached by an intuition higher
 
 23 
 
 than any roasonin<T^, or received by an exercise of a 
 rational l)ut an undoulitin"- faitli. 
 
 Avoiding- in morals the miserable expe<liency of 
 the Paleyan school, with all its lessons of time serv- 
 ing selfishness, and its denial of disinterested labor and 
 heroic effort, and avoiding too their impracticable 
 schemes, who from the Christian Revelation with 
 its manifold motives and inducements, woald turn 
 back to the heathen idea, of the abstract love of 
 virtue, we are to teach the supremacy of well- 
 instructed conscience, the ruling' guidance of amor- 
 al sense implanted by God himself to " accuse or 
 excuse us," in foreshadowing of his judgment. We 
 are to teach too that it works by manifold motives, 
 in the threefold relation which each man sustains, 
 and cannot work by any one alone : while fear and 
 love, and even self-love in its highest forms, are all 
 admitted as lawful springs of action. No more 
 here than in metaphysics, can we admit the doctrine 
 of the tabula rasa, which not only denies innate 
 ideas, but also refuses to acknowledije a moral 
 sense. While the only true starting point for any 
 effective scheme of ethics, must be from the great 
 fact of the fall of nmn ; the only effective line of 
 statement and of teaching nnist be one, which re- 
 cognizes the truth that natural religion is completed 
 in the Gospel, in which the earthly things of human 
 ethics are crowned and glorified, with the heavenly 
 things of God's great Revelation. And yet while 
 these divine truths are taken as the substance, the 
 human arrangements, classifications, and skeleton 
 work of the Greek philosophy, may advantageously
 
 24 
 
 be used, in teaching- the adjustment of the parts, 
 and the allotments of the frame work.* Not that 
 Aristotle or Plato are to be blindly folloAved, or 
 parts adopted from them by a rule of individual 
 eclecticism; but that they are to be used and chosen 
 from, in the light of those very principles and truths, 
 and all that knowledge, which they still may help 
 to arrange and systematize. 
 
 Avoiding in politics, — still using the word in its ab- 
 stract and proper sense, — the notion of an original 
 compact made for convenience and safety by a horde 
 ofsavages,and the idea of a divine rightvested in a per- 
 sonal descent, we are to teach thatg-overnment is just 
 as natural and as necessary a state for man, as the 
 
 family. That on the self same grounds, it is divine. 
 That it is God's commissioned vicegerent, to exe- 
 cute vengeance, as well as to strive for the reforma- 
 tion of the offender. That it is invested with the 
 most awful prerogatives and guarded by the most 
 fearful sanctions. That under whatever form it 
 may appear, it is that in which the abstract State, 
 works and lives, claiming on every ground, our 
 reverence and our obedience. That its univer- 
 sal principles and laws, are based on the eternal 
 rules of right and truth, and are not subject to the 
 changes and the chances of mens' shifting Avills, and 
 varying caprices. In short, by History we strive to 
 form the man of grasp, and foresight, and wide- 
 reaching view : by 3Ietaphysics, the man prepared 
 under a higher guidance to know himself in all his 
 
 *See Sewell's Christian Ethics.
 
 25 
 
 complex unity, his oneness of complexity ; l)y Eth- 
 ics, the man prepared by the same aid and « uidance, 
 to dischar«:;e his duties, to himself, his fellows and 
 his God ; and by Politics, the man prepared to play 
 his part as the <^ood and the patriotic citizen, lovino- 
 liberty, and hatin*^ license, and knowin<» that the 
 truest independence is to be found in dignified obe- 
 dience to a superior law. 
 
 And now to sum up tliis brief and meagre sketch 
 let me add, that all parts of this course of hunmn 
 learning and liberal study, are to be taught as inti- 
 mately connected with the whole of future life. It 
 will not do to give the young man the impression, 
 that his college life is as it were, but a parenthesis 
 in his existence, isolated and separated, uncon- 
 nected with either what precedes or follows it. Not 
 so. It gathers up the acquirements, the powers, 
 the faculties of earlier days, it directs antl gives a 
 tone to, these same things, as they stretch onward to 
 maturer life. It gives the keys of knowledge, it 
 teaches how to use them ; and if they who hold 
 them, will not then unlock the vast and glorious 
 treasure-house, the fault is all their own. 
 
 One word more, and I have done. In tlie inspir- 
 ed and beautiful narrative of the Redeemer's birtli, 
 we read hoW' there came to worsliip at His sacred 
 feet, two very difierent sets of persons, the hum])le 
 shepherds of Judea, the learned pliilosophers of 
 eastern lands. Tiu'v then presented in atoucliiu"- 
 type, the twofold worshij) wliich in all tinu' since, 
 has clustered around the personal \\ isdom, who was 
 made for us not sauctilicatiou oidy, but knowledgr 
 
 i
 
 2(5 
 
 also, and who was then a lone and feeble child. 
 That twofold worship was then, and has been since, 
 the adoring submission of cultivated intellects, the 
 simple homage of untaught, trusting souls. Hap- 
 py he who can offer both ! Happy he who gaining 
 human knowledge, still loses not the simplicity of 
 childlike, trusting faith ! Behold in this, — and here 
 let me especially speak to those who are ever near- 
 est to my heart, the younger sons of our honored 
 Mother, — behold in this, the spirit, in which allthese 
 branches of human learning that I have laid be- 
 fore you, are to be pursued. Let them ever bring 
 us where they brought those wise men of the east, 
 to the feet of Him who is the head of all things, 
 the second person in that glorious Godhead, whose 
 thrice Holy Name adorns and consecrates our 
 home. And when it thus shall bring us, let our 
 hearts still be as trusting and as humble, as those of 
 the meek shepherds who knew not and yet believ- 
 ed. Unless this is so, we shall have learned to lit- 
 tle purpose, nay, to none at all. But if it be so, 
 then we shall have found that fear of the Lord 
 which is the beginning of wisdom. And then when 
 wisdom thus begun on earth, shall be perfected 
 above ; when the slow processes of human science 
 shall give place to angelic intuition ; when the many 
 languages of earth with their painfully learned 
 combinations, shall be replaced by the one glorious 
 speech of heaven ; when the risen body, and the 
 perfected spirit, shall need no wearisome search- 
 ings to be understood ; when the progressive his- 
 tory of time shall have issued in the ever present
 
 27 
 
 imd iinchaiioino' eternity ; when moral rules and 
 laws, shall be forgotten by the soul whose very life 
 is untenipted uiitiiouiiht of obedience ; when the 
 governments and the rulcrships of earth shall be 
 lost in the unending kingdom of our God ; then 
 shall that fear of llim which lay at the foundation 
 of our earthly knowledge, be changed to that un- 
 utterable love, which shall crown and complete our 
 heavenly. Our work shall then be done; our train- 
 ing shall then be completed. Children here how- 
 ever long we live, then at last, then only, shall we 
 be truly men.
 
 COURSE OF STUDY 
 
 ACCORDING TO THE STATUTES OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE. 
 
 FRESHMAN YEAR. 
 
 Advent Term. Xenophon's Anabasis. 
 
 Livy, with writing Latin. 
 
 Algebra. 
 
 English Translations and Readings. 
 
 Lent Term. Xenophon's Anabasis, with writing of Greek. 
 
 The Odes of Horace, with Latin Prosody and 
 
 writing Latin. 
 Plane Geometry. 
 English Translations and Readings. 
 
 Trinity Term. Herodotus, with writing of Greek. 
 
 The Epistles and Satires of Horace, with writing 
 
 of Latin. 
 Solid Geometry. 
 
 Lowth's English Grammar; English Composition, 
 and Declamation. 
 
 On Monday mornings throughout the year, a lesson in the Greek 
 Testament from the Gospels.
 
 30 
 
 SOPHOMORE YEAR. 
 
 Advent Term. Xenophon's Memorabilia. 
 
 Cicero de Senectute, de Amicitia, i&c. 
 Trigonometry. 
 
 Lent Term. Homer, with Greek Prosody. 
 Conic Sections. 
 Juvenal ; Terence. 
 
 Trinity Term. Homer ; Aristophanes. 
 Tacitus. 
 
 Natural Philosophy. 
 Elements of Rhetoric and Logic. 
 
 Writing of Greek and Latin ; English Composition ; Reading 
 and Declamation, throughout the year. Also, on Monday morn- 
 ings recitations in the Greek Testament ; Acts of the Apostles.
 
 31 
 
 JUNIOR YEAR. 
 
 Advent Ti:um. French. 
 
 Natural Philosophy. 
 
 Tacitus continued. Thucydides. 
 
 Lectures on Literature. 
 
 Lent TEiiai. Greek Tragedies. 
 
 Rhetoric, with Lectures on Literature and on the 
 
 English Language. 
 Optics. 
 
 Trinity Term, Logic and Intellectual Philosophy. 
 
 Portions of Aristotle's Ethics, and of Plato. 
 Astronomy begun. 
 
 French is continued at the option of the student, throughout the 
 year, as a voluntary study. On monday mornings, recitations in 
 the Greek Testament, the Epistles to the Romans and Colossians. 
 Exercises in writing French ; English Compositions ; Forensic De- 
 bates and Declamations through the year ; and exercises in wri- 
 ting Greek and Latin.
 
 32 
 
 SENIOR YEAR. 
 
 Advent Tekm. Moral Philosophy. 
 
 History ; Lectures and references. 
 
 Astronomy concluded ; Lectures on Electricity and 
 
 Magnetism. 
 
 Lent Tkkm. Butler's Analogy. 
 
 Law of Nations and Political Science. 
 
 Lectures on Law. 
 
 Chemistry. 
 
 Lectures on History concluded. 
 
 Tkinity Term. Schlegel's History of Literature ; with Lectures. 
 Meteorology. 
 Lectures on Galvanism. 
 Hebrew. 
 
 Lectures on Botany and Anatomy. 
 Lectures on English Literature. 
 
 French continued, with Latin or Greek as voluntary studies. 
 Greek Testament on Monday mornings, Epistle to the Hebrews 
 and Epistles of St. John. Debates ; Original Declamations ; Eng- 
 lish Composition ; and Exercises in writing Greek and Latin.
 
 €^t ^niliirare of CjjDitglji 
 
 AN 
 
 ORATION 
 
 BEFORE THE 
 
 NEW-YORK ALPHA 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY. 
 
 DELIVERED AT UNION COLLEGE, SCHENECTADY, 
 JULY 22, 1851, 
 
 lA^T^^C oO^o ^4 BJC c-.f- J^-.- 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. THOMAS M. CLARK, D. D., 
 
 RECTOR OF CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, CONN. 
 
 Irlirnrrtnliii : 
 
 a. Y. VAN DEBOGERT, 89 STATE-STREET. 
 
 RIGGS PRINTER. 
 
 1851.
 
 ORATION. 
 
 The present is one of those choice occasions, when 
 men of study and action come together, to discuss 
 no question of politics, to re-affirm no theological 
 dogma, to agitate no specific reform, to encourage 
 no metaphysical collision, but simply to cherish their 
 common brotherhood of thought and affection. It 
 is the calm hour of armistice, we have grounded our 
 weapons, "our bugles sing truce": the conservative 
 and the progressive, the Calvinist and the Arminian, 
 the sensationalist and the idealist, have retired under 
 the olive shade, to allow the generous instincts of the 
 soul a brief season of enjoyment. Forces, that a 
 while ago stood arrayed in steel, confronting each 
 other with deadly glance, now lovingly recall the 
 teachings of their common Alma Mater ; and the 
 fierce polemic feels almost grateful that his well- 
 loaded petard, which he thought would produce such 
 destruction amongst his foes, has after all proved so 
 innocuous, and he smiles grimly to see that those, 
 whom he then expected to annihilate, still live un- 
 harmed, unalienated, and even unconscious of his 
 ferocious intent. Our better nature vindicates itself,
 
 4 
 
 and the monarchs of the forest come forth from the 
 tangled rushes of controversy mto day-light, where 
 they can see eye to eye, and learn lessons of forbear- 
 ance and charity, before they retire to the fens again. 
 
 It is, therefore, not a time for the utterance of ex- 
 clusive truths, but rather of such as are inclusive and 
 comprehensive ; not for the microscopic scrutiny of 
 minute points, but for the use of that broad object- 
 glass, which reflects at once the whole orb of truth. 
 Instead of attempting to resolve nebulous specks, we 
 would sweep the horizon, and see whither the known 
 systems are tending. It is not an easy task that we 
 propose, for it is more difficult to deal in generals 
 than in particulars, unless we are content with a re- 
 iteration of bald truisms, which no one doubts, be- 
 cause they interest no one. We have no new facts 
 and no new theories to present, our material is only 
 the common property of all who know and think : 
 the chess-men are furnished to our hand, and you 
 are familiar Avith every piece on the board ; but we 
 will just watch the movements of these kings and 
 castles, these knights and bishops, and these humbler 
 pawns, and see what game they play. 
 
 The childhood, the adolescence, and the maturity 
 of society are marked by three characteristics : the 
 first by the absolute reign of power, the second by 
 the defined rule of prerogative, and the third by the 
 conditional control of influence. 
 
 In the beginning, the strong seize upon the weak, 
 and by superior force compel their obedience, for
 
 5 
 good or for evil. The ablest man becomes a tyrant, 
 or sovereign prince, as the word originally signified ; 
 and weaker mortals lie under him, or become his 
 subjects. The title of king, in its old Saxon form, is 
 in this connection peculiarly significant ; whether it 
 means one who Jcens, or knows, or one who can, or is 
 able. The sword is the primitive emblem of justice, 
 and of whatever pertains to government. All duty 
 and all discipline begin with simple submission ; and 
 this submission is rendered, because it is inevitable. 
 
 The dominance of power passes over in a natural 
 way into that of prerogative. Strength, whether of 
 body or mind, cannot be transmitted from genera- 
 tion to o;eneration ; and as the original ruler desires 
 to preserve within his own family the results of his 
 prowess, he must do it by investing his descendants 
 with hereditary privileges. The first Baron is simply 
 the most barbarous barbarian, the titles being in fact 
 synonymous, and both, as their common root indi- 
 cates, signifying strength. But, in time, the original 
 thought of the word is lost, and it becomes the 
 general and peculiar title of nobility ; no elevation 
 in rank being complete without its barony. The 
 general deference yielded to prerogative betokens an 
 advance in civilization : and the presumption is that 
 those who are born to rule, will receive some sort of 
 education to fit them for their station ; while, if there 
 were no such hereditary rulers, there w^ould be no 
 education whatever in any class of society. But this 
 condition of things cannot become permanent, with-
 
 6 
 
 out supposing the people at large to remain unin- 
 formed and stationary. If the idea of general pro- 
 gress be allowed, there must come a period when the 
 dominion of mere prerogative will cease. And 
 whenever by the will of society, an old dynasty is 
 superseded and a new family called to the throne, it 
 is a virtual proclamation that the era of influence has 
 commenced. 
 
 This is the social condition towards which the 
 wojld now culminates. The general distribution of 
 intelligence renders it inevitable, not only that man- 
 kind shall be delivered from the compulsion of brute 
 force, but also from the dominion of absolute prerog- 
 ative. Thenceforth truth becomes the sovereign, 
 ruling jure divino. Character rises superior to title, 
 and society emerges into manhood. 
 
 All other forms of power are now beginning to 
 yield before the dominion of influence. The present 
 is rather a formative, than a final state ; it is as much 
 an age of process, as of result. It is difficult for us 
 to become self-conscious that in respect of the grand 
 problems of thought, this is a transitionary and not a 
 final period. No doubt every age has supposed that 
 it had attained that result in the great, essential 
 truths of philosophy, upon which all the future would 
 establish itself: each era of thought has at the time 
 been considered final. The Greek, the Roman, the 
 Schoolman, . the Protestant Reformer, all imagined 
 that they left nothing to be learned in the way of 
 general principle. New facts might be discovered,
 
 but they would all fall under the established order 
 and arrangement. And yet we move forward in a 
 plane which carries everything on pari passu, and 
 the old era gives place to the new, either with a 
 crash, as the frozen ocean broke up when the warm 
 sun of the Reformation dawned, or more quietly as 
 now. Truth is eternal, but man is not infinite ; and 
 he can discern eternal truth, only as his faculty of 
 vision is cultured. The most primitive and impor- 
 tant truths are as subject to this condition as any 
 other ; and perhaps somewhat more, because of their 
 grandeur and simplicity. For it is not the simplest 
 truths which we understand most readily and tho- 
 roughly ; and it is a blessed thing that we may re- 
 ceive such truths in their practical uses, without 
 understanding them. It is these which tax our 
 intellectual faculties most rigidly ; and why should 
 it not be so, when we consider that they are the 
 aliment upon which the soul is to feed eternally. It 
 is no argument against the stability and simplicity 
 of truth, to say that it is revealed to us gradually 
 and by fragments ; it is only an argument against 
 the completeness of our faculties. The world has 
 been learning, ever since it was created ; now, I ask, 
 is the lesson completed, is the task done, may we 
 close our books, and go to our play ? Has the last 
 era of thought passed : in ethics and philosophy, 
 have we nothing more to learn ? So a proud age 
 would be glad to believe : on the one hand, it is 
 affirmed that Pope Clement, or Innocent, or Pius,
 
 8 
 
 has, by Divine commission, completed the code and 
 stamped it with the fisherman's seal : on the other, 
 that Luther, or Calvin, or Cranmer, by Divine illu- 
 mination, has reached the end of knowledge, and 
 numbered all the degrees of doctrine. Meanwhile, 
 both the Papal and the Protestant craft drift away 
 from their old moorings, not by removing the anchor, 
 but by relaxing the cable, whether, as with the 
 former, the sails are furled, or as with the latter, all 
 sail is set. 
 
 In looking at the present condition of society, we 
 observe that where the light of positive revelation 
 has never penetrated, no nation has yet passed be- 
 yond the stage of adolescence, few beyond that of 
 inflmcy ; and still further, in those regions, there are 
 no existing symptoms of any natural tendencies to- 
 wards improvement. There is 'not a solitary excep- 
 tion to this rule : for, wherever out of the domain of 
 Christendom, there is any appearance of progress, it 
 is attributable to the fact that the popular religion 
 reflects to some extent the principles of revelation, 
 as the purer parts of the Koran were stolen from 
 the Bible. 
 
 In all that we now have to say, we recognize an 
 inspired system of truth as the base of all true pro- 
 gress ; furnishing all its elements and stimulating all 
 its activity. He who spake as never man spake, 
 gave to our race all the material out of which the 
 most complete condition of society the world will 
 ever see, is to be constructed. The fixed and abso-
 
 9 
 
 lute character of Christianity is, however, not at all 
 inconsistent with the theory of gradual, human clevel- 
 opement, marked by a succession of distinct epochs ; 
 and the indications of the times force upon us the 
 conviction that we are now verging towards a new 
 intellectual era, the characteristics of which will be 
 as vital and important as were those of the Reforma- 
 tion. 
 
 Wo infer this from the condition of practical art, 
 of theoretic science, and of abstract thought. The 
 specific bearing of these three species of influence, 
 we shall now endeavor to indicate. 
 
 Those who see only what lies outside of them, 
 and care only for material results, regard the mecha- 
 nical improvements of the age as the crown of its 
 highest glory. And here, indeed, there is much to 
 excite our admiration. The wildest dreams of mag-ic 
 are now reduced to practical reality. The old Genii 
 of Arabia, if they should re-appear upon the earth, 
 would find their occupation gone. We can build 
 lustrous palaces of crystal, covering acres, almost in 
 a single night. We can furnish those palaces with 
 decorations, more varied and more valuable than 
 were ever dreamed of in Persian fable. Swift as the 
 wind we can carry burdens, under which the old 
 Titans would have groaned with anguish. We can 
 send messages tliroagh space so rapidly as to put 
 back the flight of time. We invoke the elements, 
 not by subtle charmf^, but by the compulsion of 
 science, and they become our obedient servants. 
 
 B
 
 10 
 
 Tlie physical results of mechanical invention, we 
 are at present concerned with, only as they bear 
 upon the future intellectual and moral condition of 
 society. It is not in the fact that they make our 
 clothing cheaper, and food more plentiful, and jour- 
 neying more expeditious, and enlarge the sphere of 
 our sensuous enjoyments, that the main significance 
 of these improvements consists. The gradual trans- 
 ferring to machinery of the labor heretofore wrought 
 by hand, is not intended by Providence to leave the 
 race in idle enjoyment ; for then a complete civiliza- 
 tion would be only a return to the inanity of barba- 
 rism ; but it provides for the first, indispensable con- 
 dition of general mental culture, which is that there 
 shall be time for such culture. It also involves the 
 second, important condition of the general elevation 
 of humanity, which is a certain degree of physical 
 comfort in order to the free operation of the mind. 
 This last result is at present more palpable than the 
 former, for there has never been a time in which 
 there was a more general demand for labor than 
 now ; but, in this respect, there must come an abate- 
 ment, and every new machine is one step towards it. 
 And after the period arrives, as it certainly will, 
 when rocks are drilled and mountains levelled, with 
 scarcely an effort of the human hand ; when the 
 farmer will sit quietly under the shadow of the tree, 
 while his steam-plough opens the furrow ; when the 
 only real operatives to be found in our factories will 
 be made of wood and iron ; it cannot be that man is
 
 11 
 
 destined to relapse into the torpor of the brute, who 
 finds his clothing growing on his back, and his food 
 spontaneously springing up by his side. He will 
 still have work to do ; and it will pay him, not w^itli 
 meats and drinks, but with angels' food. 
 
 So of the strange and almost miraculous improve- 
 ments in travelling which distin":uish our ag-e ; it is 
 not of so much consequence that we are enabled 
 thus to promote our comfort and save time, unless 
 the time be worth saving. But there are great, 
 moral results dependent upon these increasing facili- 
 ties for locomotion, which it requires an effort ade- 
 quately to comprehend. The influences induced by 
 the contact and fusion of different races of men, 
 whether through emigration or conquest, have been 
 more conspicuous and efficient than any other agen- 
 cies in the past history of the world. The invigo ra- 
 tion of tropical effeminacy by the descent of the 
 brawny children of the north, and the refinement of 
 Gothic barbarism by contact with the civilization of 
 the conquered foe, is the germ of modern thought 
 and enterprize. At the present moment, this rule 
 holds universally: those nations which now exert 
 the widest influence, are all the product of mixed 
 races, while those which lie dormant and altogether 
 unfelt in the world, are such as have kept their blood 
 and their thoughts untainted by contact with foreign 
 admixture. It required the original Briton, the 
 Roman, the- Saxon, and the Norman, to make the 
 modern Englishman : what result is to be evolved in
 
 12 
 
 our land, Avbere it is evident that every European 
 race will combine and coalesce,-^ what the future 
 American is to be. will be seen hereafter. The 
 fusion of races has heretofore been produced mainly 
 through the stern processes of war : hereafter this 
 result, so essential to the general welfare of humanity, 
 will flow from science, comm.erce, and peaceful colo- 
 nization. 
 
 Ago in, practical science is gradually removing 
 certain great evils, once thought inevitable, and 
 which were actually indispensable, to save man 
 from greater evils. In the earlier stages of society, 
 war was supposed to be the natural employment of 
 the race ; and, as we have already intimated, it has 
 been one of the most prominent agents in shaping 
 the destiny of the world. But, for all the good that 
 it does, it demands a terrible price : in all respects, 
 it is the most costly benefactor we could, employ. 
 It always seems, at the time, to take more than it 
 gives ; and its trumpet-blast, which perhaps may 
 herald a resurrection, sounds like the doom of the 
 world. In the progress of things, it becomes evil, 
 and only evil. Humanity cries out against it ; social 
 finance cyphers out a balance against it ; merchants 
 trembling for their gains f)rotest against it ; morality 
 on a loftier key denounces it ; and then science 
 comes forward, to make it impossible. She does 
 this, by reducing the art of war to a simple process 
 of calculation, so that it can be worked out on paper, 
 instead of being fought out by brute strength. Our
 
 13 
 
 restricted limits forbid us from attempting to describe 
 the important bearings of universal peace upon the 
 general culture of thought and the social elevation 
 of the race. 
 
 Another result of practical science is, that it opens 
 the way for healthy rivalries amongst the nations of 
 the earth, thus superseding those which are unhealthy 
 and destructive. At this hour, there is a conclave 
 in session in the grand metrojiolis of the world, more 
 indicative and influential, than any which ever met 
 in solemn stnte to feed the pride of kings, or satisfy 
 the greed of polemics. It is the oecumenical council 
 of art : it is a great thought made tangible, and does 
 more honor to the Prince who conceived it, than if 
 he had subjugated by arms every nation that is there 
 represented. It is well styled an Exposition ; and it 
 is a Prophecy too. It indicates the future, as well 
 as interprets the present. It is the first in a great 
 series of such expositions, in which men of' all kin- 
 dreds and tongues and languages will come together, 
 not to kill each other, or anathematise each other, 
 but each to learn of all the rest and carry home the 
 general product. America will have her exposition ; 
 and we may all meet again in old Bagdad, whither 
 the tribes once went up, in the days of oriental glory. 
 
 The progress of physical science, in its speculative 
 form, has an important bearing upon the intellectual 
 indications of the age. This species of study has 
 been considered antagonistic to that which is OBsthe- 
 tic and spiritual. Men of science have been too
 
 14 
 
 generally liable to the charge of indifference and 
 even hostility to those truths which bear upon the 
 condition of the soul ; while the theologian has been 
 ignorant and therefore careless of the facts of science. 
 The effort which has now been commenced to har- 
 monize the unquestionable verities of both, is one of 
 the most profound indications of the times. 
 
 Science, when it knew but little, was proud, confi- 
 dent and skeptical ; and often aimed her shafts 
 against that which is most precious and vital to the 
 simple believer. She arrayed the facts of nature 
 against the doctrines of revelation, even against the 
 intuitive aspirations of the soul, and dismissed Provi- 
 dence from the universe. Phenomena which had 
 been attributed to the direct intervention of Supreme 
 Power, she resolved into the workings of law ; and 
 the timid trembled for their faith, forgetting that a 
 law is not a final cause. Had science then retreated, 
 fliith might seem to have triumphed ; but it would 
 have been a perilous victory. It is not, however, in 
 science, which lives only by induction, or on-going, 
 to retreat ; and as she advances, the apparent antag- 
 onisms are gradually reconciled, and faith takes 
 courage. Science, indeed, reveals many difficulties ; 
 but in time she may detect their solution. Because 
 she begins to advance in certain directions, where it 
 had been supposed no progress could be made, it is 
 at first imagined that she can thus proceed without 
 limit ; but in this very onward movement she detects 
 at last the termini, beyond which, by her own demon-
 
 15 
 
 stration, no further progress can be made ; and then 
 faith resumes the seeptre again, to reign more abso- 
 lutely and intelligently than before. In the begin- 
 ning, science aims a death-blow at dogmas, which she 
 ends with vindicating against the possibilit}^ of cavil. 
 She brings a limited array of facts to disprove great 
 truths upon which the soul of man had for ages re- 
 posed ; and then, when she has multiplied her facts, it 
 is found that they all combine to confirm these very 
 truths. She discloses facts which look so mucli like 
 freaks of nature, the blind play of frivolous chance, 
 that our confidence in the method and wisdom of 
 Providence is disturbed ; and then she finds out other 
 facts, which reduce them all within the range of a 
 complete and most beautiful arrangement. She 
 shows us, for instance, that the tiny drop of water 
 holds a multitude of living beings, glistening with 
 gold and vermillion, all invisible to the naked eye ; 
 that the lump of silicious cla}'' is an aggregate of 
 flinty shields, once the armor of a living creature, 
 exquisitely marked with their generic devices, by 
 which these minute organisms may be classified into 
 their species ; and the mind which always craves to 
 know the use of things, asks painfully, why has so 
 much beauty and skill been lavished upon such crea- 
 tures as these? What place do they hold in the great 
 order of nature? We had supposed it to be a univer- 
 sal law, that the lesser always serve the greater : 
 what relation has this invisible world to the visible ? 
 Science at last detects the answer, and shows us that
 
 16 
 the very existence of this great earth is dependant 
 upon these its most insignificant inhabitants : that, 
 in process of time, the globe would become resolved 
 into attenuated air, were it not that the gaseous par- 
 ticles, into which the solid structure is continually 
 dissolving, are arrested and transformed into the 
 myriad animalculce which swarm the sea and the 
 dry land, returning to the earth in their decay and 
 ajjsorption all the substance it had lost ; the very 
 rocks becoming disintegrated and exhaled, then 
 enternig into the organisms of life, thus rescued 
 again and restored to their original condition. From 
 this, we learn a lesson of Divine wisdom, which 
 strengthens our faith, and bows down the soul in 
 
 reverence 
 
 It is not only true that there is now the beginning 
 of a reconciliation between physical and spiritual 
 science, the induction of facts serving to verify that 
 which previously rested either upon intuition or 
 revelation, but we still further observe that the 
 process of thought which science makes inevitable, 
 also serves as a corrective and restraint to those 
 who dwell in the more abstract region of thought 
 and h-peculation. Here, again, in the beginning, 
 there is the appearance of antagonism ; the man, 
 who deah- only with facts and phenomeiia lying out- 
 side of him, may insist upon the application of the 
 same laws and processes to the solution of spiritual 
 problems, by which he measures the forces of nature 
 and analyses her material. He calls for the ?ame
 
 17 
 
 distinct and orderly classification, for the same spe- 
 cies of demonstration, for the same harmony of dis- 
 cordances, for the same sharp-lined logic, for the same 
 fixed and unalterable conclusions. In all which he 
 ignores the subject-matter with which he has to deal, 
 and has only to carry out his effort, to comprehend 
 spiritual things within the laws of matter, far enough, 
 and he will detect his error. He will find 'that here 
 his premises change with his stand-point ; these 
 higher truths of the soul varying their angles and 
 shifting their hues, as he moves around them ; that 
 the moral qualities of these truths are so blended that 
 no prism can resolve them into distinct and separate 
 rays ; that the laws of rigid logic break down under 
 the effort to enclose and limit spiritual things ; that 
 the terminolog}^ of moral science is unlike that of 
 physical science, and cannot have the same fixed- 
 ness and certainty ; that the same words convey dif- 
 ferent meanings to difl;erent minds ; that the real 
 thought which they represent varies according to 
 the condition of the soul to which it is addressed ; 
 and so the highest propositions with which we have 
 to deal cannot be illustrated by diagrams or resolved 
 by arithmetic. Science may measure the distance 
 of the stars and weigh them in its balance ; but it 
 has no instruments by which it can define the orbit 
 of spiritual truth, and gnage the dimensions of bodies 
 revolving there. 
 
 But while it is learning this lesson, which it is cer- 
 tain to do if its progress be not checked by its own
 
 18 
 
 pride or by tlie fears of the believer, it also renders 
 some service to the party with whom it seems to be 
 in collision. 
 
 There was a time when the citadel of theology 
 stood impregnable ; the warder on the watch-tower 
 looked out at even-tide and saw no hostile banner, 
 heard no sound but the low wailing of the breeze as 
 it swept over the level moor that stretched in dreary 
 solitude to the horizon. The old towers grew gray, 
 and the draw-bridge rusted in its socket, and swords 
 and shields hung upon the walls unused, and the de- 
 fenders of the faith dozed quietly in shady nooks, or 
 occasionally refreshed themselves with some harm- 
 less, domestic tournament, in which they fought with 
 laths and defended their heads with osiers. The few 
 rebellious spirits, who might incline to give them 
 trouble, lay chained in subterranean dungeons, where 
 their energies were carefully reduced by judicious 
 diet and depletion. Meanwhile, for want of care, 
 the ancient walls began to crumble, and the founda- 
 tions grew insecure, so that at last some of the poor 
 prisoners below saw day-light gleaming through the 
 stones and lifted up their heads in hope. And soon 
 the level moor, which for ages had slept so solitary, 
 bristled with anned men : science and theology, 
 ignorant of their real brotherhood, now stood arrayed 
 in battle. For a time it seemed to be a desperate 
 case with the defenders of the faith, for the old 
 weapons which they used could poorly cope with 
 the improved artillery of modern science. The
 
 19 
 
 three-angled syllogisms, which they hurled from the 
 walls, broke in the air and fell innocuous. The Aris- 
 totelian arrows, which they shot with vigorous arm, 
 rebounded and wounded themselves. They found 
 that they must have more efficient armor ; and the 
 enemy helped them to the pattern. 
 
 Science has taught theology to be somewhat less 
 dogmatic, and more analytic : to rely less upon unau- 
 thenticated authority, and to verify its assertions 
 more carefully : in all which it will be seen in the 
 end to have done a sound theology no harm. 
 
 The infallible dogmas of the dark ages are in some 
 quarters as pertinaciously affirmed as ever ; but they 
 are now defended bv modes of ar<i;ument which 
 would once have conducted the orthodox disputant 
 to the stake. The processes of thought, which 
 science makes inevitable, compel us to admissions 
 which are fatal to our dogmas if essentially unsound; 
 and may oblige us to re-construct them, even if essen- 
 tially true. 
 
 For there is no truth which is not affected by the 
 prevailing laws of thought ; inasmuch as nothing be- 
 comes a truth to us, except through the processes of 
 thouo;ht. The abstract truth is a fixed and real 
 entity, not at at all dependent for its existence upon 
 our discerning it ; just as the world with all its glori- 
 ous prospects exists as really in the blackest mid- 
 night as it does in the clearest noonday ; but we see 
 it according to the condition of the atmosphere.
 
 20 
 
 Now in turning the age backward, it is easy enough 
 to see how the progress of science has affected the 
 dogmatic opinions of former ages ; but it is more dif- 
 ficult to perceive its actual effect upon our own opin- 
 ions to-day. An age is rarely self-conscious of the 
 most vital, intellectual changes through which it is 
 passing. We see that the shadow upon the dial-plate 
 has moved since the morning, but we do not see it 
 move: it moves, however, none the less certainly for 
 all that. God made the earth to revolve, and to carry 
 every thing with it in its revolution : He made our 
 minds to be active, and activity supposes — no change 
 in truth, the sun stands still — but eternal progress in 
 the discernment of truth. "I count not myself to 
 have apprehended," said a great Apostle : weaker 
 men than he, and men blessed with no special insj^i- 
 ration, have said, " T count myself to have appre- 
 hended," and so they cease to use their faculties, and 
 retire upon their capital. 
 
 We have thus imperceptibly glided into the more 
 direct consideration of the existins; conditions of 
 abstract thought. And here we may remark, there 
 never was a time when a real thought had such 
 general formative power as now. In ancient days, 
 there were men shut up in cloisters who, in their 
 solitude, were visited by grand conceptions, and they 
 eliminated great thoughts, which if the world had 
 only known, they would not willingly have let die. 
 But there was no medium of communication between 
 these solitary cells vnd the world without: the
 
 21 
 
 thought conceived could not be uttered, and so it 
 was buried with its author. 
 
 Now, the thpught immediately becomes a word, 
 and that word, spoken or written, almost instantly 
 attains a universal presence, flying faster than the 
 wind ; and if it have true vitality, it becomes re-pro- 
 ductive every where, bearing fruit after its kind : it 
 quickens other thoughts, and shapes their form ; it 
 modifies opinion, influences action, changes usage, 
 and so enters into all the outward processes of social 
 life. For a real thought is the most real of all things ; 
 it has more power than any other thing ; it outlasts 
 all other things ; man is only what his thought makes 
 him, his destiny is only what his thought makes it, 
 and all which he does with his hands is only the 
 giving form to what his thought created. Men of 
 action, as they are called, sometimes look disdain- 
 fully upon those who give themselves up to mere 
 thought ; whereas thought is action, in its highest 
 and truest form: wood and iron, properly adjusted 
 and impelled, can do no more in the way of exterior 
 activity than man can do by the tightest straining of 
 his muscles : but wood and iron cannot think, and 
 therefore they actually do nothing. 
 
 There are some styles of thought, now in opera- 
 tion, which are destined to exert a powerful and 
 permanent influence upon the general condition of 
 society. We have seen how the practical results of 
 art are preparing the way for a rapid and wide diffu- 
 sion of some species of influence ; we have seen how
 
 22 
 
 speculative science is modifying the processes of 
 thought, not only opening new channels for its flow, 
 but also throwing up banks along the margin of an- 
 cient currents of thought, to regulate their move- 
 ment : now we come to our main question, — What 
 is the style of thought, from which the greatest re- 
 sults are to be expected ? 
 
 It may seem as though we were opening our 
 answer with a very obvious truism, when we say 
 that the thought which impresses itself upon society, 
 must be real, and not fictitious. And yet when we 
 consider how much is uttered, the whole merit of 
 which consists in the collocation of well-sounding 
 words, and the arrangement of certain stale beauties 
 of diction, and the more or less vigorous repetition 
 of old formulas — dried preparations, which once per- 
 haps had pliancy and greenness — and how much is 
 expected from this species of effort; in any case, how 
 highly it is praised for its soundness and " tried ex- 
 cellence :" when we consider how large a business 
 some great men do upon a very small capital, and 
 that perhaps borrowed from others who could poorly 
 afford to make the loan ; when we consider how ex- 
 tensively words are used as the substitute for thought, 
 and how reluctant many men are to give him a fair 
 hearing who brings any thing to their notice which 
 is not already familiar and patent to the whole world ; 
 it might appear as though it were the popular verdict 
 that the last problem had been solved, the progress 
 of real thought may now be stayed, and the mind
 
 23 
 sink to its repose. The business of making sentences, 
 weaving the old, common stock of thought into new 
 patterns, may be harmless enough and in some quar- 
 ters popular enough, although nothing is produced 
 but flimsy and fantastic webs : but after all, this is 
 not the work which the age demands of us. There 
 are not a few, who will ask, when we come professing 
 to instruct them, what substantial truth have you to 
 give us ? AYhat do your words signify ? Do you your- 
 self comprehend what you say ? Is what you utter 
 that which you have found to be true in your own 
 inward experience, or is it merely what has been 
 told you by others, and do you state it only upon 
 their warrant ? Have you any personal right in the 
 truths which you utter? Do you know that they 
 mean any thing ? The man who cannot answer these 
 questions in the affirmative, may win for himself a 
 temporary reputation, because he may be artful in 
 the use of words ; but he really dies with the sound 
 he utters. The world take no knowledge of him, 
 after the noise is over. He was a pleasant instru- 
 ment and discoursed sweet music ; but he was only 
 an instrument. Or rather, he is a conduit, through 
 which other .men's thoughts flow ; it is found out, 
 after a while, that purer water may be had at the 
 fountain, and then he is dispensed with and put aside 
 as an inconvenience. This must be the fate of all 
 who are of no real value. Poets and orators, inflated 
 to unnatural size by the breath of other men's 
 thoughts, must soon collapse and wither away.
 
 24 
 They seem to fill a. large space, while they live ; but 
 when they die, a very small grave will hold them 
 and their works, which immediately follow them, 
 when they rest from their unserviceable labors. 
 
 It was the custom of the old New-England divines 
 to estimate men, " according to the amount of being 
 that is in them :" the phraseology well expresses 
 what we mean by real thought, — it is the amount 
 of being;: in the thouQ-ht which determines its amount 
 of influence. Every new thought at first comes to 
 us as a stranger, and must be questioned and tested, 
 before it can be allowed the freedom of the land, 
 and it is very certain to be rudely treated by those 
 who regard every new comer as an imjjostor ; but if 
 the thought be a fact and not a fiction, if it have a 
 good share of actual being, it w^ill find entertainment 
 and a home. 
 
 A real thought is that which is generated by some 
 real mental process ; and by one test it may be dis- 
 tinguished from the mere show or shadow of thought, 
 it quickens the mind upon which it falls, generates 
 there other thoughts, and thus perpetuates itself in 
 an unlimited progeny. We may admire words, 
 which convey no such living influence, we may won- 
 der at the art by which they are so ingeniously con- 
 structed : but they stir no new pulsation of the soul; 
 while, on the other hand, it is possible that the most 
 abstract thought, clothed in the most naked language, 
 may warm the blood like a war-trumpet. There are 
 minds, whose touch is electric, it is an era in exist-
 
 25 
 dice when we first come within reach of their power, 
 they introduce us into new worlds, they clothe the 
 heavens with brighter drapery, they give strength to 
 our feeble knees, and brace our vacillating will, and 
 clarify our vision, and sanctify our depraved affec- 
 tions, and make us better, as we become wiser men. 
 At the breath of their words, the cords of the soul 
 give out unwonted music, thought swells into the 
 melody of emotion, becomes transmuted into feeling, 
 and the whole intellectual being trembles under the 
 enchantment. Problems, which distracted and ago- 
 nized us, assume a clear and lustrous meaning : the 
 mind enlarges its boundaries, encloses what was once 
 foreign, harmonizes what was once discordant, grap- 
 ples with difficulties which it once feared to encoun- 
 ter, and settles down at last immoveably upon the 
 eternal foundations of absolute truth. 
 
 It is the men who produce these effects that are 
 to shape the thoughts of other men and so control 
 the destinies of the race. 
 
 We next remark, that the most influential style 
 of thought, now current, is that which is inclusive 
 and comprehensive, and not that which is bounded 
 off by the rigid lines of party exclusiveness. It is 
 indeed true, that schools and. parties in philosophy, 
 theology and every thing else, were never more 
 numerous or belligerent than now. Nothing goes 
 unchallenged. No absurdity so crude but some will 
 be found to affirm it : no truth so solemn but some 
 will be found to deny it. The collision and attrition
 
 26 
 
 of different substances generates uncomfortable heat, 
 and yet this very heat may produce a fusion of those 
 substances. There are some phenomena attendant 
 upon the discussions of the day, which indicate the 
 possibility of such a result. Those primary questions 
 which lie at the base of all intellectual differences, 
 are more carefully scrutinized than formerly ; such 
 as, the relation of language to thought ; the plastic 
 and changing character of words ; the influence of 
 temperament upon opinion ; the fact that the same 
 truth is seen in a variety of aspects, according to the 
 angle from which it is viewed ; the impossibility of 
 exhausting the whole meaning of any great truth by 
 any dogmatic definitions in which we endeavor tO' 
 enclose it ; the necessity of adjusting our modes of 
 argument to the subjeot-matter with which we have 
 to deal J these, and such like points, cannot be can- 
 didly considered without materially affecting all sys- 
 tems of opinion. And, in the moment that men of 
 different names and parties are more anxious to dis- 
 cover points of agreement than of difference, and 
 are willing to substitute intelligent definition for 
 vague and savage protest, the world may begin to 
 hope for peace. 
 
 Now there are men who, in the spirit of a gener- 
 ous eclecticism, are engaged in gathering up the 
 products of past thought and in the comparison of 
 contending dogmas, to see if there be any ground of 
 reconciliation. Starting with the presumption that 
 no merely human systems are infallible, and few
 
 27 
 entirely false, it is o])serve(l that the most discordant 
 schools in time gravitate towards each other, in vir- 
 tue of the mutual attraction of those essential truths 
 which they hold in common. 
 
 It is observed that no merely human system has 
 held to its moorings through any number of succes- 
 sive centuries ; that human interpretations of divine 
 truth change with the fluctuations of philosophy, so 
 that even the infallibility of Rome is not the same 
 infallibility that it was a thousand years ago, and the 
 Calvinism of the day is not the exact Calvinism of 
 the Reformation. 
 
 We do not mean to say that those men are most 
 likely to leave their mark upon society, who, looking 
 at the history of opinions in this respect, jump to the 
 conclusion, that all systems are alike true and alike 
 false, and so settle down upon the principle of indif- 
 ference. To say that one thing is as good as another, 
 is to say that nothing is really good for any thing. 
 Where systems palpably contradict each other, it is 
 evidence that there is something wrong in one, if 
 there be any thing right in the other. That pseudo- 
 eclecticism which devours every thing and digests 
 nothing, gives no nourishment to the soul. A true 
 comprehensiveness does not include absurdities and 
 lies in the same bundle with truths, but it discrimi- 
 nates between truth and error every where, and 
 rejects the lie even when it is found in the best 
 company. It may even seem to be more rigid than 
 any other mode of thought, as in fact it is, because
 
 28 
 
 it applies its poison-test indiscriminately, and will 
 not allow the fairest show of good to pass unques- 
 tioned. It seems to be liberal, because it gives the 
 suspected system, arraigned for error, a fair hearing, 
 while in this it is only just. 
 
 The current philosophy of the age is, in a measure, 
 the result of contending systems : induction and iur 
 tuition, idealism and realism, physiology and psycho- 
 logy, have fought their battles, and the end has been 
 a compromise, as it must of necessity be ; because, 
 while each is vulnerable, each is also in some respects 
 invincible. True eclecticism was not possible, until 
 these collisions had occurred ; it is not yet altogether 
 possible, because the contest is not yet over. But 
 the day begins to dawn, and those men will have the 
 advantage of us, who are up early in the morning to 
 see the day-break. It is their voice we shall hear 
 sounding from the mountain-top, when the cry comes 
 up fi'om the vallej^s, "Watchmen, what of the night ?" 
 They wait for the light, and wait with their eyes 
 open ; and they will have much to tell the rest of 
 the world, who slumber till the meridian. 
 
 We may next remark, more generally, that the 
 style of thought which is to be felt, must accord with 
 the life of the age. We have seen how science fur* 
 rows out channels, in which it compels the current 
 of speculation to flow. By mechanical contrivances, 
 the stream may for a while be made to run in other 
 directions ; but men will soon tire of working these 
 machines.
 
 29 
 This, however, is not all. There is also a certain 
 species of thought, the inevitable result of what may 
 be called the atmospheric influences of the age, which 
 exists almost every where in a latent form ; and the 
 man who gives embodiment to this thought, thus 
 brino-inn' it within the rauo-e of consciousness and 
 observation, is he who most effectually moves us. 
 To re-produce what has been produced before and 
 done its work ; to re-argue questions, which have 
 been already disposed of, or proved to be incapable 
 of solution ; to revive speculations, which have no 
 bearing upon any existing necessity ; is only to re- 
 plant a tree whose roots are dead. Here and there 
 minds are found, born out of due time, who live en- 
 tirely in the past. Their constant cry is, "learn of 
 the past !" but the}^ will not allow us to read the 
 lesson through, and reduce it to any practical pur- 
 pose. A strange sight is revealed in this nineteenth 
 century. There may be seen a company of men, in 
 antique attire, marching doggedly back into the 
 marshes of the middle ages, to pitch their tents in 
 that uncertain soil, which no drainage can render 
 habitable. Manners and morals, dogmas and institu- 
 tions, which belonged to the infancy of society, they 
 would engraft upon its maturity. We are called to 
 sit ■ down and play with toys, and lisp our words 
 lamely, that thus we may revive the purity and sim- 
 plicity of childhood. AVe must believe once more in 
 hobgoblins, to restore the supremacy of faith over 
 reason. The world has little to apprehend from that
 
 30 
 quarter. These self-sacrificing men throw them- 
 selves into the stream, to arrest its onward current ; 
 which meeting with this obstruction, only whirls for 
 a moment and gurgles, and then Hows on as before. 
 
 But this sad caricature must not be allowed to 
 bring true conservatism and intelligent reverence 
 for the past into disrepute. There is a conservative 
 instinct which belongs to the age, as much as does 
 the spirit of progress. It never was more needed 
 than now ; for a heavy balance wheel is indispensa- 
 ble, when the machine moves rapidly. 
 
 True conservatism and true progress differ mainly 
 in this : the former looks round to see how it can 
 invest the treasure which it inherits from the past 
 most safely, the latter to see how that treasure may 
 be invested most profitably. The one is content to 
 bequeath to posterity only what it has received from 
 antiquity; the other would transmit it to his chil- 
 dren with usury. Now in seeking for large gains, 
 we are always in danger of losing our capital ; and 
 the caution of conservatism is needed to make us 
 vigilant. 
 
 There is a destructive school of reformers, who 
 would pull down comfortable mansions, because their 
 original plan was not perfect, and build anew, even 
 though the family meanwhile go houseless : the con- 
 servative stands by to plead for shelter, and so that 
 that he only allow of gradual and necessary repair, 
 he does a good work. We have radicals at either 
 pole ; but neither represent the great, leading ten-
 
 31 
 
 dcneies of thought. The moderates will have the 
 day. Obliged by their principles to balance oppo- 
 sites, they may seem to falter, while others rush by 
 them ; but they pause, only to gird their loins. 
 
 When, therefore, we affirm that the thoughts which 
 are to move the world, must run in the grooves of 
 the age, we do not give our verdict in favor either 
 of a reckless progress, or of an effete conservatism. 
 We only say that there are modes of thought and 
 subjects of thought, peculiar to our own times, which 
 must be regarded by him who would exert his powers 
 to any great purpose. These modes and subjects are 
 neither divorced from the past, nor shut off from the 
 future. They direct themselves to the real necessi- 
 ties of living men ; to the solution of moral problems 
 which distract their minds, to the relief of physical 
 evils which torture their bodies. The popular inte- 
 rest in questions that once absorbed attention, when 
 it was supposed that the endurance of evil and blind 
 submission to dogma was the chief end of man, is 
 dying out, and no possible effort can revive it. The 
 general tone of that species of literature which the 
 mass of men read, proves that it is so. General 
 councils to settle the forms of doctrine have ceased 
 to meet; but we have council upon council, and 
 decree upon decree, foolish and wise, aiming at the 
 amelioration of humanity. At such a time as this, 
 it is natural that we should fear lest the old founda- 
 tions of truth should be removed ; but it will not 
 suffice that we more vociferously reiterate our for-
 
 32 
 
 mulas, we must evolve the exact truth which these 
 embody and show men that they cannot live with- 
 out it. We must define our terms, listen patiently 
 to objections, and waive incongruous argument. 
 Vigorous attack must be met with vigorous defence : 
 not with cries and wailings. The friends of truth 
 must show themselves able foes to error; or their 
 friendship may cost the truth more than it is worth. 
 The law of adaptation must be regarded, if we would 
 do the good cause any service. We must remember 
 that the modes of warfare have changed : the old 
 battering-ram, worked by a thousand men, was a less 
 dangerous engine than the modern shell, which as 
 though self-propelled, sails so quietly through the 
 air and lays itself within the trenches. Science is 
 the great foe to faith ; faith must enlist science in 
 her service, to repel that foe. The battle is not al- 
 ways to the strong, for there is a Divinity above who 
 sometimes vindicates his own cause by super-human 
 means : but that Divinity would have us use what- 
 ever strength we have, and not imagine that indo- 
 lence is trust. The ablest logic, the profoundest 
 learning, the keenest wit, are all now in demand ; for 
 logic and learning and wit are all arrayed against 
 the right. Philosophy and song are both in compact 
 with the Powers of evil ; and while the latter soothes 
 us to slumber, the former drops poison in the ear. 
 The sappers and miners are at work ; decoy-lights 
 gleam from the towers ; the wells are poisoned ; 
 swords are forged with untempered steel ; the secret
 
 33 
 
 watch-word is communicated to the enemy ; the 
 gates are opened clandestinely ; the foe fights in am- 
 bush ; all this must be considered, if we would save 
 the citadel. Most evidently it is not a time to fight 
 with the ghosts of the departed ; we have living foes 
 •to meet, and we had better try to make ghosts of 
 them. The thought which is to mould the times, 
 must be adapted to the times ; the language intelli- 
 gible ; the illustration pertinent ; the end aimed at 
 real ; and the argument irrefragable. 
 
 One further consideration we have to offer : the 
 most effective thought will be that which springs 
 from the inspiration of holiness. It is great truth 
 that we want, and this is not earth-born, but comes 
 from beyond the clouds. It is the most vital and 
 indispensable condition of such thought, that the mind 
 be put into the true attitude for its reception. The 
 soul must be so purged and polished, that its surface 
 will reflect the stars. It is through inspiration, the 
 in-breathing of holy thoughts, that the world has 
 learned its choicest lessons. " The inspiration of the 
 Lord giveth understanding." The thoughts that 
 have not been in some sense inspired, have soon ex- 
 pired, breathed themselves into air and been scat- 
 tered. Who reads the old, infidel books ? The very 
 skeptic of the day abjures them, probabl} because 
 he thinks that he can write better ; but he irust be 
 content in time to share their fate. John P juvan. 
 •• the inspired tinker," is read, while Hobbes, and 
 Shaftesbury, and Collins, and Woolston, and Tindall, 
 
 K
 
 34 
 
 and Morgan, sleep quietly in dust ; " ashes to ashes," 
 has long since been said over their works. Many a 
 brilliant effort of modern skepticism, whose scintilla- 
 tions charm the multitude, is doomed to as speedy an 
 extinction. For a moment, the gorgeous coruscation 
 lights up the horizon with its artificial fire and oblit- 
 erates the stars; but, after the short blaze is over, 
 the old planets are found in their places, shining 
 calmly ps before. The human race have no interest 
 in seeing those great truths, upon which their 
 choicest hopes rest, blotted out of being : they exist 
 for the soul, and the soul exists for them, and this 
 affinity is not to be readily broken. The world is 
 always conservative of those truths, except when 
 under some temporary delirium, and the whole race 
 never go mad altogether. Whatever doctrine or in- 
 stitution is essential to the welfare of mankind, will 
 assert its right to live ; and the world will in the end 
 be most grateful to those who have done lowliest 
 homage to that divinely-given truth. 
 
 And now, in conclusion, we ask, — What will be 
 the prominent characteristics of the intellectual era 
 towards which we are tending ? Our answer must 
 be given almost in a word. 
 
 There will be a fairer adjustment of the relations 
 existing between form and substance, language and 
 thought, dogma and spirit. There will be no further 
 merging of the thing signified in the sign, nor any 
 unwise divorce of the substance from the sign. One 
 man will no longer stand for the form, as chough it
 
 a 
 
 35 
 were all : while another rejects it, as though it were 
 nothing. It will be seen that forms are not things ; 
 and yet that all things have fomi. Thus one great 
 occasion ol' contest will be removed : for thus far the 
 want of agreement as to the relation of signs to sub- 
 ^ance, has filled the earth with violence. 
 
 There will also be a clearer recognition of the 
 mutual relations of all branches of science, and of 
 their essential harmony. The- physical world will 
 then be regarded as a grand symbol of the spiritual. 
 The voices of nature and of revelation will sound in 
 unison. Every thing will then be vocal of God. 
 The heavens will declare His glory, and the firma- 
 ment show forth His handy-work." Sense will be- 
 come spiritualized : form, color, sound, the rolling 
 landscape, the gorgeous cloud, the awful thunder, 
 will be joined with dogma and doctrine, to inform 
 and elevate the soul. 
 
 There will also be a gradual assimilation of all 
 those elements, dwelling in various systems, which 
 are essentially harmonious. Fragmentary truths 
 will coalesce : half-truths, hemispheres of truth, will 
 be welded together, to make one, complete sphere ; 
 which thus rounded and balanced, will move on 
 peacefully in its fit orbit. 
 
 Thus there will be inrluced an approximation 
 towards universal agreement in essentials, and the 
 world will behold a true developement of catholic 
 unity. To say that this is impossible, is to declare, 
 either that there is no such thinoj as fixed and abso-
 
 36 
 
 lute truth, or that the mind possesses no faculties by 
 which that truth can be authenticated, notwithstand- 
 ing the fact that God has specially and authorita- 
 tively revealed it. Now, all truth is of God, and has 
 the ijipress of his immutable ness : the human mind 
 is of God, and submitting to the necessary conditions, 
 it may be made to reflect that immutable truth. It 
 was created for the true and not for the false ; and 
 though it is so sadly deranged by sin, that it often 
 prefers the false, it has never lost its intellectual 
 perception of the difference between right and wrong. 
 God has never taken away this faculty from us ; and 
 when the hour comes that all men are willing to use 
 that gift honestly, the earth will rejoice. Before the 
 race can be made to do right, they must learn to 
 think right; conviction precedes action. 
 
 It is the vocation of those whom I address to-day 
 to evolve and set forward the truth. This is the 
 high function to which you are called : may the 
 Author of all truth give you the strength and the 
 courage which you need in the discharge of this mo- 
 mentous duty.
 
 <?ri)c rigljt an^ tl)c iHitn of forming i^nbcpcnLicnt^ 
 inbiDiLiual Opinions. 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 PKONOUNCED BEFORE 
 
 TIE HOUSE OF CONVOCATION 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE 
 
 IN CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, JULY 30th, 1351 
 
 BY THE HON. LEVI WOODBURY, LL. D.. 
 
 ASSOCIATE JUSTICE OF THE SUPHEME COURT OF THE UKITED STATES. 
 
 Published by die House of Convocation. 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 
 S. HAH:MEK & CO. — CALEND^VK PEESS^. 
 1851.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 It may be proper to state, that this Address was pro- 
 nounced, only a few weeks previous to the death of its 
 lamented Author; which occurred before the Manu- 
 script was committed lo the press.
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 This ocCiVsioN is full of interest from two general con- 
 siderations. One is connected with the welfare of the youth- 
 ful scholar, who is about to leave these classic shades for the 
 turmoil and responsibilities of the busy world, and the otlier 
 with the character, affection and hopes of the College, anx- 
 ious as his Alma Matei\ that he shall succeed well in his 
 new career, and reflect honor on her watchful labors to fit 
 iim for usefulness in the thorny paths of life. May neither 
 be disappointed. 
 
 And to justify some hopes that I may prove successful in 
 the attempt to make a few suggestions appropriate to both, 
 allow me to dwell for a short time on a topic not unimportant 
 to any of us. It is independence of thought. It is on the 
 right and the duty of forming independent, individual opin- 
 ions. 
 
 When young men enter on the dusty arena of business, 
 and leave behind the recitation hall and lecture-room, where 
 they have been taught by others more experienced and 
 learned, a new theatre is opened to them. They are soon to 
 be looked up to as teachers themselves in diflxirent spheres. 
 They and those of their generation are soon to rule rather 
 than be ruled. They will constitute the Young America of 
 the closing half of the nineteenth century, and are destined
 
 to lead and not follow the drowsy bum of the rest of the 
 world, ir, then, thej would reflect back honor on their past 
 instructors, they must have formed, or must forthwith form, 
 in many respects, independent, individual opinions on most 
 of the vital aftairs in which they expect to be actors, or they 
 will 1)0 unable to take a decided stand in exigencies, and 
 leave their foot-prints on history, making some useful im- 
 pression on the age in which they live, and contributing in 
 some degree to its progress and glory. 
 
 Without possessing such opinions, they will often be mis- 
 led in the fogs which envelope mortals, and will peradven- 
 ture be lost among the quicksands of life, which they have 
 not the pilot firmness, if they have the pilot skill, to avoid. 
 Without possessing and exercising such 02:)inions, they are 
 likely also to bring discredit on themselves and the College 
 which has educated them, rather than to enable her, feeling 
 a just pride in her sons, to exclaim like the Roman Matron 
 — ''Hhese are my jewels.'''' It would show that they have not 
 learned one of the most important lessons in life — to think for 
 themselves, to reason, to discriminate and decide for them- 
 selves. Disregarding this, education is often but scattered 
 Sybilline leaves, or if an accumulation of knowledge, it is 
 without system in its arrangement, or skill in its employ- 
 ment. It may be the acquisition of tools, but it is without 
 instruction for their use ; means, without the courage and 
 habit to promote the desired ends ; power, without the ability 
 to wield it ; and a life doomed to servility to others, and to 
 doubts w^hich it has not the custom or daring to remove ; it 
 can neither untie nor cut them. Instead of meeting occasion- 
 ally with Gordian knots, such a j)erson will find the high- 
 ways of life strewed with them, and the unfortunate imbo-
 
 rile will become as much disgraced in liis career as he is 
 slavish and stripped of some of the highest attributes of 
 liumanity. AVith no manly independence of thought, rather 
 tliaii being looked up to as a guide, he will be a mere cros> 
 road post without a guide-board. He is not a whole hona 
 fide man ; he is but little better than an ape. His opinions 
 are not his own, but borrowed or pirated. He wears only 
 second-hand clothes. His influence in society and public 
 affairs is no more than that of a weathercock, which tunis 
 just as it is blowed upon from elsewhere. He is the victim 
 <.>f tlie perverseness of any one, bows to an ipse dixit instead 
 of a reason, and swears daily to the words of some master 
 in religion or philosophy without any due examination. 
 ^Many men thus pass their lives with few or no fixed opiniont? 
 of their own, and are as dependent on others as is the ivy on 
 the wall or tree to which it clings. Uncertain opinions, too, 
 are apt to mystify, and hence imcertain or ambiguous words 
 are not to be scattered among the people, but what is clear, 
 decided and independent. It is not the ignis fatuus or 
 meteor which can be confided in by the tempest-tost mariner, 
 but the firm and towering light-house. Uncertain or vagut^ 
 principles, likewise, if held uj) for obedience, might, like Cali- 
 gula's laws, as well be hung so high as not to be at all read- 
 able by the masses. Again, the habit of forming independ- 
 ent, individual opinions, aftects and improves the whole 
 character no less than the views entertained on particular 
 questions. Each learns thus to discriminate well, rather 
 than yield uncalculating submission. By experience, each 
 thus becomes more competent to judge, and will judge for 
 liimself, thus acquiring more decision of character, like the 
 Howards and Frys, no less than the Luthers or Ciesars ; like
 
 the Robert Halls and John Knoxes. and the Ledyards, as- 
 well as the Wellingtons and Jacksons. This sometimes de- 
 generates into rashness or cruelty, and leads to what is vis- 
 ionary ; but it is not designed to do these, or to encom-age 
 knighterrantry and fighting wind-mills, nor that worst of all 
 employments, racing over Alps to conquer worlds and devas- 
 tate, rather than improve or reform. In such ill-judged en- 
 terprizes, some of these energies have been developed, but 
 at the same time wretchedly perverted, and have by this 
 abuse, by their want of virtuous motive and usefid aims, 
 more cursed than blessed mankind. But well directed, well 
 influenced, these independent, intelligent exertions will not 
 despise or neglect efforts for good in the humblest spheres, 
 on topics the least showy, if beneficial, or with associates 
 however lowly and unanimated with worldly ambition. It 
 is nobility of aim and not of station which inspires it, and 
 its cardinal object is, not to rush headlong into every new 
 and daring object, or break down existing institutions, but 
 to improve what has been established, and act with judgment 
 and discretion, though firmly ; not to conclude at once that 
 all which is old is rotten or corrupt, and like Soutbey and 
 Coleridge, start in a career believing almost every thing 
 worm-eaten, mouldy, and a canker at its heart. They may 
 feel warmly, yet act prudently. Each person of this tem- 
 perament feels that he has a heart and a head, and uses them, 
 it may be with enthusiasm at times, Ijut still discreetly. Like 
 Catholic Mary of England, such are likely to possess strong 
 feelings, and have some Calais or other engraved on their 
 hearts^ as she said they would find on hers when she died. 
 Tliis ardent habit of mind can also alone imj)art confidence 
 in one's own course and opinions, and thus beget self-posses-
 
 eion in moral clauger. Knowing tliat our opinions have been 
 carefully analyzed and deliberately formed, we can dare to 
 trust to them at the stake and amidst the tortiu-es of the In- 
 quisition. We have then some firm Pilots in life, and feel 
 the confidence in them which is felt in marine pilots amidst 
 the tempests of the ocean, or when several at the wheel and 
 as many more at the helm in a Canadian steamer, plunge 
 down the perilous rapids of the St. Lawrence, where a want 
 of like judgment and simultaneous movement in the whole, 
 as if there were a single eye and single arm, would be likely 
 to end in the inevitable destruction of all on the cascades 
 and whirlpools and rocks through which they dash so madly. 
 There is another result of much weight. The habit of form- 
 ing independent, individual opinions on most matters, ena- 
 bles the martyr spirit, under all kinds of rebufi's and perse- 
 cution, never to falter or faint, hut ''''hear hra/vely if^," and if 
 driven to the wall, cause bigots and "tyrants to fall with 
 every blow." It is not of the rose-water school in any thing. 
 You know where to find such people in an emergency almost 
 as well as yo,u know in mathematics that two and two make 
 four, because they act firmly under a fixed and certain set of 
 principles. You know when to rely on them for the good 
 and useful, and also when you cannot rely on them for the 
 trifling, the frivolous, or the false. Friends in need in private 
 life and in pul)lic, the anchors of safety and hope, they may 
 perish in a cause, undermined by tlie artifices of demagogues 
 or cloven down by brutal power, yet they will never betray 
 it, never falter, never despair. ]\[eu of this class are the 
 persons who leave their nuirks on the age in which they live, 
 whether in religion or jurisprudence, politics or literature. 
 They cast a bright light over a shadowy earth, rather than
 
 8 
 
 V)ecome tlie mere shadows of otliers. Sncli make reforms, 
 and do not leave every tiling bound in cast iron, as tliey find 
 it, or like the stifiened, fresh-looking corpses after a genera- 
 tion frozen in Arctic ice, or like the relics in the lava which 
 ran over Pompeii, preserving for many centuries evenhouse- 
 liold furniture as unaltered as the pjTamids. Such, too, 
 draw out the whole powers of nature in every thing around, 
 and hasten onward every great and glorious work, daily im- 
 parting new energies and daily striking out new lights. By 
 this independent course alone. Progress or improvement is 
 attainable, which seems a beneficent design of Providence. 
 For mere vital succession, in man or any thing else, would 
 be in many respects philosophically unmeaning and ajipa- 
 rently useless ; and, of necessity, for anything to be station- 
 ary or retrograde in existence would reflect on the infinite 
 wisdom which formed it ; for then, all tliis lower creation 
 would move in a circle rather than onward or upward, and 
 we should see our path bordered with sepulchres and the 
 ashes of past generations. It requires no more proof that 
 it is the duty of all to fonn opinions and exercise them in an 
 independent manner, when the opposite course is so deroga- 
 tory, and when each man is accountable for the due exercise 
 of all his talents, and is not permitted therefore to lay aside 
 these talents in a napkin, nor to pervert them by crime, nor 
 »mother them by the weeds of neglect. 
 
 A word or two on one other consideration, which, on this 
 subject, appeals to the heart as Well as head of young schol- 
 ars just launching on the ocean of practical life. Tliey are 
 watched over by angel guards. Grateful returns are due to 
 these, ratlier than servility to a censorious? World that dogs
 
 9 
 
 tlieir footsteps with envy and backbiting. Strive tlien not 
 to defeat the just expectations of teachers liere, and miicli 
 more of tlie beloved at tlie family fireside and altar, who 
 have watched over yom* youthful education, and offered so 
 many prayers and tears for your success. That pale mother 
 yonder, who has cheered you onward ; that anxious father, 
 who lias endured so many privations for yom* assistance ; 
 that sister with hectic cheek ; that fond brother, so full of 
 confidence and sympathy ; all will otherwise be doomed to 
 disai)pointnient and anguish, and you will prove not only 
 ungrateful to them, but unfaithful to the cause of literature, 
 and your more elevated and hope-inspiring position in so- 
 ciety. 
 
 Without dwelling longer on the reasons why independent, 
 individual opinion exercises so decided an influence both on 
 private and public character, and becomes so imperative a 
 right and duty for us all, I tmst you will excuse me for occu- 
 pying your attention a short time longer in considering some 
 of the affairs of life which demand it most peculiarly. The 
 duty of in-dependence of opinion in matters of litel-ature, 
 and especially of criticism, perhaps deserves the first atten- 
 tion in such a place, and before slich an audience. Without 
 it no just discrimination can exist as to the preference of one 
 branch of study over another, or of the true ground on which 
 it ought to rest. Belles Lettres, or Science, or Philosophy, 
 may rule the hour with a sort of ephemeral power, and be 
 followed together, or successively, as whim or chance shall 
 dictate, but not with profit or distinction, unless private judg- 
 ment is stcnily exercised in relation to them. And the se- 
 lection of one autlior in any department over another can 
 never, witliout this, be nuide with advantage, and no inde-
 
 10 
 
 pendent opinion, no severe sentence oil incapacity or' igno- 
 rance, no feeling of condemnation if the guilty are all-owed 
 to escape, no firmness or trust in one's convictions, no discre- 
 tion to guide others or be useful to one's self can often 
 exist. These qualities, duly exercised, will enable real merit 
 to occupy its elevated and deserved niche in the temple of 
 fame, while the dunces shall sink to theirs, and not, cuckoo- 
 like, as tabled, live by hatching the eggs of other birds. This 
 course alone can prevent the triumph of mere adventitious 
 circumstances over true genius, wealth over merit, or rank 
 over humility, troops of friends over the friendless, influence 
 and position in social life over him whose fate is bound to 
 "some cold patron or a jail." So without such private judg- 
 ment, well cultivated and persisted in, no metaphysical truth 
 can be successfully explored ; no Lockes formed to give to 
 the understanding its due vigor ; no Sydneys and Eussells 
 trained to vindicate with pen, as well as tongue and life, 
 political rights ; no Galileo to insist that the world moves, 
 and, though consigned to a dungeon for this, to insist that it 
 still moves / and in truth no Copernicus to develope the true 
 revolutions of the solar system amidst superstition, incredu- 
 lity and popidar prejudice dogging him to his tomb. In 
 this way alone can most errors be made to tremble like Bel- 
 shazzar and his wassail nobles when seeing the blazing hand- 
 writing on the wall. Thus can the idols of false philosophy, 
 as well as false religion and false government, be overturned, 
 and the unnatural images of a bad taste in literature be torn 
 from their dusty picture frames. What but such a habit can 
 probe the cluiracter in literature of every nation, and at 
 every stage in its progress ? and boldly teach us what should 
 be imitated and what shunned? and embolden us to road,
 
 11 
 
 witli an almost supernatural tongue, the soul of a people in 
 their fine arts, and especially in their painting and poetry ? 
 We can thus see with almost apocalyptic eye, most of the 
 mysteries of races, climates, "skyey influences," and reli- 
 gions, if their literary tastes gush out with the ardor and 
 boldness of independent, individual feeling. Without reso- 
 lute independence of thought on literature, where would 
 have been the Bentleys, and Johnsons, and Scaligers, and 
 Neibuhrs, and Jeffries ? Where sound taste, instead of Delia 
 Cruscan frippery ? Where honest censure, in place of adu- 
 lation and sycophancy ? Without these, too, in the individ- 
 uals who read and decide on literary merit, what is public 
 opinion worth on litcraiy men or literary works ? A thousand 
 echoes of one servile friend are still nothing but echoes. A 
 thousand nothings added together make no more in weight 
 than one nothing. And when the whole commonwealth of 
 letters, or a majority of it, is made up of imitations, Da- 
 guerreotype copies, indiscriminate censure or applause, its 
 decrees should possess little influence ; and somid literature 
 and sound scholarship arc likely often to suffer for it whole 
 generations. Tlie right to individual opinion must also exist 
 in the great Republic of letters, or literary society is made 
 to degenerate into a despotism, and the standard of merit is 
 degraded, and the just mfluence of the educated portions of 
 tlie community is lessened. Li nuitters of criticit^m and 
 scholarship, also, mankind are too apt in modern times to 
 give disproportionate weight to what is merely ancient, fal- 
 lowing in conflding credulity many things merely because 
 tliey have existed, and not because, after independent scru- 
 tiny, they are found to be best. But such a scrutiny may 
 satisfy us that numy things now supposed to be wi'ong in
 
 12 
 
 literature or science are right, and some now deemed right 
 are really wrong. The more modern opinions are, however, 
 the more likely to be right, as they are formed in the man- 
 hood of the world, rather than in its cradle or inexperiencetl 
 infancy. They are formed, too, after a fuller discussion 
 through many ages, and after the superiority of many of 
 their views has been tested in a thousand battle-fields of the. 
 master minds in successive ages. Again, to judge what is 
 right in literature, by the exercise of indi^ddual opinion, it is 
 not enough to garner up the j)Sist, to amass facts, but we 
 must think on them, think fearlessly; we must use them as 
 helps to something higher, stepping-stones to what may 
 advance the hopes of humanity in escaping more and moi-e 
 from the dominion of error. Independent scrutiny may, in 
 this way, emancipate us from many slavish opinions as t< . 
 the intelligence of certain ages, and schools of philosophy, 
 and distinguished luminaries in the history of the world ; 
 and while some are foimd to be t}^es and exponents of tlieij' 
 times, a few, like Socrates and Bacon, are in advance of 
 them, and, unfortunately, others are as much behind their 
 times as some of the drones in tlie cloisters of St. Omei-'s. 
 On the same theoiy, the duty of private judgment in all 
 thinsrs will teach us to discriminate in the same individual : 
 and if we think M-ith Lord Coke on law, not to agree witli 
 him or his age as to witchcraft or intolerance; or, thinking 
 with Lord Bacon in pliilosophy, or Sir Matthew Hale in 
 religion, not to coincide with them or their generation? in 
 other things which seem manifestly erroneous and supersti- 
 tious. 
 
 Li the next jjlace, a word or two on independence of 
 thought in matters of government. Its exercise there i»
 
 13 
 
 vital to the preservation of Public LiT)erty, In a country 
 so free and self-governed as ours, it must he the right and 
 duty, no less than glory of all, to form their own opinions 
 on most matters of political importance, and it is indispen- 
 sable to the continuance of our Republican system. But, as 
 a general principle, without reference to forms of government, 
 the obligation to think with independence, and, where not 
 tied up by prior obligations, to act with indej^endence in 
 government, as in literature, is paramount. It is manifest 
 that, otherwise, the widest door is flung open to despotism ; 
 and the great cement of the social system will cease to be a 
 common bond of miion ; while no uniform guide in princi- 
 ple can exist for preserving law and liberty and order. This 
 is the true general princij)le, but error often results from not 
 noticing established exceptions. Man, till capable, by years 
 of discretion and knowledge, to judge for himself in matters 
 of government, may well acquiesce in what he finds estab- 
 lished in the family or the State. The rashness, inexperi- 
 ence, and enthusiasm of youth, however mingled with many 
 excellencies, have been found, the world over and in all time, 
 to justify making it an era in life for learning and discipline, 
 rather than judging. But afterwards, become mature, it 
 possesses the right, and it is rendered a duty, to think and 
 even act for itself, independently, when not within the terri- 
 '"ory and institutions of othei"?, and when not restrained by 
 previous obligations. The patriarchal authority can not rea- 
 sonably govern longer; and it belongs to manhood not only 
 to form independent opinions for itself, but, if imperfectly 
 educated, to acipiire nmre knowledge, and exercise it wisely 
 in correcting them. The right of a man, as a man, bearing 
 God's image on earth, to think and act freely for himself.
 
 14 
 
 Wiien not under prior obligations, is as clear, as a general 
 principle, as it is to see or hear for himself, or eat for him- 
 self. By no moral or political claim, independent of con- 
 tract, or naked power, can government interfere with my 
 sentiments wdiile unexpressed, or not used so as to endanger 
 or injure others. It might better select the fashion of my 
 coat, or the female I must wed for weal or woe. And soci- 
 ety possesses no more right to persecute me for this in the 
 "more moderate forms" of social ostracism, j)olitical outlaw- 
 ry, or Popish bulls, than with the Bastile, or the Inquisition. 
 Hence it is notorious, that in this Rejpvhlic^ opinions^ both 
 in law and in point of fact, have, as a general position, a 
 right to be free as air; and that freedom of speech or fair 
 discussion is also guaranteed to all by the Constitution itself. 
 But on this are some very salutary limitations, often disre- 
 garded, though sacred as the rights themselves. They are 
 such as regard to the decorum of not being blasjAemous, 
 as respect to the privileges of others so as not to slander or 
 libel them, and as conformity to the public peace by not 
 disturbing it with exhortations to violence and crime. But 
 some insist that still further limitations are necessary. They 
 set up some divine control as to government, some right 
 divine to rule or think for others. But acquiescing in this as 
 much and no more, as to own the hand of Deity in every 
 thing, where is the revelation for government communicated? 
 We have no Institutes of Menu, like the Hindoos, for direc- 
 tions in civil as well as religious matters ; no particular polit- 
 ical code sii])posed to be written by the finger of God him- 
 self, the Mosaic one as to Government not being deemed 
 binding on us, jiiid agreed to be followed by our Puritan 
 Fathers only till they could devise "something better." Who,
 
 15 
 
 in the next plaee, is authorized to regulate this 6ul)jcct in 
 the absence of divine interposition? And, though it is 
 urged tliat the doctrine that all may and should investigate 
 is too dangerous in its consequences to be adopted, yet who 
 is empowered to exclude or admit any one class, or one pro- 
 fession ? And who is to fix the exact standard of knowledge 
 or ignorance wliich shall qualify or disfranchise? Grant 
 some may err, as many do when the will is free ; but tliis is 
 incident to humanity, and every one is as much bound to 
 investigate, eo as not to err if possible, as he is bound to 
 investigate at all ; and he will often form an opinion in exi- 
 gencies that he must and should in many respects trust to 
 others better qualified than himsel£ But he can not do this 
 thoughtlessly, or without examining and seeing it to be right, 
 as an independent and just conclusion in the crisis which is 
 upon him. The danger of committing many errors by the 
 exercise of independence of thought, is frequently magni- 
 fied. It is comparatively small, where the degree of intelli- 
 gence and morals exist which are proper in all society ; 
 where the choice is for one's self and those most near and 
 dear to him ; where they are to bear its evils as well as reap 
 its benefits ; and where government, once established, is to 
 be obeyed explicitly till altered. Without such obedience, 
 government would jjrove a mockery. And how can any 
 right of independent thinking, excuse one from acting as he 
 has deliberately engaged ? How can conscientious scruples 
 or any supposed higher law interpose and absolve afterwards? 
 The time to stan these is when the engagements to obey are 
 made in the fundamental compacts, or, in adopting them. 
 These compacts to obey majorities should not be made with- 
 out jBjrst consulting conscience, or some higher law, to see
 
 16 
 
 that obedience is rio-lit and ou<>;lit to be exacted to tlie extent 
 promised ; or if made in liaste or by inadvertence, and some 
 of tlie parties feel umvilling to enforce them longer — though 
 it is a truism that some natural rights are renounced in gov- 
 ernment — then it is manifestly their duty to withdraw, if the 
 majority assents, and form new compacts of Government 
 elsewhere, accompanied by kindred associates ; to go out 
 like the ten tribes of Israel, or Madoc of Wales, rather than 
 remain and repudiate tlieir own engagements to obey, or 
 resist by force what has peacefully been stipulated and 
 shoidd be peacefully performed. These allusions to con- 
 science are not that, in my view, it is to be slighted, or, as 
 Sir Pertinax McSycophant said, "is not a Parliamentary 
 word," but that it is to be informed well, timed well, and 
 applied well. The limitations on rights, and particularly 
 those which have been imposed by oui'selves, are to be scru- 
 pulously observed, or we also violate, often, our own consci- 
 entious obligations to God, no less than to Government and 
 Society. Obedience to these obligations is the duty of per- 
 forming one's contracts, the duty of fidelity to our oaths, the 
 duty of truth, living, active truth, as well as truth theoreti- 
 cally. Those are in reality possessed of liberty, whom the 
 truth thus makes free^ and all are slaves beside. I say 
 nothing here of the great right of private oj)inion to attempt 
 a revolution in some opj)res8ive exigencies, as when political 
 privileges have been grossly violated in some great essentials, 
 and no other remedy exists ; but I speak of the rights and 
 duties of subjects in the ordinary administration of the laws, 
 and in governments which the citizens themselves have made 
 or adopted, and can peacefully change at the ballot boxes. 
 "Without some such fixed rules in government, not amenable
 
 17 
 
 to violence, nor to be nullified by indepcnclent opinion short 
 of a majority, miserable anarcliy will control eveiy thing, 
 and the community would be in a condition little short of 
 piracy. 
 
 But the right of independent oj)inion in fonning political 
 compacts is still more dear and vital, when we look to the 
 influence of this individual opinion on potjlic opinion, that 
 supposed mistress of the world. "WTiat is public opinio); 
 composed of but private opinions ? AVliat is the voice of any 
 whole people in any one government or community, but the 
 aggregate or balance of the voices of each collected, like the 
 result of a vote in an election made up from the separate 
 ballots of each citizen? Hence, if the private opinions are 
 in many respects not independent, or wrong, so must be 
 f>ublic opinion. The mountain will consist most of clay or 
 silex, as the particles of each may jn'cdominate. Is this 
 public opinion, then, sometimes ^vrong, and if so, is it to be 
 obeyed politically ? And how can it, when eiToneous, be 
 corrected better as to government, than by informing and 
 improving individual opinions ? I am one of those who 
 think that public opinion on many topics, as well as govern- 
 ment, has been often wi-ong. Thus though public opinion 
 required Soci'ates to be persecuted and to drink the hemlock ; 
 though public opinion nailed om* Saviouk to the Cross ; 
 though f)ublic opinion burned liogers and Cranmcr at the 
 stake ; though public opinion has hung myriads for witch- 
 craft ; though public opinion may once have been that the 
 blood did not circulate, that tlie earth was flat, and water 
 and air had no one common ingredient, that the power which 
 moved a smoke-jack could not move tons across moimtains 
 and oceans, or the lightning be used to convey intelligence 
 2
 
 18 
 
 almost instantaneously over continents, yet it was manifestly 
 erroneous then, however powerful. Indeed, what is the 
 revolution in religion, government, literature and fashion, 
 which characterizes every age, but a proof that public opin- 
 ion before was wrong, or is then wrong. And if we do not 
 concede it was in most cases before wrong, we admit that 
 little or no progress is made in the world for the better, and 
 that the human race, in its powers and hopes, instead of 
 travelling upward, is moving backward, or at the best only 
 in a circle. In short that the voice of the people was the 
 voice of God, unless in its strength, when saints and martyrs 
 have been sacrificed ; when statesmen and patriots the most 
 pure have fallen on the scaffold or under the ferocious guil- 
 lotine ; when philosophers and philanthropists and heroes 
 have been driven into exile or dungeons ; and when it sanc- 
 tions, as now in Oriental and African despotisms, such super- 
 stitions and tyi-anny as prevail, most who now exercise an 
 independent and enlightened individual opinion must disbe- 
 lieve. The voice of the people — voxpojMli — is not, then, 
 always riglit in a moral or philosophical view. It may not 
 be vox Dei^ except in political power, in having a claim for 
 the time being to obedience in Government. This last it 
 has. It is om- duty, then, to bow to the suprem.acy of public 
 opinion in laws, till changed or con-ected by reason, inform- 
 ation, exj^erience. The bayonet, or disobedience, is not the 
 true mode generally for reforming these errors in public 
 opinion, hut reason left free to comhat them ; private opin- 
 ions being made more enlightened, moral, and pervading, 
 and when thus improved, swelling into a majority. It is 
 thus manifest as to public opinion, that for the time being, 
 what it establishes in government and legislation within the
 
 19 
 
 Constitution, mnst be obeyed in ordinary cases. It is the 
 majority of individual opinions whicli will thus rule; which 
 should give color and character to public opinion ; and which, 
 as right or wi'ong, independent or servile, make a heaven or 
 hell of much on earth. 
 
 Our forefathers, in the exercise of private judgment in 
 their fatherland, differed on great principles of faith as well 
 as government, from the majority ; but still obeying the 
 latter till they withdrew, or suffering the penalty, they quiet- 
 ly sought greater indulgence in their own particular views 
 in a wilderness. They j^crsevcred for ages in their private 
 opinions on all which is important to the individual, or soci- 
 ety, till in the end public opinion grew stronger and better, 
 and till were thus wrought out the great monuments of them 
 that stand and point to heaven every where before and 
 around us. They were not infallible. In some respects they 
 seem at first to have emulated the errors of their persecutor:;. 
 But whatever other motives or causes may have mingled 
 and aided, this independent course of action predominated, 
 and impelled the whole ; and the result is that there the 
 great deed stands— an empire won — a EcpuLlic established, 
 beyond, in some respects, all Greek or Eoman examj)le. 
 I^ot merely a new world discovered of earth, trees, beasts of 
 prey, savages, such as brcike on the gaze of Columbus, but a 
 new world of principles, a form of religion if not in some 
 respects new, yet now established and secured by new 
 guards of toleration and freedom of conscience, and a new 
 arena for popular rights and public liberty, opened to the 
 whole of mankind. Not for lawless violence, not for crime 
 and anarchy, but here, thank God, tlie public opinion that 
 has been durably followed, and can long safely be relied on,
 
 lias been autliorized or derived from tlie individual, inde- 
 pendent opinions of the great and good of all ages ; the' 
 individual opinions "wliicli have stood the test and scrutiny 
 of time, and the second, sober tlwuglits of the intelligent and 
 honest among us, rather than the mere impulses of passions 
 or fanaticism, and the miserable forthcomings of lying ora- 
 cles, or Rochester knockings.. 
 
 But the most prominent subject on vv^hich independent,, 
 individual opinion should be exercised, is religion. The topic 
 is a most delicate one. But in my vievsr, in relation to 
 notions on it, so interwoven, and so momentous in life as in 
 death, it is as much a duty, as a general rule, to form them 
 independently, as it is to follow them with firmness. Wheth- 
 er through evil or good report, in the quiet valley or busy 
 mart of commerce, at the stake, the hearth, or the altar, 
 religion being an affair between the individual and his God, 
 woe to the man who uses force, or mere authority, or corrup- 
 tion, to divert an accountable being from due exertions to 
 investigate for liimself, and select with independence, the- 
 creed which liis conscience and judgment, after full inquiry, 
 shall decide to be right. Amid a chaos of opinions, truth 
 must exist in some of them, and if existing, should be fol- 
 lowed. For how can man be ]3unished hereafter for not 
 believing and pursuing the truth, if truth does not exist, or 
 he is not capable and bound, by proper exertions of an inde- 
 pendent mind, to discover and follow it? He is not obliged 
 to take a leap in the dark for eternity ;; to fonn an individual 
 opinion by mere caprice, or usage, or even by a conscience 
 unenlightened and unaided by reason or education. But he 
 is bound to test all things, and hold fast to that which i& 
 riglit. "With such guides as education and good moi'als,.
 
 21 
 
 which, as before observ-ed, should exist in all societies, and 
 connected with all religions and governments, this inde- 
 l)endent, individual opinion is less lik(4y to end in error than 
 tnith, and need not inspire apprehensions or doubts concem- 
 ing its results. Yet some danger attends it. Individual 
 opinion, when independent, it is admitted, is more likely to 
 be unbelieving and rebellious, than when governed by others. 
 l>ut this is one of the evils, which, like inundations or tor^ 
 nadoes in the physical world, arc incident to the possession 
 of the benelicent elements of water and air. Nor can any 
 untoward incident which may arise from it, be so evil in the 
 world, as the despotism, bigotry, iron oppression, and 
 wretched slavery that would result from ojjposite doctrines. 
 But even the occasional mischiefs i'vom the indulgence by 
 all in such free and independent judgment, arc often o\'cr- 
 «stimated. The evil is chiefly confined to inexperience and 
 ignorance, and, as they are removed, ceases. Each individ- 
 ual feels, also, a greater interest in iiaving a good religion, 
 when it is chosen by himself, and known to be his own for 
 time, if not eternity. He has, too, for a guide always, the 
 promptings of that divinity within, which enables him to 
 distinguish generally the right from the ^vi'ong when brought 
 in contrast. Puffendorf says, "there is a natural rectitude 
 in man's understanding, a power to discriminate what is best 
 from the worst, which will aid him in emergencies." Ifenee 
 each is likely to form a wiser selection, if making bold and 
 honest eflEbrts, and especially when aided, as before suggest- 
 ed, and as all should be, by suitable education and good 
 morals. Each is also inclined to love the beauty and useful- 
 ness of the good, rather than the deformity of evil, and soon 
 aequii*es many rules of action from experience ; and as he 
 2*
 
 22 
 
 will hardly prefer long a riglit hand glove for the left hand",, 
 or bitter poisons to rich and luscious fruits, so he will ere 
 long prefer a living, fmitful faith to sophistry or dead works. 
 But there are some exceptions to these general views in 
 favor of independence in choosing a religion. "When all 
 personal exertions fail to attain satisfactory results, and doubt 
 overshadows the ti-uth, then judgment may well think it 
 safer to }deld in some things to authority, where the latter 
 is better informed. Particularly, then, may the immature 
 mind peld to parental control and influence. But beyond 
 this, then, may the individual, cramped in time and oppor- 
 tunity, properly confide more in others who possess longer 
 experience and deeper research on this particular subject. 
 Hence, in such an emergency, the theologian might and will 
 have, as he generally deserves, more respect to his views on 
 what was or was not revelation, than the blacksmith, or as 
 the surgeon might better be trusted to amputate a limb, than 
 the lawyer. However my reason approves of independent, 
 individual opinions, and a course of life to form and act 
 them out on all important subjects, yet far from me be the 
 thought not to yield due reverence to the good and great in 
 all ages, and to their deliberate opinions. Kobly they toiled 
 for it — richly they deserve it — freely shall they receive it. 
 But while for these reasons, and on some subjects, and in 
 some periods of life, and in some peculiar exigencies hereto- 
 fore alluded to, I would, in cases' of much doubt, adopt their 
 views, as least likely to mislead on matters which they had 
 devoted their lives to understand, yet even then, the indi- 
 vidual is responsible for tiying himself to decide correctly, 
 under all the lights which can be obtained; and' then it is 
 his duty to investigate, and not act blindfolded. Then he
 
 23 
 
 must independently adopt the views of others as far as he- 
 goes in that direction, and then such views become his own, 
 not by dictation or force, but the fullest examination which 
 he is able to make with his limited faculties and straitened 
 means. 
 
 When matured in years, and when full responsibility is 
 exacted from man as to opinions and conduct in all secular 
 concerns, why should he not be held accountable, both here 
 and hereafter, for faithfully fonning a connect private judg- 
 ment in religion, so far as he is able ? If he is not free then 
 to choose. Deity would be treated as the author of his eiTors ; 
 and far would it be from an All-Wise Providence to make 
 him free to choose, and at the same time, not bound and 
 able of himself to choose correctly.. Man has duties in this 
 no less momentous than his rights, and he is not to take his 
 religion dependently and quietly from a majority, or from 
 mere political or ecclesiastical dictation. Had this been 
 done by our ancestors, we should still be heathens, and wor- 
 shipping idols as degradingly as they are worshipped now in 
 much of Asia, or were on the banks of the Tliames and Isis 
 when the venerable Bede, in his history of England, began 
 its simple annals of the first conversions from Paganism ; 
 or we should be indulging in- principles of heathen faith 
 existing among some of the Aborigines here, whom our 
 learned inquirer into the mythology of the Indians and 
 their religious opinions — Schoolcraft — considei'S as regarding 
 the Great Spirit not to be a judge of their evil deeds, nor 
 rewarding the good hereafter for a noble career in life ; and 
 that they worship a spirit of evil no less than one of good, 
 and indulge in all the vaganes of demonology. Well, 
 therefore, might a higher intelligence and civilization be
 
 24 
 
 anxious to lay the foundations of a more elevated system of 
 faith everywhere, by encouraging an independent inquiry 
 into what was best and tnicst. In deciding on a topic so 
 vital, no matter where our lot is cast, from the balmy groves 
 of the South to the icy drifts of the Korth ; in poverty or- 
 affluence ; high in rank or lowly, the same duty is required. 
 And, with the exceptions before named, we may well be 
 rebels against any assumed authority to control us there by 
 creeds, or councils, or bulls of denunciation, or dungeons, 
 or death. Hence, bold inquiry, and the defiance of reason 
 to error, has made a Luther, a Calvin, a Chalmers, and a 
 Socrates in every age. Still some of them may have gone 
 too far. Calvin may have burned Servetus ; yet he has 
 made Geneva immortal. Socrates was convicted by the 
 Athenians for introducing "new divinities of his own," and 
 this on tlie same spot M'here St. Paul, four hundred years 
 after, was accused as "a setter forth of strange Gods." But 
 there is some limitation even in this. Let the individual 
 mind, after full search and consideration, conclude that 
 there is a revealed will, delivered by God to man, whether 
 on tables of stone, or througli Prophets and Evangelists, or 
 amidst tlie thunders of Sinai, then independent research 
 halts. And then the duty of obedience, rather than further 
 examination, begins. Then neither reason nor faith seem to 
 require the exercise of reasoning further, except to put a 
 fair construction on the records and doctrines which are 
 revealed. Then faith lifts her telescopic eye to heaven, 
 and confides in the purity and truth of all which Deity has 
 proclaimed as our guide, however incomprehensible parts of 
 it may be to our imperfect faculties. Then are room and 
 the right to trust in others by faith, and in all its marvels
 
 25 
 
 and briglitencd liopes. A mightier than man then speaks. 
 Such an one points the way. A superhuman power justly 
 claims authority to regulate the mortal. Faith takes reason 
 by the hand and leads her heavenward, when her own pur- 
 blind vision falters ; and the believer, like honest Bunyan, 
 thus makes a safe progress in his pilgrimage through the 
 most thorny paths of this rugged life. No temple of reason 
 is then to be raised in hostility, and no Goddess of Reason 
 should shake our confidence in what comes from lips clearly 
 inspired. Subordinate, but nearly allied, is the revealed 
 will of God in our natures, and in all beneath, around, and 
 above us, speaking sermons in stones^ tongues in trees^ and 
 insti-uction in every thing. "When lessons come from Him,, 
 or Ills wonderful >vorks, whether pluuLs, or shells, or the 
 wayside flower, the mammoth or insect, the thunder gust or 
 the zephyr, it becomes us to receive them with reverence, 
 and obedience to all they so strongly teach. We may do 
 this without a surrender of due independence. They are 
 "echoes from the world of matter." Indeed, they arc 
 "elder Scripture, wi-it by God's own hand, scrijjturc authen- 
 tic, uncorrupt by man." We can take heed to their lessons 
 consistently with Christian faith, looking to their marvellous 
 formations and character ; and to do it effectually, we need 
 not, as whole nations have done, make deities of many 
 plants, or animals, and people the very air and water and 
 earth with spiritual myriads, and convert even the sun intO' 
 a God, with daily eye watching over and controlling all. 
 
 Without entering fai'ther on this occasion upon the duty 
 of an independent private judgment in religious matters, 
 it is obvious that such duty is correlative to the rigid to- 
 private judgment on them. It is this right that our fathers-
 
 26 
 
 became exiles to maintain ; a right whose security, in some 
 parts of Em-ope, it has cost oceans of tears to support, and 
 a right, being the true essence of liberty of conscience, that 
 is worthy the blood which has been pom-ed out in its de- 
 fence, and the sacrifices and toils of martyrs to uphold it. 
 Of what use, too, would be all this idolized liberty of 
 conscience, if we were not bound to exercise it, and from 
 all creeds carefidly to select what seems the best, taking 
 care, as before suggested, not to question what has mani- 
 festly been revealed to man by God himself? Because, 
 from the very natm-e of such a case, the revealed will of 
 our Omnipotent and Omniscient Judge must control all our 
 own views, beino; so much hio-her and wiser and holier. 
 But where revelation does not exist, or restrain, howe\ er 
 daring and dangerous it may seem to some, all must exer- 
 cise independence of inquiry, and if not thus harmonizing 
 in the end, all may still agree in great essentials ; such as 
 faith in the Bible as revealed, faith in Christianity, faith in 
 a resurrection and eternity. What is Protestantism itself 
 but a claim to this right of private judgment and action on 
 such subjects? "What, indeed, have been its religious wars 
 for centuries of carnage, but to protest against penalties 
 and force in matters of religion, and maintain and secure 
 this sacred right when invaded by persecution ? 
 
 In conclusion, it will be seen that we consider this dutv 
 of private judgment, as intimated in the early part of our 
 Address, to extend more or less to every thing, and as exer- 
 cised, and exercised well or ill, to cast a healthy or sickly 
 hue over all the character and all the affairs of life. Inde- 
 pendence of thought gives a different hue to life. It is, in 
 short, felt in manners as in morals ; in habits as in opinions ;
 
 27 
 
 in public as in j^rivate life ; at tlie iirc-sidc as at the altar ; 
 and without it life is usually a milk and water career, with 
 as little of usefulness as of honor. Our little bark may 
 move its little round, but it will never cross oceans to im- 
 prove the world. We have eyes, but use those of others ; 
 ears, but listen with the ears of om* neighbors — taste with 
 their palates, talk with their tongues, feel with their nerves. 
 To come out from this dull routine, we must break down 
 supine acquiescence in every thing around us, without 
 examination by and for one's self. The eccentricities of 
 mind and opinion, and the mldness of untrammeled dis- 
 cussion, which burst forth in the world where all is free 
 in opinion, are sometimes provoking, and often discourage 
 hopes of futin-e improvement. But looked at jjliilosophi- 
 cally, and through a scries of ages, they are the som-ces 
 of much improvement ; they strike out new lights in 
 the arts, and in legislation and government, and are fre- 
 quently the CHIEF INDICATIONS THAT THE WORLD MOVES.
 
 AN 
 
 HISTOllICAL ADDRESS, 
 
 PRONOUNCED BEFOKE TIEE 
 
 HOUSE OF CONVOCATION 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLECIE, 
 
 In CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, JULY 30th, 1851.- 
 
 ON OCCASION OF THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNUAL COMMENCEMENT 
 OF THAT INSTITUTION. 
 
 BY THE KEY. E. E. BEAEDSLEY, M. A., 
 
 RECTOR OF ST. THOMAS* CHURCH, NEW-HAVEN. 
 
 Ptiblished by order of the House of Convocation. 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 
 S. HANMER &, CO. CALENDAR TRESS; 
 
 1S51.
 
 ADDEESS. 
 
 We have come up hither to celebrate the twentj-fiftU 
 p,imual Commencemeut of Tklnity College. That some 
 additional importance might be given to this festival by the 
 gathering together of facts connected with its origin, and that 
 pew zeal might thereby be awakened for the advancement of 
 the best interests of the Institution, the duty was imjDosed 
 ]ipon me at the last annual meeting of the House of Convo- 
 cation, to prepare a brief historical Address. In the accom- 
 plishment of the honorable duty thus assigned me, (which I 
 consented to attempt at the latest moment,) I have found 
 jnyself laboring under a double disadvantage. 
 
 Trinity College has no antiquity. It wants the charm of 
 venerable associations. Tlie ivy has not been creeping so 
 long upon its walls as to give them the complexion of age, 
 nor have the steps which conduct to its entrances been worn 
 by the feet of successive generations of scholai-s. There are 
 no extraordinary statutes preserved in its archives to mark 
 the usages of a less enlightened period — no obsolete systems 
 of College discipline and College manners — contrasting ludi- 
 crously with the gentler regulations and freer etiquette of 
 the times in which we live. Tliere are no treasures "laid up 
 in old historic rolls," to be opened as the necessity requires ;
 
 no traditions and anecdotes, from tlie fund of whicli one may 
 draw material to relieve the dullness of his Discourse, and 
 give emphasis and variety to the facts which he presents. 
 
 Intimately connected with this disadvantage, is another. 
 Tlie immediate agents in procm-ing the charter of Trinity 
 College, and they who have contributed most largely to make 
 up its history are still living, and it is not a little jDerilous to 
 speak of their exertions and character with that freedom and 
 fullness which the occasion seems to demand. We under- 
 take a nice and delicate business, if we attempt the narration 
 of events associated with men who are yet upon the stage of 
 being. For the most part, it is believed to be soon enough 
 to scrutinize narrowly the policy of the presiding officers of 
 Academic institutions, when time has mellowed our prejudi- 
 ces and experience corrected our mistakes ; — soon enough to 
 write critically the history of scholars, when they have closed 
 their labors and gone to their rest and reward. But embar- 
 rassing as these disadvantages have been, we are not without 
 hope, that the Address which we have prepared will possess 
 in your eyes an interest and a value. Though we have had 
 both authentic records and the testimonies of the living to 
 draw from, it has cost us more care to ensure accuracy than 
 was at first anticipated. 
 
 I have said that Trinity College lacks the charm of vene- 
 rable associations — ^but there is a link in its history, reaching 
 back more than half a century. For eiforts which looked 
 towards the estaljlishment of a second College in Connecti- 
 cut, were put forth full thirty years before they were crowned 
 with success. This second College was the conception of 
 men Avho were not unmindful of the prejudices of early 
 education. Tliey imagined that they saw the danger of
 
 training their sons in Academic halls where religions tests 
 were exacted of the officers of instruction, or where these 
 officers owed allegiance to a faith in many important respects 
 different from their own. When Dean Berkeley, afterwards 
 Bishop of Clo}Tie, returned to his native land, having failed 
 in the object for which he came to this western world, his 
 example, and the gift of his books and of his lands in Khode- 
 Island to Yale Colleirc were not lost to the cause of sound 
 learning and Christian education. His correspondence with 
 Dr. Johnson, of Stratford, shows him to have been a man of 
 large and liberal views. In a letter addressed to that learned 
 Divine and noble champion of the Church, dated July 25th, 
 1751 — ^just a centmy ago — he says, "I am glad to find by 
 Mr. Clap's letter and the specimens of literatm'e enclosed in 
 his packet, that learning continues to make a progress in 
 Yale College, and liope that virtue and Christian charity 
 may keep pace with it." Whether Cliristian charity did 
 keep pace with it, we w^ill leave you to determine by the 
 citation of a few facts bearing upon the history of that period. 
 IsTearly all the clergy of the Episcopal Church who mani- 
 fested a very decided friendliness to the welfare of the 
 Institution at New Haven, graduated before its first Jubilee, 
 About the time of the erection of King's (now Columbia) 
 College, in the city of Kew York, wnth Dr. Johnson at its 
 head, there seems to have been a change working in the 
 minds of Churchmen. Was this change the result of legis- 
 lation, or was it accidental ? President Woolsey, in the His- 
 torical Discourse which he delivered before the Alumni of 
 Yale College at the last annual Commencement, speaking of 
 President Clap's administration, says : "the most character- 
 istic measm-c of this period was the appointment of a Pro-
 
 fessor of Tlicology, and the establisliment of a separate 
 religious society and chm-cli in the College." And again, 
 alluding to the act of the Trustees imposing a test upon the 
 officei-s of instruction — "the aim of which was to maintain 
 in their soundness the faith and chm-ch theory of the Puri- 
 tans" ; he adds — "I can find no evidence from the College 
 records that this test was applied for a number of years ; but 
 am not disposed to think that it became obsolete. However 
 this was, in 1753, when the project for establishing a profes- 
 sor of Divinity was on foot, a new resolution of the Fellows 
 requu-ed that members of their own body, with the President, 
 the Professor of Divinity and Tutors, should give their assent 
 to the "Westminster Catechism and Confession of Faith, and 
 should renounce all doctrines and principles contrary thereto, 
 and pass through such an examination as the Corporation 
 should order. Tliis new provision for securing orthodoxy 
 was quite unacceptable to a number of educated persons in 
 the Colony, and was one of the causes why President Clap 
 was held in disesteem." 
 
 It appears by reference to the Triennial Catalogue, that 
 during the administration of President Clap, which covered 
 a period of nearly thirty years, the number of graduates who 
 became Episcopal clergymen was scarcely greater, than the 
 number during the administration of his predecessor, which 
 covered less than half the same period. The parishes in the 
 mean time were multiplied in Connecticut, from various 
 causes, and especially from the influence of Whitefield's 
 preaching, and were scattered along the shore of the Sound, 
 from Greenwich to Norwich, and far up among the hills and 
 valleys of the interior. 
 
 It may be said that Iving's College in New York drew off 
 some students, but the steady and even rapid increase of
 
 Episcopalians — ceteris paribus — sliould liavc kept tLe num- 
 ber good. "We believe that we may ti-ace the diminution in 
 a great measure to the want of that Christian charity which 
 Bean Berkeley expressed the hope might keep pace with the 
 progress of learning. We can forgive the rigorous enact- 
 ments of a period when there was but one way of thinking 
 in the Colony, and when it was the fault of the times to take 
 a narrow view of the rights of conscience and of Christian 
 liberty. "We can almost forgive — ^for we are persuaded that 
 no one will defend them, looking back from the point of 
 time on which we stand — we can almost forgive those penal 
 laws, dictated in a spu'it of undiscovered intolerance, and 
 designed for the manifest perpetuity of the Puritan faith. 
 But after the number of Episcopal families had very largely 
 increased in the Colony, and after a Parish had been organ- 
 ized in !New Haven, and a Missionary of the Venerable "So- 
 ciety for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts" 
 had been stationed there, it would seem that out of respect 
 for their wishes, and out of gratitude to Clergymen of thei 
 Church of England for important services and benefactions, 
 some relaxation of the rigor of these laws should have ap- 
 peared, at least so far as not to fine Episcopal students for 
 preferring their own mode of worship on extery Lord's day,* 
 and not to require the classes through the whole term of* 
 their College life, to recite the "Westminster Confession of 
 
 • The fine for absence from the College Chapel on Sundays was four pence — but 
 Episcopal students were allowed to attend their own Church on Communion Sundays. 
 Professor Kingsley, in a note to me bearing upon this law, says — "When Archbishop' 
 Seeker published in a pamphlet that there was a College in Nev> England, (undoubt- 
 edly meaning Yale College) where an Episcopal student was fined for going on a Sun- 
 day to hear his own father preach ;— the fact probably was, and I heard it so explained 
 many years ago, that the student was absent from the Chapel, was reported by the 
 monitor, and fined for absence — the reason of his absence being unknown to the College 
 Faculty. You will not understand me as defending the law wliich required at that time 
 tinder the above penalty, all students to attend worship iu Uie College Chapel— except 
 Episcopal students on Communion Sundays."
 
 8 
 
 Paitb, received and approved by the Clim-ches in tlie Colony,- 
 together with AVollebius' Tlieology or Dr. Ames' Medulla 
 and Cases of Conscience. It was, then, the continuance in 
 force of rigorous enactments, and the adoption of new meas- 
 ures to guard the orthodoxy of the land, which opened the 
 eyes of Churchmen to the necessity for an Institution more 
 favorable to their views, or rather less dangerous to the reli- 
 gious predilections of their sons. The war of the Eevolution 
 operated disastrously upon the prosperity of the Church, and 
 broke U]3 our Parishes in many places. But after civil lib- 
 erty had been secured, and the Colonies separated from the 
 mother country, the time was come for the Church, deprived 
 of "nursing care and protection" from abroad, to rely upon 
 her own resources. And what could be done effectually 
 towards increasing the scattered ranks of her ministry, 
 except she threw off the shackles of Pmitanism, and became 
 independent in the matter of Collegiate education ? Hence 
 it was one of the earliest movements of Bishop Seabury and 
 his Clergy, after the Eevolution, to plant a Seminary of 
 classic learning in this Diocese. The Institution at Cheshire 
 owes its origin to a resolution adopted by them in 1T92, and 
 for a series of years it served, in some measure, the double 
 purpose of a preparatory school and a university. In 1801, 
 having obtained bequests and donations to the amount of 
 about $3000, its managers prefen-ed a petition to the Gene- 
 ral Assembly, "praying that they might be constituted and 
 made a body politic and coi'porate, by the name of the Trus- 
 tees of the Episcopal Academy of Connecticut." The act of 
 incorporation was passed — but it does not seem to have come 
 up to the full intention of the founders, for, three years after- 
 wards, in accordance with a vote of the Diocesan Convention,
 
 9 
 
 the Board of Tnistees petitioned the (General Asseiubly for 
 a chartef, empowering them to confer degrees in the arts^ 
 divinity and law, and to enjoy all other privileges usually 
 granted to Colleges. This petition was refused, and we find 
 them instructed to continue their importimity, by the follow- 
 ing preamble and resolution, entered upon the Diocesan 
 Journal for ISIO : 
 
 "WiiereAs doubts have arisen whether the Trustees of the 
 Episcopal Academy of Connecticut, which was established 
 at Cheshire by this Convention in the year 1796, are in- 
 vested with the power of conferring upon the students the 
 degree and testimonials of literary proficiency usually 
 granted at Colleges; and whereas the great objects con- 
 templated by the Convention cannot be accomplished 
 imless the Trustees are authorized to confer such degrees j 
 therefore 
 
 Resolved^ That the Trustees of said Academy be requested 
 to prefer a petition to the next General Assembly of the 
 State of Connecticut, with all the powers, privileges and im- 
 munities of a College." 
 
 The application, urged with such sanction, was supported 
 by a large majority in one brancli of the Legislatm-e — but 
 the Council or Senate opposed to the action of the lower 
 House a full negative, and thus defeated the Charter. In 
 1811, the General Convention of the Protestant Episcopal 
 Church, understanding that the establishment of a second 
 College in Connecticut, under the auspices of Episcopalians, 
 was contemplated, expressed their entire approbation of the 
 measure, and their earnest wishes for its success. At that 
 time, there was not a College in the Union under the direct 
 care and superintendence of the Church — not even Columbia 
 in New York — and if reliance can be placed upon the truth 
 3
 
 10 
 
 of liistoiy, some cautions measures had been taken to keep 
 in other hands the control of existino- Institntions. Another 
 application to the General Assembly for a Charter followed, 
 and was rejected bv botli branches of the same — thereby 
 showing no gain to tlic Church in Legislative influence.* 
 Diu'ing the vacancy in the Episcopate from the death of 
 Bishop Jarvis, all effort to secure the long-cherished object 
 was suspended — but the clergy kept it in view, and would 
 have resumed it immediately after the consecration of the 
 present venerated and beloved Diocesan, had not the loca- 
 tion of the General Theological Seminary at New Haven^ 
 drawn off their thoughts and support. The return of that 
 Institution to ISTew York was the signal for fresh exertions, 
 and fortunately the intervening period of their quiet had 
 witnessed important political changes — such as the adoption 
 of the State Constitution, and the consequent breaking down 
 of the reigning dynasty — changes which undoubtedly pre- 
 pared the way for more liberal legislation. In 1823, the 
 petition of Episcopalians, setting forth "the expediency of 
 attempting to establish another Collegiate Institution in this 
 State," and urging their claims to have the direction of its 
 administration, was presented to the Legislature, and a 
 charmed political name, rather than the name of the first 
 Bishop of the Diocese, inserted, we suppose, in the Bill for 
 a Charter, that nothing might be done to peril its passage. 
 The Charter was granted, taking effect from the time when 
 
 * In the author's History of the Episcopal Academy of Connecticut, there is a slight 
 anachronism. Speaking of the applications to the General Assembly for a Charter, it 
 is said — '-Thus disappointed in the attainment of their object, and losing a portion of 
 tlic funds by the failure of the Eagle Bank, the Trustees ceased their importunity," &c. 
 The failure of the Kagle Bank was siilisequent to the chartering of the College. See 
 the "I'ctition" in the Appendix for an efl'ort of the memo; iaiists to secure to the College 
 a portion of the funds ol the Academy at Cheshire; — proposing in this way to carry out 
 the original intention of some of the benefactors.
 
 11 
 
 $30,000 should be subscribed as an cudowment, and the 
 event was Avelcomed in tin's city, where the Legislature was 
 holding its session, Avith demonstrations of great rejoicing. 
 Though given upon the prayer of E2:)iscop)alians, and con- 
 templating their management, the Charter, as the petitioners 
 wished, required that the College should be conducted on the 
 broad principles of religious liberty.* It contained a pro- 
 vision, prohibiting the Trustees from passing any ordinance 
 or by-law that should make the religious tenets of any officer 
 or student in the College a test or qualification of employ- 
 ment or admission. And here it may be observed that up to 
 the very day before the petition for this Charter was present- 
 ed to the Legislatm-e, the statute of Yale College in reference 
 to tests — modified upon the accession of Dr. Stiles to the 
 Presidency, from consent to the Westminster Catechism and 
 Confession of Faith into an assent to the Saybrook Platform 
 — was still in force. That day, at a special meeting of the 
 corporation, held in the city of Hartford, the obnoxious test- 
 law was repealed. There are those who think the time was 
 thus critically chosen for its repeal, that an influence might 
 be brought to bear upon the minds of the liberal Legislature, 
 touching the petition for a second College. But let this pass 
 without further remarlc, ISTo sooner was this Charter granted, 
 than its friends, who had been so long contending with the 
 evils of popular prejudice, were now compelled to contend 
 with the evils of poverty and other discouraging causes. 
 The amount necessary to secure the provisions of the Charter 
 was, indeed, over-subscribed, for within one year from its 
 date, about Fifty Thousand Dollars were raised by private 
 
 Sec Appendix.
 
 12 
 
 subscription for an endowment, lliis noble subscription was 
 obtained by offering to tlie larger towns the privilege of fair 
 and laudable competition for its location, and Hartford, 
 ncA'cr wantinji in public spirit and generous outlays, gained 
 the victory over her sister cities. The erection of the College 
 buildings was commenced in June, 1824, and the business 
 of instruction in September of the same year. But the funds 
 subscribed were barely adequate to this beginning. The 
 Trustees had already deputed one of then* number to visit 
 England, and solicit donations towards the supply of a Libra- 
 ry and Philosophical apparatus. He carried with him an 
 Address or general letter of introduction, officially signed, 
 and directed to the Bishops, Clergy and Laity of the Church 
 of England. It does not appear to have been the original 
 intention to give much publicity to the object of this mission 
 — but on the arrival of the agent, he foimd himself in the 
 way of other applications from this country for similar aid, 
 and he was induced to print the letter, together with a state- 
 ment of his own, settino; forth the necessities of the Chm'ch 
 here and the more important facts in regard to the condition 
 of the two oldest Kew England Colleges. The agent re- 
 turned to this country, with the donations which he had 
 received, soon enough to be a conspicuous and fearless actor 
 in that war of pamphlets which arose from "Considerations 
 suggested by the establishment of a second College in Con- 
 necticut." ■"■ It was claimed to be uncalled for by the inter- 
 ests of literature. After the zealous endeavors which had 
 been used in various sections of the State to prevent the 
 subscription papers from being tilled up, in order that the 
 
 •This was the title of tiie first anonymous pamphlet, which was replied to anony- 
 jnouBly, and then a rejoinder followed.
 
 13 
 
 Charter Jiiiiilit be sociired, it was perhaps to be expected 
 that other attempts would be made to interfere with its suc- 
 cess — but tliese attempts wore carried quite too far, when it 
 was represented that two large and respectable Institutions 
 could not exist together in so small a territory — that tliis 
 College could only rise into distinction and usefulness by 
 depressing Yale in the same ratio — that the tendency of its 
 establishment would be to dissipate our strength and divide 
 one prosperous university into two weak and languishing 
 seminaries, and thus to '■Hoioer the standard of literary attain- 
 ments^ while the total expense of education to the State was 
 augmented.-' Events have proved that fears of this sort 
 were wholly groundless. Ko College in the Union has had 
 a higher reputation for the thoroughness of its course and 
 the scholarship of its Faculty than Trinity. So far from 
 having the eftect to reduce the numbers at Yale College, 
 these numbers have actually increased, and as to diverting 
 the patronage of the Church, while I write, there are some 
 sementy-five studeiits seeking an education at that ancient seat 
 of learning, who have come from Episcopal families, or from 
 families having preferences for the Episcopal mode of wor- 
 ship. ISTor is this all. Midway between the two capitals of 
 the State, a third Collegiate Institution* has been erected and 
 endowed by private and State beneficence, for the benefit of 
 a denomination of Christians, not disposed until recently to 
 pay very profound respect to an educated ministry. Oppo- 
 sition, based on reasoning which has proved thus fallacious, 
 could not prevail. Tlie College survival it, and it did not 
 sicken and die when the State afterwards refused to feed it 
 
 * The Wesleyan University at Middleiown, under the control of tlie Methodists.
 
 14 
 
 with a tithe of the bounty which had been bestowed iqwn 
 the venerable sister. Its first President was he who scarcely 
 needed a formal vote to be placed in that office. He was 
 the Bishop of the Diocese, and had been charged with the 
 presentation of the petition to the Honorable Legislature. 
 He had watched its progress with solicitude, and witnessed 
 its success with delight. Long experience in Academic dis- 
 cipline had made him acquainted with the responsibilities of 
 the office, and for seven years he filled it with a wisdom 
 which the seventy-nine graduates of that j^eriod will never 
 cease to remember. He was withdrawn from the adminis- 
 tration at the instance of the Diocese, when the cares of the 
 Episcopate were increasing with the increase of the Church, 
 and claiming his undivided time and attention. His "Fare- 
 well Address" — delivered to the students upon the occasion 
 of retiring from the Presidency, opens with a joassage rich 
 in tender associations : 
 
 "The time is at hand when I am to retire from the imme- 
 diate charo^e of this Institution. It is an event which I 
 cannot contemplate without some emotion. Having made 
 the first movements for the establishment of the College — 
 having been engaged with great solicitude in all the meas- 
 ures for procuring its Charter ; for raising the funds for its 
 endowment ; for framing the laws for its organization and 
 government ; — having presided over the instruction and 
 discipline which has been dispensed in it, from its origin to 
 the present time, it is naturally to be expected that my feel- 
 ings should be strongly identified with its interests and its 
 prospects." 
 
 Upon the retirement of Bishop Brownell from the Presi-
 
 15 
 
 dency, the clioice for a successor fell upon the Eev. Dr. 
 Wheaton, another fast friend to the Institution, and one who 
 could say in reference to its earlier trials — 
 
 Qnorum pars magna fiii. 
 
 Eut liardly had one lustnun passed away before he vacated 
 the Presidential chair, and removed to New Orleans that 
 he might accept tlie Rectorship of Cln-ist Church in that city. 
 During his administration, -which ended in 18o7, the finan- 
 cial condition of the College was gi'catly improved. Tlirough 
 the indefatigable exertions of the President, the Hobart 
 Professorship of Belles Lettres and Oratory was instituted, 
 and endowed with funds to the amount of $20,(XK) — contrib- 
 uted by friends in the Diocese of Xew York, The Seabury 
 Professorship was also commenced, and large additions were 
 made to the general funds of the Institution — -so that when 
 he withdrew from its charge, he had laid the foundation 
 for a system of judicious endowments, which his own private 
 benefactions, subsequently yet unostentatiously bestowed, 
 have helped to foster.* 
 
 Frequent changes in the Presidency of a College are 
 always to be avoided, because always injurious to its pros- 
 perity. Care should be taken to select for that office men 
 who are litted to its responsibilities and duties by experience 
 and attainment, and then none but the best reasons should 
 be allowed to produce a dissolution of the connexion. Tlie 
 Trustees resolved at length to fill the vacancy occasioned by 
 the resignation of Dr. Wheaton, with one who, though he 
 
 ♦The grounds about ilie College are beautiful by nature — but from the first, great 
 attention was paid to their iniprjveinent by the planting of hedges, shrubbery and 
 trees. An eye seems lo have l)een turned to the moral mlluence of such tinngs, in the 
 elevation and refuienient of taste and manners. Dr. Wheaion deserves many thanks 
 for what he did in this way.
 
 10 
 
 had gained no celebrity in the Church, had yet proved him- 
 self eminently successful in one department of the College^ 
 Thus they chose their own Professor of Mathematics and 
 Natural Philosophy — the Eev. Sn.As Totten, D. D. His 
 faithful Presidency extended beyond a decade of years, the 
 most remarkable featm-es of which relate to the internal 
 organization and condition of the College, and to the erection 
 of Brownell Hall in 1845.* That same year, also, an act of 
 the Legislature was passed, permitting an important change 
 in the name and style of the Listitution — a change which we 
 hope in God will "attest forever the faith of its founders, 
 and their zeal for the perpetual glory and honot of the one 
 HOLY A2fD uxDivTDED Teixity." If it be true ttat he who 
 first turned the minds of his Clergy to the establishment of 
 a Seminary for education on the principles of the Church, 
 did foresee, with dim and fearful vision, that the time would 
 come when this very doctrine would be extensively coi-rupted 
 and denied in New England, then it had been no greater 
 mark of veneration for his memory to give the College his 
 own name than to give it a title w^hich represented the glori- 
 ous doctrine in whose defence he wished it to be understood 
 that to the last, he lifted up his voice. Long may this Listi^ 
 tution send forth sons trained to resist the advancement of a 
 heresy so subversive of the whole truth of God, as the denial 
 in their proper and Scriptural acceptation of the Father, 
 Son and Holy Ghost. Long nuiy she be a stranger to the 
 spirit of reckless religious speculation — a stranger to all that 
 teaching and ensnaring philosophy which does but wrap the 
 
 * The Seabury Professorship was filled up duriiif^ the administraiioii of Dr. Totten, 
 and besides the funds contributed to the erection of Brownell Hall, sums requisite to 
 the endowment of several Scholarships were subscrited in the Diocese of Connecticut.
 
 17 
 
 soiil in scepticism, and prepare the way for a complete sur- 
 render of tlie "faitli once delivered to the Saints." 
 
 "Wliilc ]Jr. Tutten occupied the Presidential chair, the 
 Trustees enacted certain statutes, "committing the superin- 
 tendence of the course of study and discipline to a Board of 
 Fellows," and empowering specified members of the Senor 
 tus Academicus^ as the House of Convocation, to assemble 
 under their o^vni rules, and to consult and advise for the 
 interests and benefit of the College. Time enough has not 
 been given to these changes to reap from them much advan- 
 tage. They were modeled after the English Universities. 
 
 "There has been, as we trust, revived among us," said he 
 who had the honor of pronouncing the first Address before 
 the House of Convocation,* "something of the old and true 
 principle of the University. Not, indeed, in its ancient 
 form, nor in precisely the ancient mode of its expression. 
 For it may and often does chance that a principle shall 
 express itself in diverse outward forms in different ages, 
 while yet in itself it remains unchanged. Indeed, no exter- 
 nal organizations or forms within which principles are 
 enshrined — save only those which, being of divine appoint- 
 ment, are adapted to every age, and not to be changed by 
 man — can be expected to remain precisely the same, gener- 
 ation after generation, and age after age. For they exist in 
 a world whose social and intellectual relations arc continually 
 changing ; and by those very changes, demanding corres- 
 ponding changes in those external modes by which unchan- 
 ging principles are brought to bear and do their M'ork, 
 whether on individuals or on masses of our race." 
 
 • Rev. Dr. Williams, President of the College. 
 3
 
 18 
 
 Tlie changes referred to in this passage were designed, 
 among other things, to retain the graduates in closer connex- 
 ion with tlieir Alma Matei\ by giving them a definite and 
 fractional participation in its management. "We have great 
 faitli in any policy which tends to secnre to the College the 
 abiding interest and affections of the Alnmni. Hence one 
 fact, discovered in searching the records for the material of 
 this Address, lias greatly sm-prised us. Tiuenty-eiglit years 
 have rolled away since tlie charter was granted, and of the 
 Trustees who originally composed the Board, but tJiree^ set- 
 ting aside the Chancellor, have survived all change, and 
 retained their places as members of the Corporation. The 
 surprising fact is, that until this day,* not a solitary Alumnus 
 has been selected to fill any one of the several vacancies 
 which have thus, from time to time, occurred. 
 
 But upon the resignation of Dr. Totten, it was a subject of 
 thanldiilness and joy among the Alumni of the Institution, 
 that one of their own number was invited to take his respon- 
 sibilities and carry on the work of Christian education. I 
 shall not l>e trenching upon the sacred prerogatives of private 
 and personal history, if I mention an interesting circum- 
 stance associated with the office thus bestowed. The fourth 
 President of Yale Colleo^e, countins; the Rectorate of Samuel 
 Andi-ew, was the Kev. Elisha "VYilliams, of ITewington — "a 
 man of splendor," says Dr. Stiles in his Diary, "who filled 
 his chair with great usefulness and power for thirteen yeai*s," 
 and then resigned it, devoting himself with singular versa- 
 tility of talent, to legislation, jmisprudence, the army, and 
 lastly to mercantile pursuits. Tradition represents him to 
 
 * At a meeting of the Roard of Trustees, held in the morning of the day when thi& 
 Adtlrt'ss was delivered, tlie author was elected a member of tlie Corporation.
 
 19 
 
 have been a sturdy defender of the Puritan faith, as well as 
 a good Later of Episcopacy, and it is not improvable that lie 
 As-as elected to the office of President with au eye to tiie 
 astounding and ■[)ainful defection of Dr. Cutler and his asso- 
 ciates. 
 
 The fourth President of Trinity College has the blood of 
 Rector AVillinms flowing in liis veins, tlioiigli lie wants the 
 Baptismal name of his kinsman, lie has broken away m 
 peacefidness and luv-e from the ranks of the Pilgrims, and 
 becu placed in an important position of the Chfl.rch, to 
 guard and foster those distinctive religious principles which 
 his renowned and "splendid" ancestor Avas so zealous to 
 oppose and repress. Aye — more I A\hilc years were gathering 
 u^jon }iim whom we all delight to honor, and "around whose 
 venerable presence cluster, for so many of us, the deepest, 
 holiest memories of all om* lives, the memories of vows 
 uttered on earth and registered in heaven" ; — while years 
 were gathering upon Mm a weight of infirmities insupport- 
 able witli the full cares of the Episcopate, he called in kind- 
 ness for some one upon whose shoulders he might lay a 
 portion of his responsibilities and his duties ; and thereupon 
 the Diocese, with almost cntu-e unanimity, elected to the 
 office of a Pisliop in the Chm'ch of the living God, the Pev- 
 erend, the President of Trinity College." 
 
 Here I might close my Address, and leave to the future 
 historian the recital of much that is unbecoming now to 
 utter. Put before I conclude, let me direct your attention 
 to one important object whicli the establishment of the 
 College was designed to promote, and which, thanks be to 
 
 * The Rev. Dr. Willianis was elected Assisilant Bisliop of the Diocese of Connecticut , 
 June 11, 1851.
 
 20 
 
 God, it lias promoted in an eminent degree. I refer to the 
 education and training of young men for the ministry of the 
 Protestant Episcopal Church — to say nothing about the zeal- 
 ous and intelligent laymen who have here passed through 
 their course of Colleo;iate instruction. When Dr. Wheaton 
 visited England to solicit friendly assistance from the Chm-ch 
 in that realm, he set forth in his published statement the 
 following among other facts. 
 
 "The number of organized Episcopal congregations in the 
 States falls but Kttle short of six Jiundred^ while the Clergy- 
 men engaged in actual j^arochial duty, do not at present 
 exceed half that number. It is pleasing to record the grad- 
 ual extinction of those inveterate prejudices against Episco- 
 pacy, w^hich distinguished the first settlers of the country, 
 especially in those parts where the Church has been advan- 
 tageously made known by her more intelligent ministers. 
 The candid and moderate, belonging to the various sects, 
 appalled at the enonnous strides of heresy, are visibly 
 becoming more reconciled to the Church, whose temperate 
 doctrines, consistent government and edifying mode of wor- 
 shiji, present a common ground of union not to be found 
 within the pale of any of the classes of Dissenters, (that is, 
 Sectarians.) Nothing, indeed, seems to be wanting to a 
 general extension of the Episcopal Church, but a body of 
 zealous, well-educated Clergy far more numerous than, with 
 her present advantages, it is possible for her to possess." 
 
 This was said, you will remember, twenty-seven years ago, 
 and within that period. Trinity College has educated more 
 than one-tliird as many Clergymen as were then engaged in 
 actual parochial duty. They have radiated in all directions 
 of oui' country, and carried with them an influence which is
 
 21 
 
 not only impressing itself npon the minds of men for tlio 
 good of the Clmrcli, but which will, we trust, in due season, 
 reflect back upon the Institution where they were trained to 
 become Christian scholars. The originator of our Mission 
 to China was a graduate of Trinity College* ; though God 
 in His inscrutable Providence was pleased to lay upon him 
 so early the hand of disease and death, that he was debarred 
 the privilege of beginning the work which his zealous heart 
 had projected. The first pioneer of the Chm*ch in the broad 
 territory which lies on the Gulf of Mexico beyond the Mis- 
 sissippi river, and whicli has since become an integral part 
 of the Union, was a graduate of Trinity Collegef — who, 
 two years ago, w^ith failing health, left his lone post of duty, 
 just soon enough to reach the green hills of his native land 
 and die. But I must not make a Missionary argument in a 
 literary address. I was desirous of showing that in one 
 important respect the College has done for the Church what 
 its founders and friends predicted and prayed that it Avould 
 do. It has increased the ranks of her ministry. It has edu- 
 cated for the clerical profession a number nearly equal to the 
 aggregate of students who received their diplomas from 
 Yale College in the first twenty-five years of her existence. 
 Having done, therefore, so much for education in the Church, 
 need we be impatient for the rest ? Need we really be dis- 
 heartened, if, year by year, the College Calendar shows a 
 list not numerous ; if, for the next generation, no throng of 
 pupils shall gather within these walls such as may crowd the 
 benches of older scats of learning i Xumbers are not the 
 
 *The Rev. Augustus Foster Lytic, who died in Ihiladelphia, soon after iiis ordina- 
 tion. 
 t Rei'. Caleb S. Ives, Missionary at Matagorda, Texas, who died in Vermont.
 
 22 
 
 certain test of academic efRciency, nor will they always come 
 at the bidding of scholarship and the best privileges of lite- 
 ratm'e. O be content, each fi-iend of Trinity Colle2;e, to sav 
 in reference to its prosperity — "becanse of the house of the 
 Lord oiu- God" — because of the service rendered and yet to 
 be rendered to the Church — "I will seek to do thee good." 
 The more venerable Institutions of the land have their thou- 
 sands of living Alumni, on whom they may call for succor 
 in times of emergency, of j)overty and peril. I look for 
 more than proportionate aid from kindred sources. I look 
 along the lines of futurity, and I seem to see the wealth of 
 tlie Church in JSTew England coming up with a liolocaust to 
 be laid on the altar of this Institution — an Institution, as its 
 motto imports, created alike for the good of the Church, and 
 of the land : Peo ecclesia et patel\.. I seem to hear, taken 
 upon the lips of grateful scholars and sent forward through 
 all time, the names of noble benefactors, who, in winding 
 up the stewardsliip of life, have not failed to remember the 
 just claims of Christian Education, and so, with cheerful 
 munificence, have directed the endowment of new and 
 needed Professorships. I seem to see the sons of Trinity — 
 each one in his sphere of life, be it humble or be it exalted 
 — 'vieing with the zealous Alniiini of an honored sister in 
 ministries of good to mankind ; resisting with a firm front 
 the advance of error and the showings of a spirit more libe- 
 ral than the spirit of Christianity ; seeking as one of the 
 tniest ends of learning, the inculcation of holiness and 
 benevolence ; and guarding in all honorable and legitimate 
 ways, that body of Christ which is the Church ; which holds 
 tlie faith once delivered to the Saints, and which promises 
 blessings to the children of the righteous in far distant gen-
 
 23 
 
 erations. God grant tliut tliese visions may be realized, and 
 when the century has closed, and you and I liavc closed 
 the activities of human life, may that other race of men who 
 shall come up here to celebrate the return of this anniver- 
 sary, be all that we could desire — toe uonest, earnest, 
 
 UNCOMPROMISING ADVOCATES OF TRUE RELIGION, SOUND LITERA- 
 TURE AND WISE GOVERNMENT.
 
 APPEIDIX. 
 
 IJctitioii 
 
 r O R THE INCORPORATION OF 
 
 WASHINGTON COLLEGE. 
 
 *'To the Honorable, the General Assembly of the State of Connect- 
 icut, to be holden at Hartford on the first Wednesday in May; 
 1S23. 
 
 "We the undersigned, conrinccd of the expediency of attempt- 
 ing to establish another Collegiate Institution in this State, and 
 entertaining the belief that such an Institution would meet with a 
 liberal patronage, beg leave respectfully to submit our wishes and 
 views to the consideration of your honorable body. 
 
 "We are aware of the great benefits which have resulted to this 
 State, and to the general interests of Literature, from tlie important 
 Literary Institution at New Haven, and we have no wish to lessen 
 its future usefulness by our present application. 
 
 "We are members of the Protestant Episcopal Church; a denom- 
 ination of Christians considerable for their numbers and resources 
 ill our country ; and we beg leave to represent, that while all otlicr 
 reliofious denominations in the Union have their Universities and 
 Colleges under their influence and direction, there is not a single 
 Institution of this kind under the special patronage and guardian- 
 ship of Episcopalians. It cannot be doubted but lliat such an 
 Institution will be established, in some part of our country, at no' 
 distant period ; and we are desirous that the State of Connecticut 
 shall have the benefit of its location. 
 
 "As Episcopalians, we do not ask for any exclusive privileges, 
 but we desire to be placed on the same footing with other denomi- 
 nations of Christians. 
 4
 
 26' 
 
 ''Though a parent may not be over-solicitous to have his childreu 
 eiUicated in a servile acciuiescencc with his peculiar religious views, 
 yet he will l)e reluctant to place them in situations where they will 
 be likely to acquire a strong bias against his own principles. If it 
 should be thought expedient to establish a new College, your 
 memorialists are desirous that it should be conducted on broad 
 principles of religious toleration, and that Christianity should be 
 exhibited in it, as it is in tlie Gospel — unincumbered with meta- 
 physical sul)tilties, and unimpaired by any false liberality, or refined 
 explanations, which v/ould divest it of some of its fairest charac- 
 teristics. 
 
 ''When we consider the rapid increase of the population of this- 
 country, and the growing demand for the facilitie>i of public educa- 
 tion, it is mauifesl that the present provisions for this object are 
 becoming inadequate. Accordingly, we see our sister States, with 
 a wise policy, encouraging the erection of new Seminaries within 
 their liTnits, for the purpose of securing to themselves the benefits 
 which naturally How from them. Should the inhabitants of the 
 South and the West continue to rely chiefiy on the Colleges of 
 New England, for the education of their sons, as it seems likely 
 they will do, it surely ought to be the policy, as it is, unquestiona- 
 bly, the interest of Connecticut, to multiply attractions of a literary 
 nature. Perhaps the present College in this State already numbers 
 as many pupils as can either be instructed, or governed to advan- 
 tage, in one Institution. But however this may be, "we are persua- 
 ded that if your Honors should think fit to grant our present request, 
 funds, to a considerable amount, would be raised, which otherwise 
 would not be appropriated to the support of literature at all, or 
 would be devoted to the endowment of a College in so^ne other 
 part of the Union. 
 
 ''When compared with some of her sister States, Connecticut 
 possesses but a moderate extent of territory, limited resources, and 
 a circumscribed population ; but !she may easily become pre- 
 eminent, by the number and im])ortance of her literary institutions.- 
 Reconnnended by the general intelligence of her citizens, mode- 
 fate habits, cheapness of living, and ease of access, it only requires 
 that she should extend and foster her L-Uerary Institutions, to attract 
 the youth from every part of o"ur country ;-— to acquire an influence 
 and importance in the Union, which her physical resources deny 
 to her ; — to become the seat of science and literature — the Athens 
 of our licpahlic. 
 
 "Your memorialists conclude, with humbly praying this Honora- 
 ble (leneral Assembly to grant ihern an Act oj' Incorporatiim for a 
 College, with power to confer the usual literary honors ; — to be 
 placed in cither of the (Jities of Hartford, Middletown or New 
 Haven, according to the discretion of the Trustees, who may be 
 appointed by your honorable body : which act of Incorporation
 
 27 
 
 shall take cfioct wliptirvor I'mnls sliall be raised for the eiulownient 
 ol tlu^ liisliuitinii, to the aunniiit ut Tliiili/ T/iuu.sn/id Dolhtrs, and 
 ;iot bel'ore. And your memorialists I'lirlher pray, that tlie said 
 Trustees may have leave to appropriate to the endowment of the 
 Institution, such portion of ihe Funds of the J'^piscof)al Academy 
 at Cheshire, or ihe income thereof, as in their discretion they may 
 think expedient, provided the consent of the Trustees of said Acad- 
 emy he lirst obtained, and that no portion of the Funds contributed 
 by the inhabitants of Cheshire be removed. 
 
 "And your petitioners, as in duty bound, shall ever pray." 
 
 Circular Letter aeGompcmyhig the Petition. 
 
 "New Haven, March 20, 1823. 
 "Sir — The Committee appointed to prepare a Memorial to the 
 Legislature of this Stale, for the incorporation of a new College, 
 have attended to that duty, and herewith forward you a copy of the 
 same, which you are requested to circulate for subscription, through 
 your Parish. Similar copies have been forwarded to every Parish 
 in the Diocese, and it is expected that they will be signed by all the 
 Ejjiscopal Clergy, and by every male Episcopalian, of lavyful age. 
 If any thing should prevent you from attending to this business 
 personally, in your Parish, the Coniinittee will rely upon your pro- 
 curing so;ne other proper person to perform the duty. After the 
 signatures are obtained, it is requested that the Memorials be 
 returned to Charles Sigourncy, Esq., Hartford. It is desirable that 
 they should be in his hands by ilia Jir:<t day of the session of the 
 Legislature, and if no earlier private opportunity should offer, the 
 Representatives from the several towns will afford very suitable 
 means of conveyance. 
 
 "With great respect, 
 
 "Your obedient Servant, 
 
 '"T. C. BaowNEX,!-, Chairman of the Committee.^'
 
 28 
 
 <Cl)avtcv 
 
 O F 
 
 WASHINGTON COLLEGE. 
 
 Whereas sundry inhabitants of this State, of the denomination 
 pf Christians called 'J'hc Protestant Episcopal Church, have repre- 
 sented, by their petition addressed to the General Assembly, that 
 great advantages would accrue to the State, as well as to the gene- 
 ral interests of literature and science, by establishing within the 
 State another Collegiate Institution, therefore, 
 
 Resolved hy this Assembly, That Thomas C. Brownell, Harry 
 Croswell, Elijah Boardman, Samuel W.Johnson, BirdseyG. Noble, 
 Samuel Merwin, Nathaniel S. Wheaton, Elisha Cushman, Charles 
 Sigourney, Thomas Macdonough, Richard Adams, David Watkin- 
 son, Ebenezer Young, Jonathan Starr, Jr., Nathan Smith, John 
 Thompson Peters, Asa Chapman, Elias Perkins, John S. Peters, 
 and Luther J^oomis, and their successors be, and the same hereby 
 ■are constituted a body politic and corporate for ever, by the name 
 of the "Tkusteiss of Washington College," and by that name 
 shall and may have continual succession hereafter, and shall be 
 able in law to sue and be sued, implead and be impleaded, answer 
 and be answered unto, defend and be defended, in all courts and 
 places whatsoever, and may have a common seal, and may change 
 and alter the same at their pleasure ; and also sliall be able in law 
 to take by purchase, gift, grant, devise, or in any other manner, and 
 to hold any real and personal estate whatsoever ; Provided ahrays, 
 'J'liat the clear yearly value of the real estate to be so acquired, 
 shall not pxceed the sum of fifteen thousand dollars ; and also that 
 ihey and their successors shall have power to give, grant, bargain, 
 sell, convey, or otherwise dispose of, all or any part of the said real 
 and j)ersonal estate, as to them shall seem best lor the interest of 
 said Colleo-e. 
 
 11. Resolved, That the said Trustees and their successors shall 
 forever hereafter have full power and authority to direct and man- 
 age the Funds for the benefit of the Institution, and also to prescribe 
 and direct the course of study, and the discipline to be observed 
 in the said College ; and also to elect from their own number or 
 'jllicrwisc, a Board or Connnittce, to be called the Fellows of the
 
 20 
 
 Golleo"c, to whom they may commit the supcriiilciulfiico of ilie 
 course of study and discipline ; and also to select and appoint a 
 President of the said College, and such J^rofessor or Professors, 
 Tutor or Tutors, to assist the President in the government and edu- 
 cation of the Students belonging to the said College, and such other 
 officer or officers as to the said Trustees shall seem meet, all ol" 
 whom shall hold their office during the pleasure of the Trustees; 
 Provided ulicai/s. That no President shall be dismissed by the 
 Trustees, without cause previously stated to him in writing, and a 
 full opporlunily allowed him for his defence, and by the concur- 
 rence of at least two-thirds of the Trustees ; and Provided far I her, 
 'I'hat no Professor, Tutor, or other assistant officer shall be eligible 
 to the office of a Trustee. 
 
 III. Resolved, That any five of the said Trustees, lawfully con- 
 vened as hereinafter directed, shall be a quorum for the dispatch of 
 all business, except for the disposal of real estate, or for the choice 
 of a President, or for the election of Trustees, for either oi" which 
 purposes, there shall be at least a majority of the whole number of 
 'J'rustees. 
 
 IV. Resolved, 'Y\\[ii the President of the College shall always 
 be, ex-ofiicio, a meml)cr of the Board of Trustees, and Chairman 
 or President of the same, and that a Secretary of the Board shall 
 be elected by the Trustees, to hold his office during their pleasure. 
 
 V. Resolved, That the said Trustees shall have power to increase 
 their number from time to time, at their discretion, to the number 
 of twenty-four ; and they shaJl also have power, by a majority of 
 votes of the members present, to elect and appoint, upon the death, 
 removal out of the State, or other vacancy of the place or places 
 of any Trustee or Trustees, other or others in his or their places or 
 stead, as often as such vacancy shall happen ; and also to make and 
 declare vacant the seat of any Trustee who shall absent himself for 
 any term of two years, or from any four successive meetings duly 
 nolified; and they shall also have power to meet from time to time 
 upon their own adjournmerit, and so often as they shall be summoned 
 by their Chairman or President, or in his absence, by the Senior 
 Trustee, whose Seniority shall be accounted according to the order 
 jn which the said Trijstees are named in this act, and shall be 
 elected hereafter ; Provided ahvaijs. That the said Chairman, or 
 President, or the Senior Trustee, shall not summon a meeting of 
 the Corporation, unless required thereto in writing, bj- three of the 
 members ; and Provided also, That he cause notice of the time and 
 place of the said meeting to be given in sucli manner as the Trus- 
 tees shall in their By-Laws prescribe. 
 
 \T. Resolved, That the said Trustees and their successors shall 
 have power and authority to grant all such literary Honors and 
 Degrees as are usually granted by any University. College, or Sem- 
 inary of learning in this Slate, or in the I nited States ; and in
 
 30 
 
 testimony of such grant, to oive suitable Diplomas, umler their seal 
 and the signatures of the President and Secretary of the Hoard, 
 which Diplomas shall entitle the possessors respectively to all the 
 iinuuinities and privileges which, either by usage or by statute are 
 allowed to possessors of similar Diplomas from any other Univer- 
 sity, College or Seminary of learning. 
 
 \ 1 1. Ilcsolvnd, That the said Trustees and their successors shall 
 have full power and authority to make all ordinances and By-Laws 
 which to them shall seem expedient, for carrying into effect the 
 designs of their Institution; Provided alwai/s, that such ordinances 
 or By-Laws shall not make the religious tenets of any person a 
 condition of admission to any privilege in the said College, and that 
 no President or Professor, or other officer shall be made incligiljle 
 for or by reason of any religious tenet that he may profess, or be 
 compelled, by any By-Law or otliervvis(% to sul)scril)e to any reli- 
 gious test whatsoever; and Provided also, That none of the By- 
 Laws as aforesaid shall be inconsistent with the Constitution and 
 Laws of this State, or with tlie Constitution and Laws of the Uni- 
 ted States. 
 
 VIII. Resolved, That the Funds which may at any time belong 
 to the Institution now incorporated, shall enjoy the like exemptions 
 from taxation, and the Institution itself, and its officers, shall enjoy 
 the same privileges and exemptions, as have already been granted, 
 or may hereafter be granted to Yale College, its officers, and its 
 Funds. 
 
 IX. Resolved, That whenever Funds shall be contributed or 
 secured to the said College, to the amount of Thirty Thousand 
 Dollars, and not before, the Trustees may proceed to organize and 
 establish the said College in such town in this Stale as they stiall 
 judge most expedient.
 
 31 
 
 (!II)anc]ic of ^"amc. 
 
 Ar a special mceling of the Trustees of Washington Collen^e, held 
 at ilartlbiil, on the 8ih day of May, A. D. 1845, the foUowino- 
 Resolution \^as passed : 
 
 Resolved, That it is expedient that the name of "Washin<j-ton 
 College" should be changed to that of "Tiiinitv College." 
 
 Hon. Isaac Toucey, Hon. William W. Boardman, and Thomas 
 Belknap, Esq., were appointed a Committee to present a memorial 
 to the Legislature of Connecticut, praying that the corporate name 
 of the College maybe changed accordingly. The memorial was 
 presented, and the General Assembly, then in session at Hartford, 
 passed the following 
 
 RESOLUTION, 
 
 {Which ims approved by the Governor, Maij 2ith, 1845.) 
 
 Upon tlie memorial of the Trustees of Washington College, 
 showing that there are sundry other Collegfes in the United States 
 bearing the name of Washington College, praying for a chan<'e in 
 their corporate name, &c. : — 
 
 Resolved by this Assembly, That the fiame of said Corporation be 
 changed to that of The Trustees of TRINITY COLLEGE? 
 and that all grants, devises and bequests heretofore made or that 
 shall hereafter be made to said Corporation by its former name, shall 
 be deemed good and valid as if made to said College by its presewti- 
 forporate r.ame.
 
 Conseroatlsm ; Us true signituation, anb 
 appropriate office. 
 
 AN ADDRESS, 
 
 PRONOUNCED BEFORE 
 
 THE HOUSE OF CONVOCATION 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 IN CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, JULY 28th, 1852. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 KEY. WILLIAM F. MOEGAN, M. A., 
 
 KECTOR OP CHRIST CHURCH, NORWICH. 
 
 Published by order of Convocation. 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 
 8. HAN^fER (t CO. CALENDAR PRESS. 
 
 1852.
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE DISTINGUISHED DEAD 
 
 HEKEIN MENTIONED, 
 THIS ADDRESS 
 
 IS 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR.
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Mr. Dean, and Gentlemen of Convocation : 
 
 I trust it will not be deemed inappropriate to this occa- 
 sion, nor as casting an unwelcome shadow upon the festive 
 and congratulatory spirit of our re-union, if, at the threshold 
 of another topic, I pause one moment to speak of the dead. 
 Nearly a year has elapsed since the whole country was 
 summoned to deplore the sudden and untimely demise of a 
 distinguished man. Long eminent in the councils of State, 
 and at the time of his departure, occupying a high judicial 
 post, it was admitted on every hand that the Republic had 
 sustained a loss ; and it may not have escaped your recol- 
 lection, gentlemen, that the tributes then paid to the memory 
 of Levi Woodbury, ascribed to him, in his several capacities 
 as citizen, legislator and jurist, some of those more exalted 
 traits and endowments which stamp greatness upon char- 
 acter. 
 
 Had he, however, been less conspicuous among his coun- 
 trymen, and enjoyed fewer claims to the suffi-ages of their 
 respect and admiration, we, at least, could hardly wish to be 
 absolved from making honorable mention of one, who, in 
 obedience to our call, parted from the severer duties of his 
 lofty station, and came hither, even with the shadow of death
 
 6 
 
 upon him, to offer us the counsels of his wisdom and expe- 
 rience. AVe cannot forget that his last intellectual effort was 
 made in this presence, and upon this platform. We cannot 
 forget that the last public utterance of his voice, already 
 enfeebled bv disease, was heard within the bosom of our 
 fraternity, or that he went hence from this hallowed place 
 to the bed of suffering, and shortly to the repose and silence 
 of his grave. 
 
 Wliatever other or prouder memorials may enshrine his 
 memory or be reared above his turf — Gentlemen of Convo- 
 cation, I speak the sentiment of your hearts — we gladly 
 cherish the recollection of his virtues, and with the greetings 
 of this anniversary, we mingle those expressions of venera- 
 tion and regret which his character, and the closing circum- 
 stances of his life, might justly inspire. ]^or should the 
 admonition be altogether lost upon us, and you will pardon 
 me if, in one word, I venture to remind you, that while the 
 fountains of human knowledge are ever fresh, and their 
 wholesome waters are destined, as we trust, to flow onward 
 beneath these academic shades, to remote generations, we 
 who now live shall soon fail to return hither, and our fellow- 
 ship here at this season shall speedily be at an end, or trans- 
 ferred rather, as we should hope, to that world where 
 "tongues have ceased in a more perfect communion, and 
 where, in the access of eternal light, knowledge hath van- 
 ished away." 
 
 So long as we survive, however, no thought of change or 
 dissolution should lead us aside from the jjractical duties 
 and responsibilities which surround us. The tokens of decay 
 should not affright us. The warnings of death should not 
 palsy heart or hand. The anticipations of a spiritual state
 
 should not divert us from the realities of this, and happy 
 are we if, like tlic distinguished gentleman who last ad- 
 dressed us from this place, or like the learned Jarvis, wasting 
 amid the labors of his study, or the saintly Croswell, smit- 
 ten at the altar of his God, or the faithful Ilenshaw, falling 
 in the discharge of his apostleship, even while our winding 
 sheet is preparing, we are wakeful at our post, and earnestly 
 at work. 
 
 Impressed with this conviction, let us pass from all sad- 
 dening reflections to a topic which stands connected with the 
 manifest tendencies of the age, and which, in its bearing 
 and aj^plication, is not foreign to any allotment of life, or 
 sphere of duty, "We propose, then, to speak of Conservor 
 tism / its true signification^ and appropriate office. It is a 
 subject, as you will readily perceive, altogether too exten- 
 sive to be overtaken within the limits imposed by this occa- 
 sion, and I shall accordingly attempt nothing more than a 
 partial survey of its leading principles, and the enunciation 
 of a few thoughts which are most naturally suggested. 
 
 I presume that no prejudice is more finnly seated in the 
 popular mind, than that which regards Conservatism as the 
 enemy of progress. Nor is it an uncommon propensity of 
 the popular mind, quick and apprehensive as it usually is, 
 to overpass the absolute signification of a term, as well as 
 the legitinuite operation of a principle, and take refuge in a 
 vague and erroneous idea. Where strong feeling is enlisted ; 
 where hopes and expectations are exaggerated into fixed 
 opinions and glowing prophecies, the intrusion of a doubt, 
 the suggestion of a difticulty, are almost inevitably constinied 
 either into indiflerence or opposition. There is a shock even 
 when a slight obstruction meets the headlong torrent ; there
 
 is a recoil when the humblest barrier resists the current of 
 the mighty wind ; so is there power in a moderating word, 
 or a whispered misgiving, to revolt the feverish spirit of an 
 age like this, and turn it aside in alienation and distrust. 
 And were we to embody the most prevalent conception of 
 the term we are about to discuss, or were we to define it 
 according to the phantom shapes of evil and impracticability 
 which it lifts before the eye of thousands on every hand, we 
 should present Conservatism to you under the image of an 
 iceberg in the Southern Ocean, or a tomb in a garden of 
 roses ; a thing incongruous with the times, and out of place ; 
 an element of buried ages proudly assuming the dictatorship 
 of a new world, and a more hopeful era. In law, it would 
 seem to present itself as the very spirit of endless delay ; 
 the death's head of precedents, and engrossments, and repe- 
 titions, and antiquated forms. In theology, it would wear 
 "the sternness of adamantine orthodoxy" ; inexorable, pre- 
 scriptive, dogmatic ; clinging to platforms with a vampire 
 grasp ; riveting itself to creeds and formularies with an un- 
 yielding tenacity ; bearing about the mummy case of patris- 
 tic lore, and shaking the Levitical rod in the face of the 
 people. In medicine, it would claim the immemorial right 
 of using a language of unintelligible signs, for the benefit 
 of the druggist and the grave digger. In legislation, it 
 would array itself in the trailing robes of official dignity, 
 and decorous reserve ; touching the republican pulse with a 
 stiff and icy finger ; prescribing the nostrums of expediency 
 for deadly maladies in the body politic ; protecting liberty 
 by contradicting its spirit, and overbearing the strongest im- 
 pulses of its life with sage abstractions, and portentous 
 warnings of danger to the Constitution and the Union. So,
 
 too, in the (Icpai-tmcnt of letters and science, thus miscon- 
 strued, Conservatism would occupy the place of censor, gi'im, 
 hypercritical, and petulant. It would stand aghast at the 
 rising attitude of human thorght, and thrust its pruning 
 hook angrily into the topmost branches of speculation and 
 exuberant fancy. It would fasten a Gorgon eye upon every 
 fresh theory and every new fact ; turning the lecture room 
 and the laboratory into a Council of Ten, before which mod- 
 ern heresiarchs and innovators were to be dras-ged, for the 
 operation of the thumb-screw and the rack. 
 
 Such a statement, we confess, may be liable to the charge 
 of exaggeration ; and it may be that we misapprehend the 
 popular sentiment ; but whence are we to gather the idea 
 which ardent and unthinking minds affix to a term, if not 
 from the development of that idea in action and unconscious 
 expression ; and guided by these criteria, I do not hesitate 
 to re-affirm, that no word in the vocabulary cames with it 
 a misconception so wide-spread, or so fatal to its true mean- 
 ing and intent, as the word before us. This, gentlemen, is 
 not the place to test our assertion, but were any one of us 
 wrapped in the folds of some dreamy and ecstatic system, 
 or borne upon the tide, and pledged to the issues, of some 
 desperate movement, or merged in some central whirlpool 
 of interest and emotion, we should then, instantly, discover 
 how slight a discrimination was allowed, between the spirit 
 of caution and reserve, and that of the fiercest opposition. 
 It is natural that it should be so : nay, looking at the con- 
 stitution of the human mind, it is inevitable. When an idea 
 has taken possession of a man or a class of men, desires 
 instantly succeed, demanding its extension and establish- 
 ment. The glow of a new discovery is felt. The fire of
 
 10 
 
 a new revelation is kindled. The glow is not to be cooled ; 
 the fire is not to be quenched. As surely as an idea exists 
 with much intensity, so surely it longs to be diffused. It 
 must multiply adherents, and go abroad to alter or amelio- 
 rate, and hence, seldom has a quickening thought entered 
 the mind of man in any age, which did not almost imme- 
 diately give birth to the supposed necessity of a mission, 
 and never was a mission undertaken w^hich did not lead to 
 secret and morbid repinings, or force from the lips of irrita- 
 ted and indignant champions, the thunders of rebuke at a 
 world so passive, and sluggish, and blind. Tliis is the agony 
 of reform : the sea of tribulation which new truths and the- 
 ories must cross, and it is not wonderful, therefore, if, amid 
 the throes of disappointment and disgust, sound judgment, 
 with its cool scrutiny and patient decisions, and incredulity 
 with its stare, and scepticism with its laugh, were regarded 
 alike as the tokens of hostility. Indeed there are conditions 
 of mental excitement, when scorn is far less annoying than 
 silence. There are both truths and falsehoods on foot at this 
 moment which court denunciation, and lie in wait for it at 
 every corner, while they hold in exceeding dread the para- 
 lyzing effect of sufferance and unconcern. 
 
 And now, since in the infirmity of man's nature I have 
 found one apology for those antipathies which cluster around 
 the popular idea of Conservatism — let me not fail to men- 
 tion another and a stronger. The idea is linked to the worst 
 associations in the past. It is overlaid with the memory of 
 enormous wrongs. It retains the odious scent of proscrip- 
 tion, and tyranny, and blood. But why should Conservatism 
 be branded with this reproach ? AVhy should this term be 
 loaded like a scape-goat with the atrocities of other times?
 
 11 
 
 It was not to preserve truth, but to crush it ; it was not to 
 guide thought with a careful liand, but to hurl it backward 
 into the abyss of midnight, that despots made it treason to 
 think, and ecclesiastics made it death to speak. This was 
 not Conservatism ; it was senseless bigotry, and under this 
 more appropriate name we are prepared to accept, and re- 
 iterate to the last echo any denunciation which may be lev- 
 elled at it. We know full well, and we can add nothing to 
 your information on this point, gentlemen, that through long 
 periods, stretching like deserts upon the face of history, a 
 most destructive principle held sway ; and it held a sway, 
 we are to remember, as powerful under systems which were 
 devised to promote the interests of states and individuals, 
 as under tyrannies which were erected to destroy them. I 
 know not where we shall find a heavier yoke placed upon 
 the activities of thought and opinion, than in some of the 
 commonwealths of ancient Greece. The worst elements of 
 a destructive Conservatism, if you please so to call it, may 
 be found in the laws of Lycurgus. The object of those laws 
 was the protection of the people. Eira^ia was written 
 upon the whole code, but their tendency and effect was to 
 bring the people under a universal restraint, and reduce 
 them to the condition of domestic animals, kept in comfoi-t 
 and luxury perhaps ; educated, refined, and yet slaves. The 
 citizen was regarded as no better than an appendage to the 
 state. The state absorbed his individuality : it left him with 
 no control over his personal rights and daily concerns ; it 
 bound him to one spot ; it cramped his intellectual freedom ; 
 thought for him ; felt for him ; acted for him, and all under 
 the cover of securing his highest welfare, and it would be 
 idle for me to express the abhorrence which such a system
 
 12 
 
 of mental and moral outrage should awaken. If it was 
 Conservatism, as has been asserted, then, also, it was a curse, 
 for with all the accessories of material civilization, it 
 brought an overwhelming pressure upon all genius, and all 
 thought. Kindred to this policy was that which in later 
 times laid an iron hand upon the inventive faculty. Then 
 to originate was a crime, and to move one hair's breadth 
 from the track of ages towards a new principle, was to invite 
 a remorseless persecution. For this cause the book of Co- 
 pernicus was burned, and Galileo condemned to the vaults 
 of the Inquisition. Papal bigotry had decreed midnight. 
 The sun was not to rise. The alj^habet of knowledge was 
 to be conned everlastingly. This same narrow prejudice 
 led a Bishop and Chancellor qf England^ to thank God that 
 he had never yet been the author of any one new thing, 
 and so on even to more recent centm-ies, nay even to the 
 recollection of living men, neglect and scorn have dogged 
 the footsteps of discovery. It is a thrice-told tale, that the 
 advances of truth have been resisted, step by step, and the 
 noblest inspirations of her throbbing heart stifled, by imped- 
 iments which jealousy and selfishness have thrown upon her 
 path. Yain and worse than vain is the concealment of the 
 fact, that human nature stands dishonored by its guilty 
 league with ignorance, and its readiness to repel blessings, 
 moral, physical, intellectual ; blessings now as indispensable 
 to man's comfort and his elevation, as the atmosphere to his 
 life, which nevertheless have been born amid sneers, and 
 baptized at the fountains of bitterness and unbelief. We 
 
 • "Brother of Winchester," said Cranmer to Lord Chancellor Gardyner, "You like 
 not any thing new unless you be yourself the author of it." 
 
 "Your Grace wrongeth me," replied Gardyner; "I have never been author yet of 
 any one new thing, for which I thank my God." — Campbell's Lives of the Chan- 
 cellors, Vol. ii. cap. 40, p. 51.
 
 13 
 
 are not to count it a strange thing, therefore, that a word or 
 a principle associated with such memories should long con- 
 tinue to endure the penalty of its frightful perversion. 
 
 But, gentlemen, we who would judge rightly are not to 
 disown this word on the score of its misuse ; or the grand 
 idea of which it is the symbol, on the charge of its misdi- 
 rection. As well might we repudiate the term democracy, 
 because we liked not altogether the democracy of Athens, 
 or cast off the name of our confederacy, because we dis- 
 owned that abomination of desolations set up in the temple 
 of freedom by republican France, falsely so called. Instead 
 of discarding, we will endeavor to reclaim. If Conserva- 
 tism has been committed to false issues, and made the in- 
 strument of destniction and outrage, we will not imitate the 
 spirit which forced it to such uses. It is a principle which 
 cannot be surrendered. It is an agent of unmeasured be- 
 neficence to man, and when clothed with its legitimate attri- 
 butes, and assigned to its proper offices, its effectual working 
 is beyond aU comparison more salutary upon the age, better 
 calculated to serve the grand behests of truth, whether in 
 religion, or legislation, or science, than any other influence 
 that can be named. 
 
 Apart, then, from all existing prejudices, let us regard 
 sound Conservatism in its fitting light. It has a meaning. 
 What is it? I accept the definition of a great lexicographer. 
 It is the desire and the effort to preserve established truth. 
 And if this indeed be the fair sense of the term, what could 
 be more Catholic or comprehensive. It is not to preserve 
 old truth, or new truth, as such, but all truth. So far from 
 being limited to periods, whether remote, or present, or to 
 come, it acts through all time as the guardian of truth. It
 
 14 
 
 is in union with all legitimate progress from the beginning 
 onward, even to the measure of eternity. Not confined to 
 one department, it has to do with all. Truth is the object 
 of its concern, and its care, whether embodied in homely 
 and practical forms, or mingling with aesthetic tastes, or 
 enthroned upon the eminences of metaphysical and spiritual 
 science. It is a principle diverse from dogmatism or a 
 dainty eclecticism, for its province is to recognize truth and 
 own it, under all its conditions, whether it beams forth in 
 crystal transparency, or is obscured and hidden by awkward 
 expression — whether it is colossal in its breadth and grand- 
 eur, or is unhappily entangled in the webs of human spec- 
 ulation. 
 
 But I return to the definition. The property of Conserv- 
 atism is not passive. A desire and an efibrt belong to it. 
 Its duty is something more than that of a janitor waiting 
 lazily at the gates of truth, protecting old guests, and receiv- 
 ing new comers. It is rather that of a judge, sitting in the 
 vestibule of her temple, serene of aspect, but inexorably 
 severe in scrutiny and decision. And, if I might continue 
 the metaphor, I should say that there is no trace of a frown 
 upon his brow, to discourage or repel, but an awful repose 
 dwells there, like the shadow of a sublime trust, and an un- 
 measurable responsibility. Behind him, in the open courts 
 and solemn recesses of that majestic abode, are the gathered 
 forms of truth, admitted there one after another, "through 
 the ages all along" ; a mighty concourse of distinct and 
 well-established j^rinciples ; not altogether free, it may be, 
 from the stain or distortion of human contact, nor beyond 
 the reach of a higher finish and development, but sterling 
 and imperishable, dwelling together in harmony, and bathed
 
 15 
 
 in that divine light wliich streams throuj^li the resplendent 
 dome, from the One Source of all truth, the mind of God. 
 Before him stands an expectant throng of applicants, seek- 
 ing admission for some favorite thought or pregnant discov- 
 ery. Here are thr.se who approach in the modesty of true 
 science, and there, those who are trumpeting the praises of 
 their idol. , Some ask no more than a patient audience, and 
 a fair adjudication, and others, as if delay were to be a 
 world-wide disaster, would, if unrestrained, rush headlong in- 
 to the holy place, and trampling down all accepted forms of 
 truth, bear their wretched counterfeit to the highest seat of 
 honor. If Conservatism, therefore, is a pains-taking quality, 
 and is to act as judge and arbiter, it has a stupendous work 
 in hand. Truth already established, is of course within its 
 keeping, but it has another and more laborious task in the 
 encounter, and the trial of those fresher and intenser forms, 
 which press upon its notice. It must not be despotic. It 
 must not be timorous. Not one living verity must be denied 
 access to the enclosure. Not one specious falsehood must 
 be allowed to touch its threshold. 
 
 But still again, I refer to our definition. The end of Con- 
 servatism is the preservation of truth. In order to this, is it 
 required that truth should be forever tied up to its original 
 or accidental relations ? We think not. There are truths 
 which can never again be put to their first uses. The occa- 
 sion which called them forth, or the age which could grace- 
 fully appropriate them, have passed away ; and if they are 
 to stand j^ledged to their first connections, then also they 
 stand chained to a body of death ; as valueless, though as 
 beautiful, as the ivy which flings its soft fringes over the 
 decay of some old monastic pile. There is a dead past, no
 
 16 
 
 more to be quickened or reproduced ; but tlie truths wliich 
 once dwelt in its bosom, and gave it vitality, are not dead ; 
 they are not to be coffined or entombed with the body which 
 they have ceased to animate. Tliey live. They cannot per- 
 ish. They should not be smothered in the catacombs of th^ 
 past ; and we claim, therefore, for Conservatism a disinte- 
 gra^"ing and moulding power, which shall seize and adapt 
 them to the shifting postures of life and thought. This is to 
 secure their truest preservation. This is to retain the fresh- 
 ness of their life. This is to give them an honorable, be- 
 cause a useful perpetuity. For what is truth worth to this 
 or any age, when it is presented in shapes so angular and 
 old-fashioned as to be out of harmony with all surrounding 
 things ? What useful or practical end can it accomplish 
 when it comes sheathed in its primitive husks, or so bediz- 
 ened and stiff in its antiquated attire, as to provoke the won- 
 der and the ridicule of all beholders. Unquestionably there 
 are elements of trutii which cannot thus be dislodged from 
 their original conditions. Of such we say freely, the old is 
 better. They cannot be improved, or wrought into combina- 
 tions which shall give them greater vigor or effect. There are, 
 for instance, lines and proportions of beauty in ancient art and 
 mediaeval architecture, which body forth truth to perfection, 
 and which, w^ith all our attempts at imitation, are unap- 
 proachcd. There are models of skill and manifestations of 
 power, which we do well never to lose sight of — striving, how- 
 ever vainly, to divine their secret. There are thoughts which 
 can never be deposited in richer caskets ; principles which 
 can never be tabernacled in more accurate formulas ; histo- 
 ries and treatises which can never be shrined in purer lan- 
 guage. These are to abide forever. Tliey are to be cher-
 
 17 
 
 ished and studied with a reverential spirit, not so much 
 because they are ancient, as because they are admirable, 
 and satisfy the universal mind. A sound Conservatism will 
 guard them well, and hold them forth to the eye of tliis and 
 every age. But not so with what is grotesque and extrava- 
 gant ; not so with what is cumbrous and unwieldy ; not so 
 with those envelopments of truth, which, instead of ex- 
 pressing, greatly obscure it. These and such as these, will 
 not be retained, through a blind veneration for the past. 
 Nor will they be scornfully rejected, but gradually and 
 wisely conformed to the actual interests and demands of 
 living men. And herein, if I may venture to repeat the 
 declaration, herein consists the most exalted exercise of 
 Conservatism, the moulding and harmonizing of all truth, 
 however old, or rude in its attire, so as to make it useful and 
 effective now^ within this passing hour of time. And in 
 saying this, let me pointedly disclaim any especial idolatry 
 for the present. We are not disposed to magnify it above 
 measure. With all its goodly signs, and sure tokens of 
 advancement, we see something of its folly, and know that 
 many of its vaunted "activities" might rather be regarded 
 as the antics and contortions of ungovernable phrenzy. And 
 for this very reason, if for no other, we maintain that all 
 truth of all time should, with a wise discretion, be pressed 
 into its service, and so as to find the widest currency. The 
 coins of the antiquarian may enjoy a very graceful accom- 
 modation upon the shelves of his cabinet. Tliey may be 
 impressed with many a strange and curious device. They 
 may have the ring of the true metal — but except to himself 
 and kindred virtuosi, they are worthless. Tliey must pass 
 
 to the hand of the mint-master, and be stamped with anoth- 
 2
 
 18 
 
 er ima^e and superscription before tliey can reach the chan- 
 nels of a wholesome circulation. The tastes of the antiqua- 
 rian, however, need not be disturbed. For one, we would 
 protect and honor them. His store of curiosities need not 
 be despoiled — for the mines -of earth can furnish the virgin 
 ore, in quantities more than sufficient to tempt the rapacity 
 and corrupt the heart of a money-loving world. But the 
 virgin ore of truth is not so abounding ; its freshly-opened 
 veins are not so prolific as to allow that any portion of its 
 solid metal, however cankered or antique, should be seques- 
 tered, and made the plaything of modeiTi amateurs. It is 
 too rare and precious a substance to be preserved in the 
 shape of relics ; too vital and energizing to be labeled, and 
 laid apide in cases ; too divine and immortal to be impris- 
 oned in well-arranged alcoves. Tlie world requires it ; re- 
 quires it all. She requires it for practical uses in ten thou- 
 sand spheres of effort, mental and material. She requires 
 it for the productive power of skill and handicraft ; for the 
 formation of thought and opinion, for the cultivation of 
 taste, for the expansion of law, for the direction of benefi- 
 cence, for the advancement of sound learning and phi- 
 losopy; nay, for every humble and every lofty interest 
 which may conduce to the happiness and elevation of man- 
 kind ; and we are strongly persuaded, that so far as truth is 
 withheld or cramped, or in any way made impracticable, so 
 far will brawny hands and fiery spirits be multiplied to 
 work out falsehood and error, upon the anvils of impiety. 
 
 Now it may be thought from this rapid analysis of the 
 term Conservatism, that we are disposed to contradict its 
 most obvious principle, and regard it only as the servant, 
 or at most, the guiding element of modem energy and
 
 19 
 
 reform. It may be said that its real dignity is sacriticed, 
 \Tlieii, stepping down from its pedestal, it seeks to preserve 
 old truth, by adapting it to the spirit and circumstances of a 
 new age, and furthermore, it may be alleged that in making 
 it tlius subservient to what is actual and practical, we over- 
 look a large class of sentiments and emotions which have 
 been accustomed to rely upon its protection. We are not 
 conscious of any such misuse or degradation of the term ; 
 for we shall be the last to concede the point, that in making 
 truth available or useful. Conservatism is violated in one 
 principle, or its dignity impaired, or its aim made hostile to 
 any lawful passion of the human soul. 
 
 There is a Conservatism which may be thus jealous of 
 truth ; fearful of its contact and affiliation with the universal 
 mind. It is the element which sometimes dwells, as we 
 have seen, in false and pernicious systems. The Conserva- 
 tism which would fix the bounds of progress by an un- 
 changeable decree, and legalize tyranny by ascribing to it 
 the last touch of perfection. The representative of such a 
 principle may be found in Paul Sarpe, of Venice, whose 
 dying exclamation over the constitution of that atrocious 
 republic was, Esto perpetua.* Such a principle is heavy 
 laden with its own execration. 13ut we are speaking of a 
 sound and rational Conservatism. It is stable, but is not 
 opposed to action and movement. It is the friend of order, 
 but is not convulsed at the thought of change. In a word, 
 confident in the immortality of truth, it has no fear that it 
 will be too widely dift'used, or accommodate itself too flexi- 
 
 • We cast no rpproach upon "Father Paul." His patriotism was unquestioned, and 
 his aspirat.ons for tlie glory of his country were kindled liy an honest spirit ; and yet, 
 content with the horrid phantom of liberty, he would have honored it with an apo- 
 theosu.
 
 20 
 
 blj to the processes of society or the changes of civilization, 
 or be Tiilgarized and debased by taking its way through the 
 common avenues of life and experience. And if I might 
 bring before you a representative of this generous principle, 
 I would mention the name of that master spirit in the realm 
 of science, Sir John Ilerschel. I think it will be admitted 
 that he occupies a seat sufficiently high to secure him against 
 the accusation of radicalism. I think it will be confessed, 
 that no man of this or any age might more consistently wrap 
 himself in the disdain of a lofty exclusiveness, and stand 
 aloof from his fellow-men in the dignity and isolation of an 
 autocrat, than he. So much the more cordiallv do we vield 
 him the ascription of honor ; for we feel that his good sense 
 is equal to his genius, nay, a prime quality of it, and that 
 his enlargement of soul bears a due proportion to his intel- 
 lectual pre-eminence, when we see him turning away from 
 the stars ; coming forth and descending from the penetralia 
 of the Infinite, that he may bless the humblest votary of 
 knowledge, and spread through the world the inspiration 
 and the fruit of his marvellous discoveries. 
 
 In a discourse upon "The influence of science on the well- 
 being and progress of society," he utters the following sen- 
 timents. "Let those who enjoy the higliest advantages of 
 intellectual culture, be careful to secure the lower links in 
 the chain of society from dragging in dishonor and wretch- 
 edness. Tlie truth itself demands this at their hands, as 
 well as the necessities of men ; for knowledge can neither 
 be adequately cultivated nor adequately enjoyed by a few. 
 It is not like food, destroyed by use, but rather augmented 
 and perfected. There is no body of knowledge so complete 
 but that it may receive accession, or so free from error, but
 
 21 
 
 that it may receive correction in passing througli the mindg 
 of millions ; and those, therefore, who admire and love 
 knowledge for its own sake, should strive to make its ele- 
 ments accessible to all, were it only that thej may be more 
 thoroughly examined into, and more effectually developed 
 in their consequences, and receive that ductility and plastic 
 (piality, which the pressure of minds of all descriptions, 
 constantly moulding them to their purposes, can alone be- 
 stow. But to this end it is necessary that it should be di- 
 vested, as far as possible, of artificial difficulties, and strip- 
 ped of all such technicalities as tend to place it in the light 
 of a craft or a mystery. Science, of course, like every thing 
 else, has its own peculiar terms, and, so to speak, its idioms 
 of laniruasre, and these it would be unwise, were it even 
 possible, to reliu(|uish ; but every thing that tends to clothe 
 it in a strange and repulsive garb, and especially, every 
 thing, that, to keep up an appearance of superiority among 
 its professors over the rest of mankind, assumes an unneces- 
 sary guise of obscurity or profundity, should be sacrificed 
 without mercy. ISTot to do this is deliberately to reject the 
 light which the natural, unencumbered good sense of man- 
 kind is capable of throwing on every subject, even in the 
 elucidation of principles. The whole tendency of emi)iri- 
 cism is to bury itself in mystic phrases ; but the delight of 
 true science is, to lay itself open to inquiry ; to make the 
 road to its conclusions broad and beaten. Its whole aim is 
 to prune away all technical mystery ; to illuminate every 
 dark recess, and to invite the closest scrutiny of eager 
 minds." 
 
 Such sentiments, gentlemen, will commend themselves to 
 your approbation. You perceive their drift. They bestow
 
 dignity upon trutli by the very confidence which they breathe 
 in its power to stand the ordeal of universal diffusion. They 
 encourage such diffusion, not only for the preservation of 
 truth, but for its improvement, and this we hold to be the 
 very essence of a just Conservatism. 
 
 I pass for one moment to the other objection which was 
 named, to wit, that this interpretation of the principle must 
 operate unfavorably upon certain instincts and emotions 
 which are natural to man, which, also, are noble and eleva- 
 ting, such as veneration for antiquity, and those poetical 
 sentiments which are enkindled by its decay and desolation, 
 and leave them to become extinct, in the bosom of a plod- 
 ding, common-place world. There may be a certain measure 
 of force in this complaint, at least I have known it to be 
 urged with considerable gravity by men who appeared to 
 think that there should be an entire surrender of the past 
 to the contemplative faculty. Nor would I consciously over- 
 look the fact, that human culture involves something more 
 than an acquaintance with the reality of things. The wide 
 realm of utility is not the only empire of the soul. Action 
 and availability are not the only sources of its life or its joy; 
 and that mode of existence is lamentably false, which lean- 
 ing earthward forever, allows no play to the subtle tastes, 
 and diviner susceptibilities of our nature. But where, after 
 all, is the conflict between the principle we have stated, and 
 the most refined enjoyment of the ideal, the universal and 
 the remote. 
 
 "Nihil sine aetate est, omnia tempus expectant." 
 
 Neither the monuments of the past, nor its venerable asso- 
 ciations, are annihilated, because the truths once lodged in 
 them have become the common property of the world, and
 
 28 
 
 are turned to better account. I know not that Xinevch has 
 been deprived of its mysterious charm by tlie researches of 
 Layanl. I have yet to learn that tlie crumbling memorials 
 of Grecian art and literature are less likely to awaken rev- 
 erence, because the spirit of both survives to quicken living 
 souls, in numbers which no man can number. The bones of 
 Plato and Sophocles are not disinterred ; the scenes which 
 they hallowed are not defiled, because, this day, the whole 
 world is better for the wisdom and the beauty they left 
 behind, Kome is none the less magnificent in her ruins ; 
 the spells of her enchantment are none the less powerful, 
 because the elements of her manners and her laws are dis- 
 tributed among all the civilized nations of the earth. We 
 take the ground that the more the past is incorjjorated with 
 the present, so much the more will it be honored and rever- 
 enced. The more the si:>irit of its truth is gathered up, the 
 more it is sifted and wrought over into fresher forms of life 
 and action, so much the more will its sources be consecra- 
 ted ; so much the mo"re will pilgrim feet turn aside to visit 
 its tombs and temples ; so much the more will its gigantic 
 fragments evoke the inmost soul of imagination, and elo- 
 quence, and passionate song. It is sometimes remarked in 
 the same querulous temper, that because we have not the 
 visible remains of antiquity in our midst, therefore the spirit 
 of poetry must deal with homely themes, and trail her celes- 
 tial garments in the dust. We are forced to deny the 
 assum})tion. It is fiilse. The past is with us — all that ia 
 imporis^hable about it is here. If a narrow Conservatism 
 has ever attempted to arrest its transmigration, it has failed 
 most signally. We repeat it, the past is here. As for its 
 ruins, time claims them, and as for ourselves, we ha\'e nei-
 
 2i 
 
 ther room nor occasion for them ; but its residuum, gentle- 
 tlemen, tliat is an everlasting possession, and the joy of 
 many generations. It lies within this epoch. It has a home 
 upon the shores of this continent. If its tokens are demand- 
 ed, I point to engines, and forges, and spindles, and looms. 
 K its vitality is questioned, I challenge the designation of a 
 commodity or a luxury in the whole range of modern econ- 
 omics, which bears not some relation to the past. K its 
 ethical and intellectual presence is denied, I affirm it to be 
 every where, the staple of all morals and all mind. It inter- 
 penetrates the whole of life and effort, and whether it be 
 through the media of classic fable and history, or old phi- 
 losophies, or sublime epics, or undying oratory ; whether its 
 lessons are gathered from Memnon and the Pyramids, or 
 from Zanthean marbles ; whether from Pagan mysteries, or 
 Christian art — the past is with us, by the wayside, in the 
 workshop ; on the mountain of vision, and in the vale of 
 industry; helping us to fashion our own antiquity, and 
 secure for ourselves a more exalted name, and a nobler min- 
 istry of good. 
 
 We say, therefore, to the poet who mourns over the prac- 
 tical element in these times, that it is the very embodiment 
 of the past. If there be not enough in the common sources 
 of inspiration to satisfy him ; if the varied aspects of nature 
 around him ; if the stars and golden clouds of evening, and 
 the smile of infancy, and the gentle eye of woman — "if the 
 visions of glory, and dreams of love, and hopes of heaven" 
 which visit this earth, leave him impoverished ; then super- 
 added to all such themes, he has this new world transfigured 
 with the light and the glory of the old, — ^he has more to kin- 
 dle and replenish his poetic fire than Homer had; more
 
 25 
 
 than Dante or Tasso; more than Milton; for all their treas- 
 ures are at his feet, and the spoils of centuries beside. We 
 perceive, therefore, that a wise Conservatism has been, and 
 we feel that in a far greater measure should continue to be, 
 the vigilant guardian of the past ; not merely preserving it, 
 but subordinating it, and hlending the essence of things that 
 afe not, with the substance of tilings that are. 
 
 Gentlemen, I shall greatly add to the imperfections of thia 
 address, if, before bringing it to a close, I omit to reduce 
 the general principle we have considered to one or two of 
 its more definite applications. 
 
 The first of these to which I would briefly call your atten- 
 tion, shall be the most important. 
 
 Hitherto, I have purposely omitted any direct allusion to 
 that divine structure, which, being the keeper and dispenser 
 of our Faith, is therefore dear to us all, as the life of our 
 souls. ISTor shall I presume, at this moment, to rank the 
 Chtjrch of God with those systems of earthly origin which 
 may be, and continually are, accommodated to the fluctua- 
 tions of our social and intellectual being. She is from eter- 
 nity above, and has within her bosom an element of preser- 
 vation and continuity which does not depend upon any 
 accident of time for its life or power. She has mysteries 
 which far transcend the approaches of sense or intellect ; 
 lying in a region "which no man hath seen, or can see." She 
 has truths, and doctrines, and sacraments, which are intend- 
 ed for man's implicit acceptance, and eternal salvation ; not 
 for his criticism, and not for the exercise of his fallible 
 judgment. And accordingly, while her office upon earth is 
 to preserve truth, and diftuse it to the saving of the soul, 
 she maintains through all periods, and in the face of all
 
 26 
 
 change, a reserve which repels intrusion, and shrinks both 
 from the touch of restless and sacrilegious hands, and the 
 loud outcries of sensuous and fanatical tempers. 
 
 Even the sacred poets of the old Pagan world, who "sang 
 the praises of aifj^.c, taught this lesson : they taught that 
 there was something higher than expediency, something 
 higher than mere feeling, a holy monitor to whom all affec- 
 tion was meant to bow, and absolutely commit itself for 
 training and fashioning ;" and it is because this lesson has 
 not been duly learned, that rationalism and infidelity are 
 emblazoned 
 
 "Upon the forehead of these fearless times." 
 
 But I feel assured of one fact which will be questioned 
 by no man, that the outward presentation of divine truth to 
 the world, is left almost entirely to the human and collective 
 wisdom of the Church. "With her divinely appointed agents 
 there is lodged a discretionary power which they are bound 
 to exercise. Tliey have exercised it from the beginning. 
 Her rules and institutions ; her offices, ceremonials, celebra- 
 tions, usages, liturgies, songs, had not all one birth. They 
 are the accretion of ages. They are the exponents of change 
 and progress. They are the gathered fragments of advan- 
 cing time, accepted literally as well as conventionally by the 
 "communis sensus" — the common sense — of the Church. 
 Some of them are obsolete, some have been formally repudia- 
 ted, and some remain to this day, the sacred expressions of 
 Catholic truth, and holy worshij), and honoring these with an 
 ever-deepening affection, we pray God that no change may 
 pass upon them, except such as shall be manifestly "the fruit 
 of a wise delay," and a most reverent consideration. Neverthe- 
 less we shall not withhold the declaration, that it argues no
 
 27 
 
 disloyalty to the Church ; it neither betokens a radical spirit, 
 or a defective faitli, or a revolutionary desin^n, to suppose 
 that the time has come, or may come, when it will be alto- 
 gether expedient to lift the Church out of the groove in 
 which holy men left her ages ago, and turn her serene and 
 radiant face a little more toward the face of troubled 
 and suffering humanity, and re-adjust her beautiful f>-ar- 
 ments, a little more in harmony with those tastes and habits 
 of life in which her children are so carefully educated, and 
 without sacrificing one particle of her sublimity or her sim- 
 plicity, give her a little more freedom of action in a world, 
 I say it with sorrow, where there is scarcely any thino- else 
 but action. 
 
 Counting it no heresy to suppose that such a day may 
 come, we honestly hold the conviction that it will come, and 
 that the principle we have asserted will receive the consent 
 of the Church. Tliere will be no sudden rupture of vener- 
 able ties ; no violent displacement of time-honored usages. 
 Her order will not be rashly violated. Her rubrics and offi- 
 ces will not be rudely handled. Her heavenly calm will 
 not be invaded by the resounding footsteps and loud voices 
 of iconoclasts and innovators. Nevertheless we confidently 
 anticipate the period, although we may not survive to behold 
 it, when her sanctuaries will bear witness to a happier adapt- 
 ation of liturgical forms, and a freer spirit of discourse, and 
 a larger symj^athy with Christ's humble poor ; and when 
 her priesthood will not only work valiantly within her bor- 
 ders ; when they will not only go round about her, and 
 mark well her bulwarks, and count her towers, but wlien 
 they will make far excursions into the surrounding world, 
 and adapt themselves with facility to the revolution of
 
 28 
 
 tlioiiglit and feeling wliicb is going on there, and make 
 themselves felt in the heart of great communities, and make 
 themselves known in the most obscure and secluded haunts 
 of humble life ; pushing the conquests of the Church into 
 the purlieus of shame ; carrying her medicines ot hoj^e and 
 consolation to the deepest hiding-places of misery, and ren- 
 dering her what her Divine Master was ; what He intended 
 her to be ; the daily friend and loving counsellor of the out- 
 cast and the forsaken. This is the Conservatism we invoke 
 for the Church in this age. Xot that she is without it in a 
 high measure ; but there is room for more — a Conservatism 
 discreet, observant, reasonable, conciliatory — holding abso- 
 lute truth above the reach of all change — high, very high 
 — ^high as the throne of God ; but moulding its circumstan- 
 tials to the wants and necessities of daily life, and common 
 men. 
 
 Were it not for trespassing upon your time, it would be 
 easy, nay, it would be interesting to pass within the pre- 
 cincts of other and less sacred institutions, and observe ho\^ 
 Imperiously the offices of a sound Conservatism are de" 
 manded. Not that any earthly institution will be perfect ; 
 not that the hindrances and difficulties which beleaguer 
 improvement, will ever be overcome — but incongruities, 
 such as are manifest to every eye, and are sources of univer- 
 sal irritation and im2oatience, to say nothing of outrage, 
 need not be tolerated. They will not always be tolerated. 
 If no other influence interpose, at some time the currents of 
 strong opinion and common sense will prevail, and sweep 
 them away. In the administration and processes of law, 
 concessions have already been made, I am aware, to the 
 popular judgment. Some of its wrappages have been taken
 
 29 
 
 off. Some of its blind labyrintlis have been closed. Some 
 of its wearisome prolixity has been dispensed with. 
 
 But justice and equity are yet in bondage to forms as irri- 
 tating to the temper uf this age, as this age is foreign to that 
 of Justinian or King John. It cannot always be, that Law 
 shall maintain her fixed composure, and wind through her 
 endless and tortuous details, while all around her tribunals 
 the waves of discontent and agony are swelling. It cannot 
 always be, that access to lier judgment-seat shall be made a 
 disheartening, and perliaps a life-long struggle. The end of 
 all this will come. No age is blind to practical abuses, or 
 silent in regard to them, and there will at length be heard a 
 full-voiced and clamorous demand for reform. It will de- 
 volve ujwn some power to disentangle, to eliminate, to sim- 
 plify, Tlie prerogatives of that power should be exercised 
 by the masters of the Law. A lofty Conservatism should 
 influence and guide them in a course of reformatory meas- 
 ures, which shall anticipate rash counselfc, and preserve the 
 high places of judgment and justice fiom distempered 
 assault. 
 
 Gentlemen, I cannot but deem it matter for devout con- 
 gratulation this day, that the College whose returning festi- 
 val brings us together, cheers us also with the bright promise 
 of her importance, both to the Church and the Republic. 
 On every hand we see tokens that she is preparing to do the 
 work proper to this age, and express herself not incoherently 
 upon every question and interest which may be worthy of 
 consideration. The full assurance meets us, that she is not 
 to be cramped in her energies, or defrauded of her efficien- 
 cy, by alliances with party, or devotion to extremes. "With- 
 out occupying a neutral ground, she will occupy the true,
 
 30 
 
 the conservative, the Catholic ground. Her sympathies will 
 be large ; her range of observation wide ; her aims com- 
 prehensive. She will not stand in the bosom of this wake- 
 ful and tumultuating world, a thing of the past ; a monu- 
 ment of impracticability, with no higher destiny than to 
 keep what she has received, and preserve the dignity of a 
 plethoric custodian, and envelope herself in a monastic so- 
 lemnity, and carefully transmit her store of ancient learning 
 and hoary dogmas, and ecclesiastical legends, to those that 
 shall come after. No ! no ! A higher work and nobler 
 destiny invite her. She will rather be a pillar of guidance 
 and rebuke in the midst of this stirring century. Truly she 
 will look to the past, and reverence its illustrious names and 
 authorities. She will treasure the precious remains of its 
 wisdom and power, and give a distinct utterance to its truth. 
 But she will do more. The present will not be too narrow 
 for her vision. She will perceive that the past can only be 
 useful as it becomes a teacher of the present ; a quickener 
 and revealer of power ; a som'ce of thought, an instrument 
 of progressive elevation ; fashioning the instincts and im- 
 pul^es of man into the harmony of society, and enabling 
 them to reach a higher ground and gaze upon a grander 
 prospect; and perceiving this, she will offer to the present 
 the fulness of her strength and the purest impulses of her 
 sympathy, as an interpreter and guide. She will observe 
 its wants, and endeavor to supply them. She will mark its 
 errors, and seek to overthrow them. She will realize its 
 dangers, and make no delay to avert them. But she will do 
 still more. Knowing that tliis familiar though wonderful 
 Bcene is but an advancing step in the progress of society 
 and being, she will look beyond it ; piercing, as far as
 
 31 
 
 may be lawful, tlic cloud and mist of the future, widening 
 lier vision to coming developments, and strengthening her 
 heart by the anticipation of glories yet to be revealed. And 
 thus she will stand — Janus-faced — looking to the past, the 
 present and the future, that she may make them all subser- 
 vient to the highest good of man and the highest glory of 
 God. 
 
 Such are the pledges which meet us here to-day. We see 
 them and rejoice. We see them in a life-long consecration 
 of her chief executive officer to the interests of Ti'inity Col- 
 lege. We see them in an admira'ble corps of professors ; in 
 the accession of eminent and large-hearted men to her seats 
 of theology, and in that new foundation which looks to the 
 economical management of the State and the Nation ; aye, 
 and seeing them, we take heart, confident that whatever may 
 be the convulsions of the world, or the disquietudes of the 
 Church, she will maintain a true and stable position, not 
 sitting at a distance from either, or honoring either with a 
 dissembling reverence, but endeavoring to serve both, by 
 preparing her children in their generations for a keen inter- 
 est, and successful interference in the afiiairs and conflicts of 
 life, and for an earnest, actuating, courageous attachment to 
 the "faith once delivered to the saints ;" so that living or 
 dying, they may be sustained by the answer of a good con- 
 science, and coiuited worthy of that perfection whicli lies 
 beyond the toil and disfigurement of earth, in the kingdom 
 OF THE Father.
 
 it I) e III c 3 for tljc Jpoct, 
 
 A POEM 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE 
 
 THE HOUSE or CONVOCATION 
 
 OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, 
 
 IN CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, JULY 28, 1852. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 KEY. CLEMENT M. BUTLER, D. D., 
 
 RECTOR OF TRINITY CHUIICH, WASHINGTON, AND CHAPLAIN OF THE SENATE 
 
 OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Published by the House of Convocation. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 S. HANMEB & CO. C.VLKNDAli PRESS. 
 
 1852.
 
 TO 
 
 THE REV. M. A. DkWOLFE HOWE, D. D., 
 THIS POEM 
 
 IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCKIBED, 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 POEM. 
 
 It is no dream ! Here once again I stand, 
 
 With a poor poem blusliing in my hand ; 
 
 Teachers terrific still are hoverino: near ; 
 
 Aaaendat Butler ! thunders in my ear. 
 
 Again, with trembling steps, I mount the stage, 
 
 Address the carpet with poetic rage, 
 
 Wonder, in horror, and look round to see. 
 
 If giggling girls are maldng fun of me. 
 
 In desperate doubt through tender words I storm — 
 
 Kesume my seat, and say — " '^Tu very wcmn.^^ 
 
 Ah, can it be so many yeai-s have fled, 
 Since that day's dance of terroi-s througli my head ! 
 Are they not here, that joyful Brother band, 
 Whose farewell grasp yet tingles on my hand I 
 But few are here ! and now our footsteps tread 
 On life's dry leaves then green above our head ; 
 On hopes, the timid blossoms of the hour. 
 That never spread their beauties into flower ; 
 On earlier joys, tliose gadding vines that clasp
 
 6 
 
 Things dead and living with an equal grasp. 
 
 T is well ! If 'neatli our feet these sere leaves lie, 
 
 They leave, above our heads, an open sky ! 
 
 Dear Ahna Mater ! At thy feet we kneel ; 
 Thy hand's soft stroke upon our heads we feel ; 
 Thy face, all beaming with maternal joys, 
 Smiles a glad welcome on thy elder boys ; 
 And as we gather round the homestead hearth, 
 Thou dost not frown on our becoming mirth. 
 As oddest pranks and drollest mischiefs pass. 
 Grotesquely grinning, over memory's glass : — 
 E'en then thy anger was amusement, half. 
 And thy grave censure oft a smothered laugh. 
 
 Since then, what changes manifold and fast, 
 O'er all the land, o'er all the world have passed ! 
 What vigorous powers, new hopes, and large desires, 
 Have glowed and sparkled, like the new-stirr'd fires ! 
 What busy life keeps all the world astir ! 
 What new-bom wonders daily round us whiiT ! 
 What earnest nonsense, out of hot hearts hurled, 
 With screaming zeal perambulates the world ! 
 What touching cures for all our human ills — 
 For Eden lost can be regained by pills ! 
 What coming marvels "in the good time" near, 
 When only poor men shall be scarce and dear. 
 When law and physic, no more fees to win. 
 Shall weep the loss of suffering and of sin ; 
 When no pert priest shall still survive to tell
 
 7 
 
 The halt-grown gods of Earth there is a hell. 
 Oh, "good time coming" — already come in song- 
 Don't tarry longer ! pray^ do come along ! 
 
 "But why," say some, "mount that old chariot, r/<y;/i6? 
 The lumbering State-Coach of the elder time." 
 This is the age, as every scliool-boy knows, 
 "When genius steanis along on thundering prose. 
 Get with this trumpery verse from otF the track ! 
 Strive not to call the banished muses back ! 
 They timid glances on the present cast, 
 Tlien glide within the cloisters of the past. 
 
 Nay, 't is not so ! From man the muses come ; 
 
 His beating heart their birth-place and their home. 
 
 "With man as man these genial spirits dwell 
 
 Alike in crowded mart and silent cell. 
 
 "Whatever warms and fills and thrills the heart ; 
 
 "Whatever bids the impassioned pulses start ; 
 
 "Whatever shakes glad fancies from their nest, 
 
 And sends them, singing, through the brighten'd breast 
 
 "Whatever future, crowned by hope's glad hands, 
 
 Down on the frowning present, smiling, stands ; 
 
 "Whatever past, by memory saint-like made, 
 
 Breathes benedictions from the sacred shade. 
 
 Is poetry. The muse shall sing and soar, 
 
 "While Earth shall last— then seek the brighter shore!
 
 8 
 
 AVliat are the tliemes that move our j^resent age, 
 And send the lit e je gleaming o'er the page ? 
 IS'ot all that once has moved the human soul, 
 Holds o'er it still a masterful control. 
 
 To sing of Jove and Juno, Pallas, Mars, 
 
 To tell the storj of their loves and wars ; 
 
 Or e'en of Cupid, with liis bow and string. 
 
 Were but a cold cloud to our breast to bring. 
 
 When wafted back with those who sang and saw 
 
 Those shapes of beauty, grandeur, grace and awe, 
 
 Then, beneath genius' mesmerizing spell, 
 
 We too, in cheated dream, with them may dwell ; 
 
 But when those shapes we summon on the stage. 
 
 In the broad day-light of our glaring age. 
 
 Not e'en the vivid picture- work of Keats, 
 
 Nor Shelley's wild and wondrous fancy-feats, 
 
 Can make those shadows pause, and live, and speak 
 
 To minds and hearts. They only flit and squeak. 
 
 In sweet Arcadian vales and flowery meads. 
 
 Where hajjless Corydon with Chloe i^leads, 
 
 AVhere murmuring streams, in pensive concord flow, 
 
 With his pipe's tedious and melodious woe, 
 
 Til ere, where our gentle sires retired to weep. 
 
 There — if Ave go at all — we go — to sleep ! 
 
 If in such forms our modern muse should come. 
 She 'd find with us nor welcome nor a home.
 
 9 
 
 IJut the grand epic that was wont to roll 
 
 Its coi)ious glories through the human soul, 
 
 Gathering around some mighty deed of arms 
 
 All that the spirit elevates and cliarms — 
 
 All passions, fancies, hatreds, loves, desires. 
 
 All that in life, art, nature, fills and fires — 
 
 Shall our ears listen to this mighty song. 
 
 Bearing whole nations on its waves along ? 
 
 Not yet, if ever, may that Epic come 
 
 Trailing the past — its glories and its gloom. 
 
 We stand begirt with fearful secret powers ; 
 
 Strange marvels hurry on our crowded hours ; 
 
 Half-finished wonders glitter at our feet. 
 
 Which the deft future hastens to complete ; 
 
 So full, so fast, absorbing and intense. 
 
 The gifts of life our passing years dispense. 
 
 That not for wonders to the past we turn. 
 
 Though time's and fancy's glories round her burn. 
 
 Wiien that great battle of the nations comes — 
 
 (Hark to the rolling of its muster drums !) 
 
 When leagued oppressions, on their final field, 
 
 To liberty's impassioned cohorts yield. 
 
 And victor virtues — 'freedom, peace, and love — 
 
 Lift loud Te Deums^ jubilant, above. 
 
 Then may the finished scroll be all unrolled. 
 
 And the full story of our times be told ; 
 
 Tlien Homer's lyre may be again re-strung — 
 
 We I'i'oe the Epic that shall then be sung. 
 
 But wide the range, and full of wondrous things, 
 In which the muse may now disport her wings.
 
 10 
 
 Our daily life, the joys and woes of home, 
 The violet virtues in the shade that bloom ; • 
 The infant, smiling on its mother's breast. 
 The girl's soft musing, and the boy's unrest, 
 The hopes and loves and soaring aims of youth ; 
 Man's brave life-war, and woman's patient truth ; 
 Oh sweet these gentle lyrics of the heart, 
 Which from the home affections, singing, start ; 
 Which greet us, waking, with a cheerful note. 
 And o'er day's discords, mildly breathing, float ; 
 With tender softness charm the day's calm close, 
 And soothe our fevered spirits to repose. 
 
 Oh never shall these simple singings cease 
 
 To tell our sorrow, and to swell our peace ; 
 
 Oh never weary shall man's heart become 
 
 Of flowers familiar round his cherished home ! 
 
 At eacli new Spring he hails them all the more, 
 
 Because their beauty gladdened him before. 
 
 Then let the Poet's home-aflections flow 
 
 Forth into heart-songs, musical and low. 
 
 And his sweet numbers shall the world rehearse : 
 
 All have his feelings, but they want his verse ! 
 
 And youthful love's delicious, radiant dreams — 
 Of these may the true Poet write by reams ! 
 Bright, greedy eyes will every word devour, 
 And only wish for Si—few acres more ! 
 Well, sing it out ! oh Poet ! clear and long. 
 For 't is Earth's sweetest, most enrapturing song ;
 
 11 
 
 And when your grai^liic strains portray it best, 
 How much remains that cannot be expressed ! 
 Thouj^h to the life your vivid verses show 
 Young hearts with love's dear raptures all a-glow ; 
 Though its sweet pains, and its rich joys' excess, 
 Through your warm words, in panting ardor, press ; 
 And though each shines, in fancy's colors dressed, 
 As "wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best," 
 Yet will these hearts regard your words as tame, 
 Mere Arctic moonshine to their fervent flame. 
 Resume the lyre ! To the world's end prolong, 
 Oh Poet heart ! that unexhausted song ! 
 
 Why here are hearts — start not ! — no names I tell — 
 
 In which whole unwrit Petrarch volumes dwell. 
 
 I shrewdly guess, within yon classic walls, 
 
 "Whence duty's war its well-drilled conscript calls. 
 
 Some agonizing student has essayed 
 
 To rhyme a farewell to an obdurate maid. 
 
 In vain — his collar down and hair uncombed — 
 
 Through mighty, melting adjectives he roamed. 
 
 How^ in poor words, may ever be expressed 
 
 The woful Iliads struo-frlincr in his breast ? 
 
 The half-writ sonnet fainted, died and sunk. 
 
 And now lies buried in the young man's trunk. 
 
 Ah, fair one ! smile on him ! Indeed you should ; 
 
 It had been written — if it only could ! 
 
 These things are so, or else 'tis plain to me, 
 
 Things are not there as once they used to be !
 
 12 
 
 Now Nature woos us to her green retreats, 
 Crcatlies in our souls her vivifying sweets ; 
 And poet-hearts, with rapture brimming o'er, 
 Praise her, and love her, and almost adore. 
 Sublime and lovely are the strains they sing ; 
 Long their soft echoes in our heart's caves ring. 
 
 Still may these pure and purifying songs 
 
 Float, lute-like, breathing, 'mid life's clashing throngs !. 
 
 Still to its pale and pining victims bear 
 
 A breath of freshness on the tainted air ! 
 
 Still swell our joys, when 'mid green scenes we roam, 
 
 And re-create them when we muse at home ! 
 
 Oh dear the office which kind nature plies — 
 
 For our soul's life within her, shadow'd, lies. 
 
 By natm*e's living symbols are expressed 
 
 The living feelings of the human breast. 
 
 Our sense of beauty there is met and filled ; 
 
 Our souls with kindred grandeurs roused and thrilled ; 
 
 Our joy's exulting voice is clearly heard 
 
 In the glad streamlet, and the singing bird ; 
 
 Our dear hopes, folded in the coming hour, 
 
 Are seen to open in the budding flower ; 
 
 Our fresh affections gurgle from the fount ; 
 
 Our lofty aims tow'r upward in the mount ; 
 
 Our deep gloom darkens in the spreading cloud ; 
 
 Our passions burst forth in the tempest loud ; 
 
 Our peace soft nestles in the twilight's calm ; 
 
 And, in cool dews, distils our lx>som's balm.
 
 13 
 
 Oh, is not Nature precious to our heart, 
 
 Because in our sad doom she bears a part ? 
 
 Not willingly to vanity she turned ; 
 
 The curse that blii'hted man within her burned. 
 
 We dragged her from her throne of glory down ; 
 
 We stripped her, weeping, of her robe and crown ; 
 
 And now, her laboring bosom sighs and groans, 
 
 Responsive ever, to man's ceaseless moans. 
 
 We feel a tender tie with this dimmed Earth, 
 
 Which dates its darkness from our fatal birth. 
 
 Our souls, in tumult with sin's ceaseless jar. 
 
 Earth's breast the seat of elemental war, 
 
 Send up to Heaven, in one long, fearful din, 
 
 The blended dissonance of awful sin. 
 
 Oh not in vain forever to the skies, 
 
 Shall these wild woes of man and nature rise ; 
 
 Not all unheard the anguished cry of man 
 
 To lift from oif the race God's crushing ban ; 
 
 Not aye in vain, her signals of distress 
 
 To the far worlds in the blue boundlessness. 
 
 Shall the wrecked Earth send booming o'er the deep. 
 
 In the loud thunders from her sides that leap. 
 
 God's heart is on them, and his word is passed. 
 
 That their dread woes shall not forever last ! 
 
 Fallen with man, with man shall Earth arise. 
 
 And spring in beauty through the shouting skies, 
 
 The symbol once, and likeness of his woe, 
 
 Now the clear mirror where his glories glow 1 
 
 Tlien ever dear to human hearts, the strain 
 Where Nature lives, and blooms, and speaks again.
 
 14 
 
 Let the rapt lover of her marvels range 
 Tlirough various nature, in her every change ; 
 Her cunning nooks and wond'rous caves explore, 
 And moor his light bark on her wildest shore. 
 Then let the pictures to his memory brought, 
 By fancy's airy touch again be wrought. 
 Let the rich feelings which they waken'd, rest 
 Like hived honey, in his happy breast ; 
 Tlien let him — ^mind, and heart, and fancy full 
 Of the bright visions of the beautiful — 
 Tlie songs of Nature with glad heart repeat, 
 Wliich he learned, sitting, at her gracious feet, 
 And our hearts' beatings all attuned shall be 
 To the sweet measm-es of his minstrelsy. 
 
 Let that strain perish^ though its numbers roll 
 
 Melodious thunders o'er the raptured soul. 
 
 If in its chorusses it fail to bring 
 
 GTxyry to God — great nature's greater King ! 
 
 Nor while it marks God's touch in all He gives, 
 
 And sees God's heart in every thing that lives, 
 
 Let it mistake fine luxuries of sense 
 
 For sacred breathings of Omnipotence ; 
 
 Nor dare to worship Natiu-e's life as God, 
 
 And find His spirit in the senseless sod ; 
 
 And call all worlds and souls, one sea 
 
 Of blended life — one only Deity. 
 
 How timid, lonely, orphaned, drear the soul, 
 
 If as one wave of that vast sea it roll !
 
 15 
 
 How wann, and glad, and trustful will it be, 
 
 As the lov'd child of Fatiiek — Deity ! 
 
 Then Nature speaks to him in every line, 
 
 Of spirit-glories deathless and divine. 
 
 Wliat ! if the vast system of created things, 
 
 Stretching beyond the mind's imaginings, 
 
 Its worlds on worlds, whose dew-dro^js seem to try 
 
 T' exhaust the treasures of infinity — 
 
 What if it be one symbol-scheme, designed 
 
 To speak the glories of the eternal mind ; 
 
 Where, in each creature, feebly, is expressed 
 
 An answering glory in Ilis wondrous breast ? 
 
 Oh then how loftily does Nature sing 
 
 Perpetual anthems to her Heavenly King ; 
 
 Then know we why Earth's blessed sceneries charm, 
 
 And why they seem with loving Godhead warm ; 
 
 Why, when in Nature's arms we sink to rest, 
 
 We feel as folded to a Father's breast ! 
 
 Too long we linger. Fain we here would stay ; 
 But life, guilt, sorrow, beckon us away. 
 
 How does the turbid, restless, fevered time, 
 Teem with the tragedies of woe and crime ! 
 The pure Muse enters where wild passions rave, 
 That she may learn to pity and to save ; — 
 As 'mid those scenes where maniac woe abides, 
 The gentle form of Dix serenely glides. 
 Awed, let her pierce into dark caves of sin, 
 And see foul vices fight and bleed within —
 
 16 
 
 Conflicting passions, struggling ill and good, 
 
 Old Evil's stern and brutal hardihood ; 
 
 Remorse, with red and horror-gleaming eye, 
 
 Kun from the avenging fiends of memory, 
 
 Then spring, in palpitating terror, back 
 
 From retribution's near and bloody rack ; 
 
 Then when her heart with pitying woe shall ache, 
 
 Let her high prophet-strains of warning wake ! 
 
 Oh, far too long have song and genius lent 
 
 To crime's career their music's ravishment ; 
 
 Our souls in fascinated horror held ; 
 
 Our rising blame by admiration quelled ; 
 
 From hearts which should their moral thunders pour, 
 
 Won pity's soft and expiating shower. 
 
 Leave not to bandit bards the tales of crime, 
 
 Tawdrily glorious, vulgarly sublime ; 
 
 To fallen genius, which can only see 
 
 The devilish beauty of iniquity ; 
 
 But haste, oh faithful bard and bold ! to show 
 
 In crime — pollution, agony and woe ; 
 
 Haste, youthful hearts, in vivid words to tell. 
 
 How sin's gay Eden slopes down smooth to hell ! 
 
 lla&tQ — for the age its stimulating airs 
 
 To the world's brain a maddening influence bears ; 
 
 Kindles wild hopes, awakens vast desires, 
 
 The judgment dazzles, and the fancy fires ; 
 
 Tempts to wild schemes where wisdom, duty, right. 
 
 In the red brilliance fade upon the sight ; — 
 
 Adventure nnisters all her motley train ; 
 
 The gold-fiend beckons from the western main ; — ■
 
 IT 
 
 Hasten, with startlinij: vividness, to show 
 
 How boundless passions pass from gnilt to woe ; 
 
 In winning contrast paint the peace of those 
 
 Whose hearts on conscience pillow their repose, 
 
 Whose well-trained passions duty's rein obey, 
 
 And move, with free step, over virtue's way ; 
 
 Whose home-delights and regulated joys. 
 
 Whose business, garden, books, wife, girls and boys, 
 
 All the mind's powers to healthy action tune, 
 
 And bless the heart's love with its choicest boon ; 
 
 Whose very sorrows far more pleasures win 
 
 Tlian all the feverish ecstacies of sin — 
 
 For to their woes already are there given 
 
 Foretasted blessings from approaching Heaven. 
 
 The muse of satire — how she shouts and laughs ! 
 For rich the game is for her shining shafts ! 
 
 How fatally her slender arrow flies, 
 
 Through fashion's big and little butterflies ! 
 
 She goes to I^ewport and impales a few — 
 
 The game is plenty, but 't is worthless too ! 
 
 Then at a Fourier's Paradise she stops, 
 
 And sees Professor Transcend — emptying slops ! 
 
 And Mrs. Sky-fly, whose "poem on the soul, 
 
 Considered as a deep world-holding hole," 
 
 Lies on the table to be finished, when 
 
 She shall have fed the piggy and the hen. 
 
 Loud laughs the muse, but lets no arrow fly, 
 
 Tlie folly has not life enough to die. 
 2
 
 18 
 
 Then to the spirit-rappers does she go 
 
 To ask old kings and bards — "How do you do" ? 
 
 To hear great Milton wretched rhyme indite, 
 
 And modest "Washington poor bombast wi-ite. 
 
 Oh, wondrous Media ! I do not believe 
 
 These summoned spirits rap, as you conceive ; 
 
 For as you make them such consummate fools. 
 
 If they could rap, I'm sure they' d rap your slculls ! 
 
 Then peeps the muse within the palace high 
 
 AYhere pills are ground, to purge humanity 
 
 Of all disease and sin. Ko need for her 
 
 The shafts of satire from their rest to stir : 
 
 Their puifs are satires, subtle and refined, 
 
 Grinning in glee at credulous mankind ! 
 
 Then in the halls of art she glides to see 
 
 If to her lofty call art faithful be. 
 
 There, amid scenes of j)uri ty and love. 
 
 Which fill the heart, the moral purpose move. 
 
 She sees base panderings to sin and sense; 
 
 Vice veiled in beauty's seeming innocence ; , 
 
 Lo ! parsons singing transcendental hymns, 
 
 To the Greek Slave's shrinking, sentimental limbs ; 
 
 Insisting loud that soul, heart, genius shows, 
 
 Just in i:»roj)ortion as we wear few clothes ; 
 
 That God made coverings for the fallen pair, 
 
 Only because of dampness in the air. 
 
 Angry the look which on the group she bends, 
 
 And to them all a mantua-maker sends.
 
 19 
 
 Then to tlie Cliurcli slic takes lier saddened way, 
 
 To see men's follies as they praise and pray. 
 
 She looks to find them in the sects and Eome, 
 
 But not within our sobpr, holy home. 
 
 Aweary now she turns from them away, 
 
 And enters Church, to hear, and praise, and pray. 
 
 Scarce has she passed within the outward porch. 
 
 Before she asks — "Is this a Eomish Church ?" 
 
 "Oh, no !" Doubtful, uneasy still she sits. 
 
 And thinks she surely must have lost her wits : 
 
 Enter Sir Kector — surplice covering o'er 
 
 A coat like Grimes's, all buttoned down before ; 
 
 A fossil priest just vitalized, and come 
 
 From out a mediaeval catacomb. 
 
 The solemn service, by his mummings, made 
 
 A very poor and pitiful parade ; 
 
 He gives a little homily to show 
 
 How little good incessant preachings do ; 
 
 Tells them the Church hy symlols best can teach ; 
 
 That Hawks and Clakk * cannot, like stained glass, preach ; 
 
 Bids them look round them, and, in awe, espy 
 
 "What splendid preachings now address the eye. 
 
 (But he forgets, in the meantime, to say 
 
 If arch and glass can^racA, why can't ihQj j>7'a}/T) 
 
 Oh, Reverend Fossil ! it is strictly true — 
 
 The glass and chancel preach as well as you ! 
 
 • The Rev. F. L. Hawks, D. D., LL. D., of New York 
 " " T. yi. Clark, D. D., of Hartford.
 
 20 
 
 New themes upon our modern poet wait ; 
 Fresh, stirring, noble, wondrous, wild and great ; 
 The wrongs of nations and the rights of men ; 
 The glorious triumphs of the tongue and pen ; 
 The spread of truth, the progress of the world ; 
 Freedom's bold banner on the age unfurled ; 
 The people's strivings, and the patriot's toils. 
 Art's noble triumphs, labor's mighty spoils ; 
 The marvels science crowds upon the time, 
 Rivalling ISTature in her works sublime ; 
 Man's inner being, like his outward state. 
 Stirring and hopeful, ardent and elate — ■ 
 These are the themes which may, to modern sono-. 
 Give tones of life and grandeur, clear and strong. 
 
 Too much, by far, do fli^jpant tongue and pen 
 
 Scatter dishonor on our public men ; 
 
 Too oft our youth must be compelled to ask 
 
 If patriot words are always sham and mask ; 
 
 Too oft our nation's council is portrayed 
 
 As if to peddling demagogues betrayed — 
 
 (So speak not you ; for Toucey fills his jjlace 
 
 "With mildly-blended dignity and grace.) 
 
 This should not be ! Good men should sternly frown 
 
 This vulgar, false, dishonoring scandal down ; 
 
 It comes from baseness, and it makes men base ; 
 
 It covers many with the few's disgrace. 
 
 Men true and noble as the world e'er saw. 
 
 Guard there your rights, and fashion there your law. 
 
 There have been given to recording time
 
 21 
 
 Events and men surpassingly sublime ; 
 
 There will the muses of the future hie 
 
 To sing the praise of patriot liberty. 
 
 Let it not be ! Remember God's commands 
 
 That they be lionored at the people's hands ; 
 
 And that tlie Church, obedient to her Lord, 
 
 Puts on your lip the supplicating word 
 
 That through their counsels, we may never cease 
 
 T' enjoy truth, justice, righteousness and peace. 
 
 One miglity patriot soul has passed away — 
 
 The land leans weeping o'er the tomb of Clay ! 
 
 One of the few rare, high, heroic hearts, 
 
 At whose mere name a world's pulse quicker starts. 
 
 A hero born — for all his being's plan 
 
 "Was cast upon the highest scale of man. 
 
 His impulse, passion, fancy, heart and mind, 
 
 Each singly great, were splendidly combined ; 
 
 His mind, in scanning things and questions, saw 
 
 Their ends and uses more than their hid law — 
 
 A giant, T.-orking amid mighty things, 
 
 Kot, sprite-like, searching to their secret springs. 
 
 He thought to act^ and asked if things were true, 
 
 Not to hnow only, but to know to do; 
 
 Hence, void of baseness, loving place and fame 
 
 Only as clear-eyed honor with them came. 
 
 He stands recorded on his country's page, 
 
 The foremost patriot Statesman uf his age ! 
 
 Oh, 't was a sight to see him in his hour 
 
 Of kindled interest and of conscious power,
 
 22 
 
 "When burnt, and burnished in his fervent zeal, 
 
 His spirit glittered — a Damascus steel ! 
 
 Out gleamed his quick and ever-moving eyes. 
 
 Keen to detect and skillful to disguise ; . 
 
 "With honest logic, brilliant wit, vast sense. 
 
 And sudden, vivid, rousing, daring eloquence ; 
 
 "With look, voice, gesture, plastic to the life 
 
 "With which his words and sentiments were rife, 
 
 lie looked as leading, in that triumph-hour, 
 
 A bannered army terrible with power ! 
 
 Now a Napoleon planning conquests large ; 
 
 And now a Mueat in his dashing charge ; 
 
 "Prince of the Senate" crowned ; with kingly grace, 
 
 Living and dying, he maintained the place. 
 
 But purer glories signalized the hour 
 
 Of dying greatness than of living power. 
 
 I've seen sweet children, gentle women, go — • 
 
 God's dear peace resting on their patient brow ; 
 
 But never saw I yet a being die 
 
 AVith a more simple, grand humility ; 
 
 Ne'er have I seen around a dvins; bed 
 
 So much majestic peace and beauty shed. 
 
 Gentle, patient, thoughtful, calm and kind, 
 
 "With manners softened — holily refined — 
 
 He for whose pains a nation's eyes were dim, 
 
 Seemed grieved that one should watch and wait on Jthn. 
 
 Loud in his ear the booming guns proclaimed 
 
 The nation's rival candidate? were named ; 
 
 The swelling praises to his mighty fame
 
 23 
 
 Witli deepening pathos to Lis cliamber came. 
 The sounds with scarce a meaning reach his ears ; 
 'T is sweeter music that his soul now hears ! 
 "While round its base the weeping millions lie, 
 lie mounts the Pisgah of his fame, to die ; 
 Across his glories, which grow dim and pale. 
 His spirit flies to childhood's happy vale ; 
 There folds its weary, broken wings in rest. 
 And murmurs softly in its early nest ; 
 There does his child-heart to his mother hie — 
 There does his child-heart to his Saviour fly ; 
 So sweet those feelings, luuuan and divine, 
 Ilis fame's forgot — his glories cease to shine — 
 How grand is death — how glorious is the lot. 
 In which a fame like this is all forgot ! 
 
 My pleasant task is ended ! Ho ! again, 
 
 Life and its duties summon us amain. 
 
 One day of greeting and of joy remains ; 
 
 One day to scour green memory's pleasant plains ; 
 
 Tlien, with loins girded, and a kind farewell. 
 
 Each to his work must turn. OJi^ do it well!
 
 IJttblic (!0])inion, VmtitH auij m^tM bn Conflitting |nflucntes 
 
 AN ORATION, 
 
 DELIVERED BEFOKE THE 
 
 CONNECTICUT BETA 
 
 OF THE 
 
 |pl)i Beta Kappa 0ocietg, 
 
 IN CHRIST CHURCH, HARTFORD, JULY 28th, 1852. 
 
 BY M. A. DeWOLFE HOWE, I). D. 
 
 Published by request of the Socielj. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 8. HANMER &, CO. — CALENDAR PRESS. 
 
 1S52.
 
 ORATION. 
 
 It is observable in nature, that its most beneficent 
 agents are the result of opposing forces. Indeed, 
 the supremacy and wisdom of the Creator is in noth- 
 ing more conspicuous than in the coupling of hostile 
 powers, and employing their very antagonism to 
 achieve purposes beautiful for harmony, and affluent 
 of good. Our planetary system, consisting of myr- 
 iad bodies, vast in their dimensions, and fearful in 
 the rapidity of their movements, is kept (as we all 
 know,) in its exact propriety of revolution by the 
 combination of forces, either of which, acting alone, 
 — free from the resistance of the other, — would in- 
 volve the universe in confusion and chaos. This 
 vital air, so nicely attempered to our use, is a com- 
 pound of elements extremely opposite in their nature, 
 — the one of which would extinguish life in a moment, 
 the other render it too intense to endure. Inter- 
 fused in due proportion, these adverse agents become 
 the breath of Heaven, wherewith it fans earth 
 into verdure, and its inhabitants into activity and 
 gladness. It would not be difficult to multiply illus- 
 trations of this wise and beneficent employment of 
 counteracting powers, in the physical world.
 
 Perliaps it were presumptuous to assert, but cer- 
 tainly there is ground to surmise, that, in the less 
 obvious economy of morals, the Almighty has made 
 sin— the azote of spiritual being — so to concert with 
 grace as to secure for man the highest state of bles- 
 sedness which he is capable of enjoying. In the con- 
 stitution of man's nature, what a strange compound 
 there is, of the sensual and the refined, — the abject 
 and the grand, — the perishable and the immortal ; — 
 and yet, of these repugnant elements supreme wis- 
 dom has fashioned the lord of creation ; — and since 
 God has done it, we may safely conclude that man 
 could not have been so well fitted for his supremacy, 
 were he not, (as some have reproachfully called him) 
 " a bundle of contradictions." 
 
 These observations have occurred to me while 
 speculating on the processes of common opinion, and 
 the countervailing elements which conspire to shape 
 and impel it. Let me direct your thoughts for a brief 
 space to this plain and practical proposition, — that 
 the opposite extremes of opinion are necessary, each 
 in their measure, to give right direction and safe 
 impulse to the general mind, — the great mean of sen- 
 timent and action, which distmguishes the passing 
 age ! The analogy of things in other departments of 
 our world, would dispose us to look for some 
 antagonistic forces, when, contemplating public opin- 
 ion, that mighty agent in the advancement and hap- 
 piness of mankind, we are led to ask how is it fash- 
 ioned, and by what complication of powers is it kept 
 80 steadily and benignly efficient ? 
 
 There is no people on the earth, whose tenor of 
 opinion has so immediate an influence upon public
 
 condition and destiny, as the American people. — 
 Every prominent act here, is tlie utterance of the 
 common mind ; every advance in literature or the 
 arts, is significant of general progress. The breath 
 of a pervasive sentiment lifts or reduces the level 
 of social action, as quickly as the changeful air affects 
 the mercurial column ! — Inventions in the arts pass 
 directly into practical use, before being tested in the 
 alembic of the schools. — Theories of political econ- 
 omy, approved of the people, become experiments 
 of State, without vraiting the reluctant imprimatur 
 
 of a King And doctrines and usages of worship 
 
 obtain, and get plenary authority of public observ- 
 ance, despite the decretals of Pope or Council. 
 Scarcely can any subject then more nearly concern 
 the literary and professional men of this land, than 
 inquiry into the constituents of popular opinion, for 
 they have much to do with its formation- They 
 must learn to be tolerant of ingredients which they 
 do not furnish. Education fails of its true end and 
 aim, if it do not make scholars large-minded— libe- 
 ral enough to appreciate the necessity, and to know 
 the proper proportions of influence and sentiment, 
 unlike their own, which must mingle in the great 
 melange of society, and improve by combination 
 what they could not supplant without utter ruin. It 
 matters not how vast a man's attainments may be — 
 they have not enlarged and ennobled him, if they 
 have left him to assume that he is the true type of 
 manhood, and that the simplicity of even his mental 
 antipodc has nothing to bring to the common stock 
 of thought, which can make it richer than his own ! 
 In this age and country, the two most strongly
 
 6 
 
 marked tendencies, which by their opposition, serve 
 to keep the general mind in equipoise, are, on the 
 one hand, to the restoration of what is old, and, on 
 the other, to the bold experiment of what is new. 
 For the last three hundred years, liberty of thought 
 has been throughout Christendom distinctly asserted 
 and progressively enjoyed. But, on this new Conti- 
 nent alone, has it been completely unshackled — free 
 alike from established authority, and from the sanctity 
 of venerable forms — elsewhere hallowed by too long 
 a practice to be promptly, and unfalteringly trans- 
 gressed. It is no matter for surprise that a people 
 endowed with such singular license, and in possession 
 of a field for experiment wider than the ancients knew, 
 and open as when the world was young, should be 
 strongly pre-disposed to hold in light regard the set- 
 tled convictions of mankind ; to attempt the regene- 
 ration of the whole social system, by which old 
 things might pass away, and all things become new. 
 And indeed there has been some sanction for this 
 presumptuous boldness in the utter failure of the 
 institutions of past ages to develope fully the powers 
 and secure the happiness of man. Moreover, the 
 comparative success of the American enterprise thus 
 far, which was wisely projected by men who, free 
 to fashion their social institutions according to their 
 own pleasure, yet thought and acted under the whole- 
 some restraint of life-long associations with stern 
 conservatism, — the honorable success of this grand 
 attempt is attributed by many, solely to the new ele- 
 ments which have been here introduced, and in no 
 measure to the modifying influence of the old and 
 time-honored mementos of other ages and climes.
 
 Indeed, there are not wanting minds which fancy 
 that our immediate progress to social perfection is 
 hindered by nothing else but the lumbering relics of 
 antiquity, which, with fond veneration, we are attempt- 
 ing to carry with us in our onward march. Under 
 the stimulating influence of a liberal age, mind has 
 become wondrously inventive ; and the develop- 
 ments of the present century have been so startling 
 and so rapid,— so subversive of past experience, — 
 so alterative of the intercourse of the world, that 
 forecast is bafl^ed— the sequences of political wisdom 
 have become obsolete, and even prudent men are 
 slow to question any prophecy, however extravagant, 
 of impending change. Under such a fervid mental 
 atmosphere, it would be strange if some brains were 
 not overheated, some quick spirits inflamed to fanati- 
 cism. The age, the country, the institutions of the 
 land — the course of events, all favor the conceit, and 
 the hopeful pursuit of whatever vagary. It will be 
 well if we do not become a nation of adventurers, 
 rash to forego the certainties of treasure in posses- 
 sion, for the excitement of new enterprise and the 
 chance of possible gain ! In New England espe- 
 cially — the birth-place and home of the most thorough 
 mental enfranchisement, and therefore most intense 
 individuality— the most extravagant visions, and 
 schemes of social progress, have been originated. 
 Minds delirious through excess of the inventive fac- 
 ulty, have been developing year by year, for the last 
 half-century, novel theories of life in all its higher 
 departments of interest, until now, the advance guard 
 of this progressive phalanx are ready to assail every 
 thing which is old, simply because it is old. The
 
 8 
 
 History of all the past, these invaders account of no 
 value but to denote in every item what the future 
 shall avoid. The monuments of the ages are fit only 
 to be cast down, that passers by may witness in the 
 ruin what follies have been. However good this or 
 that institution may have proved for its period, yet, 
 the w^orld is maturing— the clock of time strikes an 
 higher hour, man must keep pace with the ages, and, 
 if he be not a dotard, ancient wisdom must in his 
 esteem have declined into folly! ** Excelsior" is 
 the watchword. Grave experience forewarns of 
 danger. Sober religion counsels to moderation. Do- 
 mestic love pleads its restraining claims— but into 
 the solitudes of rash experiment the strong adventu- 
 rer will climb ! 
 
 All ultraists do not attempt the same paths of pro- 
 gression J all do not go or even see, the full circle of 
 reform, but the subversive spirit, wherever directed, 
 the spirit of blind advance, in whatever quarter, 
 marks their kindred, and proclaims them ' legion.' 
 We are unaware to what extent this live devil pos- 
 sesses the community, — yea, that in some processes 
 of thought or feeling, it probably infests ourselves, 
 while we bemoan its prevalence over others. It is 
 the master spirit of the times ; and bids every mind 
 in its own sphere of action, aspire to create. Its 
 tokens, therefore, meet us at every turn in life. 
 
 New schemes of political organization are rife, 
 Government has become an anachronism. Repre- 
 sentative power even is not to be trusted. Clamor- 
 ous men are demanding that our democracy be puri- 
 fied. Judges must doflf their furs oftener than the 
 living ermine ! Power is a word inappropriate to the
 
 9 
 
 functions of office ; service to the people is tlie only 
 term which befits the conduct of a j)uhlic man ! Ru- 
 ler, Governor, and Judge are names of convenience 
 with this school, until others may be affixed, but the 
 ideas which they represent are obsolete ; the species 
 they describe, extinct and — forgotten, but for some 
 fossils of the old world. Now, whither does all this 
 look, but to the reduction of society to its lowest 
 terms ? — the dissolution of what is, without forecast 
 of what may be ? — a venture into the dark of futurity, 
 without even a blazing brand from the ruins of the 
 past? 
 
 Another detachment of this liberating army applies 
 itself to the specialite of social reform. All the 
 bonds of community are wrongly adjusted. It is 
 time for society to adjourn and re-organize. "Com- 
 monwealth," hitherto an illusion and a mockery, it is 
 now proposed to substantiate. Individual tenure of 
 property is pronounced an outrage upon the joint 
 rights of the many to the broad domain of the earth ; 
 partition into families an odious monopoly, a pretext 
 for aristocratic ranks and orders, for special, personal 
 attachments, prejudicial to common charity ; a prac- 
 tical denial of the great brotherhood of man. And 
 so, the poor lone vestige of the patriarchal state, 
 which has survived all changes through more than 
 five thousand years — the association of kindred in 
 one household : and, appropriation of wealth to him 
 whose toil and care have developed and preserved it, 
 sacred in every age, (since Abel the shepherd owned 
 a lamb to oiler in sacrifice, and Cain brought fruits 
 from the ground, of his own culture,) the genius ot 
 reform has now discovered to be transcendent wrongs
 
 10 
 
 of which the world in its gray maturity ought to be 
 ashamed. Pity is it, that time has labored so long in 
 birth of wisdom which might have blest its earlier 
 cycles ; or, since that has been, that schemes so nov- 
 el, cannot compass also the making of a new sphere 
 for trial, but must be given to experiment, if at all, in 
 a trite and every day world, thick-sown with rank 
 conventionahsms, and sturdy, deep-rooted social 
 forms ! Vagaries so extravagant and lunatic, are 
 propounded with the most unblushing impudence, and 
 commended to public favor by vigorous talent, and 
 engaging enthusiasm. And, if there were not coun- 
 tervailing influences at work to keep the general 
 mind in its staid temper of conservatism, society 
 might be hurried, like the herd of Gadara, down the 
 steep place that leads to its perdition. 
 
 The time would fail us to recount all the depart- 
 ments of social interest which are visited and endan- 
 gered by the furor of this progressive spirit. But, 
 in this place and presence, it would be justly es- 
 teemed a strange omission if no allusion were made 
 to the lust for novelties in religion, which kindles 
 some ardent bosoms, and employs some teeming 
 brains. The history of religion in this country, (I 
 speak not now of ecclesiastical forms, but of opinion, 
 sentiment and practice,) is the most curious and ver- 
 satile chapter in the annals of the world. It can 
 never be written on earth, for no mind of mortal can 
 comprehend all its phases. The pen of the record- 
 ing angel only is adequate to the task. Liberty of 
 conscience has been here given and exercised as 
 never before under the sun. Invention is actually 
 spent in devising new " isms " upon the pretended
 
 n 
 
 basis of revealed truth. Until now, revelation itself 
 is (leclared stale and unprofitable. Once, adventure 
 trembled to take the Bible in hand, and turning the 
 back upon venerable systems of faith to speculate 
 freely upon its awfully sacred contents. Now, men 
 of assumed devotion hold ancient scriptures and 
 oecumenical decrees, and established creeds in equal 
 disrespect, and accept, or long for new revelations ; 
 or, esteem man his own illuminator, capable to attain 
 by progressive development of his reason, visions of 
 truth more elevated and expansive than were ever 
 shown to Law-giver, Prophet, or Messiah. Indeed, 
 thej-e is a presumpkious infidchty, more progressive 
 and less refined than this, which numbers among its 
 advocates, men who make large professions of phi- 
 lanthropy ; however they repudiate the school of 
 morals at which it has been learned. This type of 
 aggression abjures all speculative religious truth, 
 spurns old systems and craves no new^ ones. Its 
 religion has to do only with the mutual, social rela- 
 tions of man. It does homage to no being on earth 
 or in Heaven. It is without a* creed, save in its own 
 sufficiency. It owns no Sabbath, for all its days are 
 hallowed by its rites of proscriptive, relentless benev- 
 olence. It is non-resistant to evervthinir but Law. 
 
 »/ CD 
 
 It loves all sorts and conditions of men, except 
 Christians. It sanctions the most abhorrent and 
 revolting associations, -averse to no fellowship, but 
 the communion of the Church. If the common mind 
 were surrendered to the influence of opinions like 
 these, philanthropy demented would soon lift the 
 blood-red standard, and open the new era, by con- 
 signing to death the living piety and benevolence of 
 this!
 
 12 
 
 These are some of the more obvious manifesta- 
 tions of the so-called progressive spirit of the age. 
 They are alarming ; and if they were unparalleled, 
 by some opposite tendencies, might be regarded as 
 the prelude of social ruin. 
 
 But, while the great mass of the community con- 
 templates these movements with indifference, and 
 even derision, some minds, disgusted at the licen- 
 tiousness of modern freedom, are looking back wist- 
 fully to the dull stagnation of the middle ages. They 
 could be content perhaps, with progress, if it were 
 not so impatient. Present advancement were not so 
 distasteful, if it were not abused as a stand-point for 
 further and indefinite aspirations. And so they who 
 long for quiet, who esteem permanency a greater 
 blessing than restless improvement, sigh for the re- 
 covery of old monarchies, — old feudal tenures of 
 property, and rank, — old social usages, employments, 
 and sports, — old hierarchies, churches, religious 
 orders, processions, pomps, and accidents of wor- 
 ship. And, since the matter-of-fact business world, 
 elated with the profit of its reform, is too practical 
 to speculate, and too hurried to wait the recital of 
 quaint reminiscences — it befals religion — the contem- 
 plative department of our social system, 'the theme 
 of sentiment and imagination, the agent which neither 
 makes, nor mars, any temporal interest,— to be dealt 
 with most freely by minds of re-actionary leanings. 
 We smile at the fidelity with which the past is repro- 
 duced, wherever such can carve their fancies in stone, 
 or depict them in grotesque interceptions of the sim- 
 ple light of Heaven. The nomenclature of early 
 times in the mouths of living men, flings a mist of 
 perplexity over the period of our being. We ques-
 
 13 
 
 tion whether we or they have lost our proper date. 
 They talk of worship, and sacred places and holy 
 vessels in such antiquated terms, and with such pro- 
 found solemnity, that we are fain to tremble, lest 
 Christianity itself has been compromised by the dis- 
 use of these holy circumstantials. 41as, that men 
 should spend devotion on symbols, fervent enough to 
 be rendered to God ; that the truth of the Church 
 should be deemed safe only in a petrifaction, duly 
 arched, and tiled, begirt with open timber, and em- 
 blazoned with gold and crimson; that architecture 
 should be named "sacred," and mediaeval become (in 
 any use) the synonym of Christian. 
 
 But there is a regard in which we may view these 
 antiquarian extravagances with something more than 
 patience. Public opinion is to be directed and 
 impelled by the joint action of opposing forces. 
 These notions are the appointed, and necessary an- 
 tidote to the rash chimeras of our progressive times ! 
 They would demand the most decided reprehension, 
 if there were any danger of their prevalence. But 
 the world is not to be rolled backward by a few 
 dreamers. The rampant spirit of activity cannot be 
 lulled into slumber by the monotonous reading of 
 legendary tales. Liberated mind will not bow its 
 neck and ask to have the iron collar restored. The 
 world has jirown too utilitarian to renounce its dis- 
 coveries in the arts, and return every clan to its val- 
 ley, every shepherd to his hill-side. Rustic gossip 
 cannot serve for transmission of intelligence to an 
 age which has seized the lightning for a vehicle of 
 thought. A palmer's staff and sandals do not promise 
 the speed of travel which they of this generation 
 require, who have reticulated the globe in a net-work
 
 14 
 
 of steel,— and compass its circuit, swift and facile as 
 the spider tracks the circumference of its web ! — The 
 horn book does not comprise knowledge enough for 
 this period of the world, when every hamlet has its 
 author, every village its printing press,— and all the 
 inhabitants are readers ! Return to the institutions 
 of primitive times is impossible. Slavish mimickry 
 of rude and ungainly antiquities is foolish affectation. 
 To perpetuate the good, and make it better, is true 
 wisdom. 
 
 But these retrogressive efforts will never do more 
 than retard the imprudent haste of the general mind 
 for coming development. They will counteract a 
 little, the revolutionary influences of hot, and forward 
 spirits. They will interest the public just enough to 
 induce the conservation of some precious relics — 
 while it proceeds, despite their resistance, to evolve 
 and enjoy the good wherewith futurity is teeming !— 
 They are, in their application to common sentiment, 
 the centripetal force. They give no impulse, — they 
 do but moderate advancement, and inflect it into an 
 orbit of safety. The spirit of reversion to the life- 
 lessness of olden times, is the nitrogen of our intel- 
 tectual atmosphere, — unmingled, it would extinguish 
 all vitahty of thought,— invention, enterprise, and 
 hope. But, combmcd with that exhilarating medium 
 of progression, that fiery element of reform, it sub- 
 dues and moderates it ; so that, together, they con- 
 stitute an air which free men can breathe, invigora- 
 ted alike for the enjoyments of what is attained, and 
 for the pursuit of what is yet in reserve. 
 
 If the thoughts which I have offered be just, it is 
 not worthy of observing, considerate men to attach 
 themselves either to the antiquarian, or to the vision-
 
 15 
 
 ary school of public counsellors, Eiich system is 
 false, — each scheme would prove disastrous in exe- 
 cution ! — x\or yet does it become us to wish that 
 either were extinct or even that holh were superceded. 
 In the present condition of the world, it may be that 
 some fanaticism is needful to infuse vitality ; to 
 picture truth in all its aspects, and with depth of col- 
 oring conspicuous, and impressive ! Moreover, who 
 knoweth whether under this constitution of things 
 evil be not a necessary means of good ; — yea, wheth- 
 er the evolution of good by the counter-action of 
 opposing evils be not the elected demonstration of 
 the Creator's wisdom, and of his complete suprem- 
 acy over all the powers of the adversary ? 
 
 It is the office of educated and thoughtful men to 
 watch these contending influences, — to note their 
 effects upon the public mind, — to resist either when 
 excessive, — to catch suggestions of practical wisdom 
 from both, compound them, and press them upon the 
 attention of mankind. Conservatism is the result 
 and token of true and ample 'mental culture, He 
 who lives to stimulate social progress when it is lag- 
 ging, and to restrain it when it is over-wrought, is 
 the true philanthropist, — though notoriety be no part 
 of his reward ! The planet shines with a mild and 
 constant light, — it never startles men by a sudden 
 gleam. It is scarce distinguishable among the hosts 
 of Heaven ; yet it is intrinsically great, — essential to 
 the ecjuipoise of the system, perhaps of the Universe ! 
 It is determinate in its orbit. When adventurers 
 upon the stormy sea are perplexed by the vacillations 
 of their own compass— they search for it in its sphere 
 and correct or assure themselves by its position. 
 That is the meteor, which glares upon the nightly sky,
 
 16 
 
 with sudden brightness — arresting and disappointing 
 the wanderer's regard ; without magnitude,— without 
 direction, — without significance ! 
 
 I have great faith in the future progress of man- 
 kind, and especially in the part which the men of 
 this new world are to perform in the last Act of the 
 great drama of Time, I repose with no faltering 
 reliance upon the true tendencies of common senti- 
 ment, under the forces which watchful Heaven allows 
 from one and another quarter, to impel and direct it. 
 It may vibrate a little beneath the shock of sudden 
 and violent influences, as a strong ship trembles at 
 the concussion of the sea, — but wind and wave — 
 pressure and resistance, bear both onward in their 
 destined course. Contemplating the intense activity 
 and wild enthusiasm of infatuated zealots, urging the 
 world backward or forward on the track of change, 
 we may confess ourselves appalled at the prospect ; — 
 but, if we will regard them as servants of a supreme 
 will, counteracted in mischief now, or presently, by 
 some equally threatening antagonist ; and constrained 
 to do some rational good, in the stead of intended 
 monstrous evil ; — if we will remember that public 
 opinion is the sentiment of millions, and not the pas- 
 sion of a few, — that it is too vast to be carried away 
 with every wind of doctrine ;— and that decades and 
 not days betray its changes — we can learn to be calm 
 amid whatever tumults, and cheerfully to meet occa- 
 sions of duty, assured that the right will prevail, man 
 accomplish his destined progress, and the Supreme 
 illustrate his own wisdom ! 
 
 lie is as false in his philosophy, as he is faithless in 
 his religion, who does not read in the History of the 
 past, the promise of advancement in the future. No
 
 17 
 
 fact in the annals of mankind, has shown the limit of 
 human capacity. The tide of social progress has in- 
 deed, time and again, moved hack, after hearing up the 
 destinies of the world, high and hopeful, on its huoyant 
 waves. But each successive decline has heen less ex- 
 treme, each influx has suhmerged a wider line on the 
 mangent of ignorance, and barbarism ! — What pretext 
 has the craven thought, that progression has reached 
 its acme ? — Are all the appliances of nature employed 
 and exhausted ? — Is society as elevated and as happy 
 as may be .'* — Does it look as if the Creator had 
 accomplished his purposes — used up the resources of 
 the earth, and developed by his creature — man, all 
 that may benefit a waiting universe, and redound to 
 the glory of its Maker .'* Oh no ! Human advance- 
 ment has quite as much fore-shadowed in the future, 
 as realized in the past. It is to proceed, we may 
 trust, as heretofore, with constantly accelerated 
 force ! The flood-tide on which we are bounding, 
 may be the destined one which is to cover, and lus- 
 trate the earth ! Brothers ! it is the contest of the 
 elements which causes, and directs its flow ! All 
 progression is modified, and in some sense caused by 
 resistance. 
 
 " From the fire and the water we drive out y' steam, 
 " With a rush and a roar, and the speed of a dream. 
 " And the car without horses, the car witiiout wings, 
 
 " Roars onward and flies — 
 
 " On its pale, iron edge. 
 "Neath the heat of a thought sitting still in our eyes." 
 
 Archimedes could not move the world, for the lack 
 of a fulcrum against which to ply his lever. And the 
 Aeronaut cannot justify his name and navigate the 
 air, for want of a sufficiently resisting medium. He can
 
 18 
 
 move, but he cannot progress !— Conflicts of mind 
 are the concerted impulse of society ; one class 
 may furnish the power ; but to make it happily effi- 
 cient, another must create the friction. Let us not 
 be disheartened by the diversities of influence, which 
 bear on common opinion. Be it ours to adjust, com- 
 bine, and apply them ; to reduce or shut off" what is 
 excessive or noxious, — to enforce what is deficient ; 
 to infuse what is wanting ! 
 
 It cannot be amiss for your speaker, addressing sons 
 of the Church, at one of her sacred seats of learn- 
 ing, to enjoin, in fine, remembrance, that the religion 
 which she teaches, is an element of manifold poten- 
 cy, by which all the other influences that aflJect 
 society may be resolved, and made salutary,— and 
 without which, conservatism can but dignify decay,— 
 and reform create new methods for sickening with 
 "hope deferred," the expectant hearts of men ! — In 
 the darkest hours, weary with watching for the 
 dawn and spent with fruitless toil, we may still have 
 hope in the Redeemer's presence. Jesus of Naza- 
 reth can walk upon the billows, — never too turbulent 
 to yield him a footing, He will embark with those 
 that trust in Him, command the winds and waves to 
 do them service, and waft the vessel which they guide 
 through the midnight, and the storm, triumphantly to 
 the Haven of peace I
 
 Sen Jlcars out of College. 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 Dtlinn^ii in flje /ree (Ejiiiirnjial Cljajid, 
 
 JULY 28, 1852, 
 
 BEFORE THE CLASS OF TKINITY COLLEGE OF '42. 
 
 BY TUE REV. W. H. CORNING, M. A. 
 
 ■ «^> ■ 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 TRESS OF CASE, TIFFANY AND COMPANY. 
 
 1852.
 
 Hautfoed, July 28th, 1852. 
 
 Rev. and Dear Classmate: 
 
 The undersigned were appointed a committee by the members of the 
 Class of '42, to "wait upon you and request for publication a copy of the very 
 able, eloquent and interesting address which you delivered to us this evening, 
 being anxious that those of us who were unavoidably absent, should share, in 
 some degree, the pleasure and benefit so largely received by those who list- 
 ened to you. 
 
 Hoping that you may accede to this earnest request, 
 
 We are truly yours, 
 
 CHARLES R. FISHER. 
 AUG. N. LE'ROY. 
 Rev. Wm. H. Corneng. 
 
 Hartford, July 29, 1852. 
 
 Classmates : 
 
 As the address, a copy of which you solicit for publication, may serve 
 as a memorial of fellowship and a bond of union to the class, in separation, I 
 yield it with reluctance to you for publication. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 W. II. CORNING. 
 Rev. Charles R. Fisher. 
 Aug. N. Le'Roy, Esq.
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Fellow Classmates, 
 
 When we look back to the days of our college life ; those 
 green days in more senses than one of our freshman, soph- 
 omore, junior and senior dignities ; when the sound of the 
 too faithful bell called us with terrible punctuality to our daily 
 duties, and the nature and struggles of active life were 
 not at all apprehended ; can it be possible that for ten long 
 years we have been separated, mingling each for ourselves, 
 in the stern realities of this earnest world ? Yet so it is. 
 And we are now met together, to return each other's greet- 
 ings, with all the ardor which pertains to the pccuhar and 
 delightful relation of classmate ; to review our college days 
 together ; to recount to each other our experiences of life, our 
 work, our joys, our failures, our successes; and to gain from 
 mutual counsel fresh animation and encouragement for a 
 nobler life, in the years before us. Varied and chequered 
 have been the lives which we have lived. It will be more 
 than a pleasure, to listen to each others autobiographies ; 
 there cannot but be mingled in them some golden grains of 
 wisdom. 
 
 " Hoc est 
 Vtvere bis, vita posse priore friiiP 
 
 All of our class are not with us. Some could not be pres- 
 ent, for they are far distant ; others could not leave their 
 duties. We will send them now our greetings upon the 
 spiritual telegraph of the heart. As they remember the day, 
 they too may touch the same keys. But alas I three of our 
 little circle are not upon earth. We can only shed the tear 
 of sympathy upon the graves of the simple hearted scholarly 
 Rossiter ; the rough-hewn but heroic missionary Peake ; the 
 many sided, substantial, singular Wales.
 
 6 
 
 In turning about for a subject of thought, suitable for this 
 occasion, I can find no other than the natui'c and value of 
 that period of life, through which we have just passed, our 
 ten years out of college. 
 
 Life is divided into several definite and widely different 
 periods, or stages. The developement of one stage, has so 
 little in common with that of another, that in passing from 
 one to the other there seems to be no preparation whatever, 
 for the new life. In each period or division of life, we are 
 obliged to begin at the alphabet of that division, and gradu- 
 ally acquiring its rudiments, at length to fit ourselves to its 
 peculiar form of existence. The transformation of the worm 
 into the butterfly is hardly greater, than that of the infant 
 into the child. And so the emergence of the boy into youth ; 
 whether he betakes himself to the mechanic's shop, the mer- 
 chant's store, or the student's college, is an entirely new, and 
 diverse state of being ; old experiences, and joys, and sor- 
 rows being left in the dry cocoons of childhood. Precisely 
 so is it with the gi-aduation of the student, or the young man 
 of twenty-one, when he enters upon the active world, as an 
 independent, or rather self dependent man. College life is a 
 very different thing from professional life; almost wholly 
 diverse. There is a new, a rough and a disciplinary educa- 
 tion to learn. Those things, which once were the end and 
 object of our hopes, have become dull and insipid. Society 
 exhibitions and junior exhibitions and commencements, are 
 no longer the great and wonderful eras of the world. We 
 laugh at ourselves, when we recall how we peeped over the 
 stage, from the little back room in the church, to see whether 
 the house was full, when we were to astonish the natives 
 with our ten minutes oration. Yet still there are hearts which 
 bound as enthusiastically in view of such things, as ours once 
 did, and who would esteem it a dangerous heresy, if any one 
 should deny the immense importance to the universe of brief 
 harangues upon the college platform. 
 
 It is strange with how little sympathy or fond remembrance 
 we bury our past lives. We may sometimes talk in poetic 
 strains, of our wishing to be children or students again, but 
 it is all talk. We do not wish to be. We really despise, as
 
 a mere nursury life, the former divisions of our being. We 
 like at times indeed, as upon such an occasion as this, to fish 
 up old scenes, and live over in reverie old times, but it is 
 always with the delightful understanding, that we are not 
 actually in the midst of them as formerly, and do not wish to 
 be. We even enjoy laughing at our past selves, our child- 
 hood and college life together, when it is well understood in 
 the company. We may perhaps, sometimes, wish that we 
 had opportunity to go through college again, but it is be- 
 cause we would go through as professional men, with a dif- 
 ferent bent and purpose, and as we say, to some end, not as 
 formerly. No! the soul has little attachment to the preced- 
 ing periods of its progress, but is ever casting its thoughts 
 forward, remembering the past as inferior and undesirable 
 states, and so it will doubtless be forever. " Quidquid enim 
 est, quavivis amplum sit, id certe parum est turn, cum est al- 
 iquid anipUits." 
 
 The great and distinsruishing characteristic of life out of 
 college, which meets us upon the very first step from our 
 college life, and extends its rough hand for our acceptance, is 
 its thoroughly practical and earnest nature. The hue of ev- 
 ery thing around and within us is changed. We are no 
 longer to busy ourselves with dead tongues and abstract sci- 
 ences, as mere matters of preparatory discipline, but we are 
 to make for ourselves, in some sphere of usefulness, an ex- 
 periment of life. If we choose the profession of teacher, and 
 thus pass our years in our college studies, it is still a very 
 different work from that of the recitation room, for it has in 
 it a practical aim. The atmosphere in which we move is 
 far diflerent in its constituent elements, exhilarating us with 
 a sense of a deep earnest problem to be solved, a work be- 
 fore us and a destiny. To sit down to lessons in Greek or 
 Latin becomes at once very stupid business, and the period of 
 college life, so absolutely essential to a thorough discipline, 
 seems at times utterly wasted. And thus it is, that in " the 
 Universal Yankee Nation," so full of stir and utility, nearly 
 all its graduated scholars, throw entirely away their classical 
 studies when they take their diplomas, and in a few years
 
 8 
 
 can hardly translate their diplomas themselves ; a very great 
 mistake indeed, for the polish and the power of a true life- 
 long scholar, mingling in the earnest pursuits of practical life, 
 exert an influence, far beyond the reach of scholarship alone, 
 which would be entirely unfit for the soil of America, an 
 exotic too delicate for this western clime, a folly and a sin 
 every where ; or of practical energetic talent alone, which 
 needs the conservative, guiding and chastening influence of 
 classical study. If a more life-like spirit, if the genius of 
 America could be introduced into our colleges, modeled now 
 so universally after the pattern of the dark ages, this deplor- 
 able separation of scholarship and useful exertion, might be 
 avoided. But now, the young student with a life before him 
 of success or defeat, entirely unused to the idea of such a 
 life, and finding himself with astonishment in the midst of it, 
 abandons with disgust, and often forever, the studies which 
 appear so very useless to him. 
 
 There are two departments into which life out of college, 
 during its first ten years, is divided, both of them equally 
 peculiar, the choice and study of a profession, and the enter- 
 ing upon it. Some there are whose early taste and predi- 
 lections entirely exclude every thing like study in the choice 
 of a profession. It has already been settled and foreordained, 
 so that when they graduate they have only to enter upon the 
 necessary preparation for their desired work. Others, how- 
 ever, are not by any means so fortunate. They know not 
 what study to pursue. The four learned professions, since 
 the progress of public sentiment has deservedly added a 
 fourth to the three which have always existed, the honorable 
 and useful profession of teacher, are all turned over in the 
 mind again and again, and as Frank Hazeldean attempted 
 to do in his affair with the Countess Peschiera, " reasoned 
 about," and often with as little success or ability to form 
 a conclusion, till at last, in the same manner as the heir of 
 the Hazeldeans broke away from his logic in a fit of desper- 
 ation, rushing into the presence of the amazed countess; so 
 the poor graduate with resolved energy, dashes at a venture 
 into some professional school.
 
 The study of a profession after it has once been chosen is 
 full of the exhilaration and living interest of a practical work. 
 It stands stron<^ly contrasted with college life; an entirely 
 new sphere of thought and action. Here it is that the young 
 student first begins to realize into what a new sphere he has 
 transmigrated. He has not indeed been launched into the 
 very midst of this living world, but only upon its borders. 
 He little dreams of the work and trials and exertions yet re- 
 maining. Rather, he doubts not that when he puts up his 
 sign, " attorney at law," his office will be crowded with clients, 
 eager to engage his marvelous abilities, or when he announ- 
 ces to his friends that he is about to preach his maiden ser- 
 mon, he shall be received with open hearts, and encouraging 
 words, instead of the half sneering compliment "pretty well 
 for a boy, smells of the seminary." This is all concealed 
 from him, and he works on eagerly and joyously in the hope 
 of ultimate success, for he knows, though he is somewhat 
 green in some matters, that success is the reward of labor. 
 
 At last he is sent forth to his work. And now all the dif- 
 ficulties and trials of a beginning crowd around him. Life 
 opens in its serious reality before him. Instead of thinking 
 of a crowd of clients, as when he argued so gloriously in his 
 moot court in the case of Simpkins vs. Wilkins, he begins 
 to wonder if the shadow of any will ever rest upon his book 
 shelves. His ideas of practice suddenly become homeo- 
 pathic, in the minutest sense of Hahneman himself. Even 
 Henry Clay, in the height of his greatness, forgot not the 
 trembling joy with which he received his first fee of fifteen 
 shillings. 
 
 If a physician, he purchases his lancets and ' pil. hyd.' or his 
 little bottles of nux, and belledonna, with the serious ques- 
 tion in his mind, whether the investment is a safe one. I 
 remember a distinguished physician in the height of a suc- 
 cessful practice, who once told me that he waited nearly a 
 year for a patient, and more than two for a scanty maintain- 
 ance. But he was determined to succeed, and stood faith- 
 fully at his post. 
 
 But of all the trying things in this trying world, I verily
 
 10 
 
 believe the yonng minister's first sermon must bear the palm. 
 His heart beats like a trip hammer in full play ; he looks down 
 upon his congregation of faces in perfect bewilderment; he 
 screws up his courage to the sticking point, and if he has 
 energy of will sufficient, finally gets through with a very flat 
 sermon without breaking utterly down ! 
 
 The minister's first sermon — the physician's first recipe — 
 the lawyer's first case — what a brotherhood of wonders! how 
 full of trembling anxiety — of earnest hope — of serious mirth. 
 Human language cannot do them justice. 
 
 Now then, in the progress of the scholar's life, he has 
 entered upon the period of probation. For years he must 
 struggle on to work out for himself a character and a posi- 
 tion. Sometimes indeed circumstances are so favorable, 
 that he emerges at once into success, but it is so seldom, as 
 hardly to need mention. The very greatest names on the 
 roll of fame, endured a terrible apprenticeship in their first 
 years of setting up in life. William Wirt, from disappoint- 
 ments, contracted a terrible habit, which had nearly buried 
 his high talents in a drunkard's grave, and was only rescued 
 from it by the devoted attachment of an heroic woman, who 
 became the companion of his days of greatness. The very 
 fact of being a young man is an obstacle to success. You 
 remember the answer of Jeremy Taylor to one of the bish- 
 ops of England, when he presented himself before him, upon 
 occasion of being nominated by a friend to a preferment. 
 Having passed an examination with great honor, he was in- 
 formed by the bishop that he saw no objection to him except 
 his age ; with a humble bow, Taylor replied, " I will do my 
 best to overcome that defect, if you will give me time." 
 
 Then too there is often a series of absolute failures, in the 
 first experiences of men, afterward successful in a high de- 
 gree. The first attempts of the young aspirant are more 
 likely, if he have any real ability and fire, to be crude and 
 half digested, than to come up in any manner to the measure 
 of his powers. Your men of shallow capacity, go off best 
 at the first fire. The greatest minds more generally, in 
 their first efibrts, "flash in the pan." The reason is evident;
 
 11 
 
 for the superficial mind does not originate, but simply recasts 
 the ideas of others, whereas the mind of true power, at once 
 throws itself n{)ou its own independence, and tiiinks out its 
 own thoughts. (Jf course the first effortvS of the one, will 
 partake of the maturity of the superior minds, from which 
 they borrow; while those of the other will be characterized 
 by the friction and creaking and abortive efforts, which always 
 accompany the first trial movements of a newly invented 
 machine. The apparatus of thought has not been properly 
 oiled, nor has it come into harmony with itself, so that it can 
 play gracefully and with unconscious power. Instances of 
 decided failure in the early elforts of distinguished men are 
 not few. Indeed failures would seem to be the rule, and suc- 
 cess the exception in all such cases. It would appear that 
 it was necessary thus to discipline the awakening faculties. 
 
 Demosthenes, when he appeared first in public, even after his 
 long discipline by the sea shore, could hardly be heard, stam- 
 mered under the greatest embarassment, and with difficulty 
 escaped breaking down entirely. The celebrated Irish orator 
 Curran, whose words seem to fiow without the least effort^ 
 sat down overpowered in his first attempt, after many useless 
 efforts at utterance, receiving for a long time the title of "ora- 
 tor mum." With great effort, Henry Clay acquired his pow- 
 er, making many a failure before the plows and harrows 
 and carts and cattle in his father's barn, before he appeared 
 in public, and even then we are told in his biography, of a 
 ludicrous attempt at public speaking in addressing a debating 
 club, when he could not for a long time rid himself of the 
 idea that he was addressing a jury, and wuth difficulty re- 
 covered from the embarassment of his position. So too the 
 early public efforts of Webster, did not by any means come 
 up to the promise of his talents, but served as failures to 
 nerve him to higher energy. 
 
 The great Sir Hum])hrey Davy, seemed in his early years 
 about to make a failure of life, giving no promise of schol- 
 arship, and satisfied with acquiring only the rudiments of a 
 classical education ; then making a trial of a new calling 
 under the direction of a surgeon and apothecary, he gained 
 no other honor than that of being called " idle and incorrig-
 
 12 
 
 able," until finally an early taste for chemical science received 
 encouragement, and through a series of failures and successes, 
 common in the experience of chemists, he finally obtained 
 an immortal name. The celebrated discoverer of the method 
 of neutralizing pain in surgical operations, the late Dr. Hor- 
 ace Wells, persevered in a series of ingenious experiments 
 for various ends, with many failures, till the final triumph 
 of his genius, which has so greatly blessed the world. The 
 greatest inventor now living in this country, to whose skill 
 and power we owe the Brussels carpet loom, which placed 
 America at the Great Exhibition, first in this department, and 
 the ingrain carpet loom, and the counterpane and coach lace, 
 and gingham looms, to mention no other of lesser note, 
 persevered in poverty and discouragements through a series of 
 failures and moves in false directions, till finally he emerged 
 into his present well merited eminence as the great benefac- 
 tor of mankind, in contributing to the industrial forces of 
 the world.* 
 
 Byron's first work, " The hours of Idleness," merited the 
 severe castigation it received from the pen of Brougham, and 
 the utter failure which it proved, united with the criticism 
 it provoked, roused the slumbering energies of his genius. 
 Covvper's first poems lay unread, till the reputation of the au- 
 thor of the Task, brought them into notice, and their dull 
 rhyme was submitted to, on account of the genius of the 
 poem written at lady Austen's request. So do we every day 
 wade through the very dryest of all dry productions, if they 
 come from a pen immortalized by a single work of power. 
 
 * We may be excused for alluding to a valued friend, whose genius has not 
 as yet come as it should to public notice, and whose private virtues are equal to 
 his genius; E. B. Bigelow M. A. of Clinton, Mass. An account of his early 
 life and inventions may bo found in Appleton's Encylojiedia of the Mechanic 
 Arts, recently published. The town of Clinton, containing some 3, .500 inhab- 
 itants, is the result of the industrial forces set in motion by his inventive power. 
 This town, laid out and fashioned by the taste and energy of his brother, H, 
 N. Bigelow Esq, is a model of what a manufacturing town should be, though 
 we are sorry to say the corporations grumbled not a little at tlio liberality dis- 
 played, and have contributed hardly any thing to institutions ibr the intellectual 
 and moral progress of the people.
 
 13 
 
 And we lay earnest claim to every thing, even to the very 
 scraps and rubbish which can in any way be connected with 
 a great name. Our English literature, would be much im- 
 proved, if half of the writings of our standard authors were 
 blotted out of existence. Thus we felt when we perused the 
 Poems of Tennyson, brilliant here and there with the glow 
 of genius, but filled up intermittently with the platitudes of 
 his early and slumbering eflorts. Keats died because he 
 could not bear the discipline of his first experience, and re- 
 coiled with an unwise sensibility from the truthful criticism, 
 that he was a genius yet in tiie green. Bcattie's first works 
 lay unread. The catalogue might be indefinitely extended 
 from the ranks of literary men. Turning from these to the 
 clergy, the beaten track of the ages to the composition of 
 good sermons has been through poor ones, or through those 
 which can hardly be called sermons at all. Thus one of our 
 first living preachers does not hesitate to say, that he can 
 turn out twenty as poor sermons as the world ever saw. 
 Occasionally a Spiyicer or a Summerfield may break upon 
 the world in a glow, but it is with appeals to the emotions 
 and feelings of the hour, not in discourses which carry within 
 them the power of the pulpit for all ages. 
 
 But besides the early failures, there is still a more serious 
 difficulty in the study of professional life — the matter of a 
 livelihood — and this is a difficulty often life-long, to the shame 
 of our churches, with the clergy. Good father Burton in his 
 famous Anatomy, has a ludicrous account of the trials of 
 ministers, which, albeit there is much reference to the pat- 
 ronage system of England in it, has so much truth, applica- 
 ble to all times (for there is much of a patronage system every 
 where) that I shall quote it entire. 
 
 "Last of all" says he "to come to our divines, the most 
 noble profession and worthy of double honor, but of all others 
 the most distressed and miserable. If you will not believe 
 me, hear a brief of it, as it was not many years since, publicly 
 preached at Paul's Cross, by a grave minister then and now 
 a reverend bisho}) of this land ; ' We that are bred up in learn- 
 ing, and dostinated by our parents to this end, we suffer oiu:
 
 14 
 
 childhood in the grammar school, which Austin calls, mag- 
 nam ti/rannidem et grave mahim, and compares it to the tor- 
 ments of martyrdom ; when we come to the university, if we 
 live of the college allowance, as Phalaris objected to the Leon- 
 tines, ' Tav TMv cv6cir -'Siv Xi/'ou Kai fojdov,' uccdy of all things but hun- 
 ger and fear, or if we be maintained but partly by our par- 
 ent's cost, do expend in unnecessary maintenance, books and 
 degrees, before we come to any perfection, five hundred 
 pounds or a thousand marks. If by this price of the expense 
 of time, our bodies and spirits, our substance and patrimonies, 
 we can not purchase those small rewards, which are ours by 
 law, and the right of inheritance, a poor parsonage, or a 
 vicarage of .£50 per annum, but we must pay to the patron 
 for the lease of a life, (a spent and outworn life) either in 
 annual pension, or above the rate of a copyhold, and that with 
 the hazard and loss of our souls, by simony and perjury, and 
 the forfeiture of all our spiritual preferments, in esse and 
 posse, both present and to come, what father after a while 
 will be so improvident, to bring up his son to his great charge 
 to this necessary beggary? What christian will be so irre- 
 ligious, to bring up his son in that course of life, which by all 
 probability and necessity, enforcing to sin, will entangle him 
 in simony and perjury, when as the poet said, ^ Invitatus ad 
 haec aiiquis de pontenegabitf a beggar's brat taken from the 
 bridge, where he sits a begging, if he knew the inconvenience, 
 had cause to refuse it. This being thus, have not we fished 
 fair all this while, that are initiate divines, to find no better 
 fruits of our labors? Is it for this we rise so early all the 
 year long, 'leaping as he saith out of our beds, when we 
 hear the bell ring, as if we had heard a thunder clap. If this 
 be all the respect reward and honor we shall have, Frange le- 
 ves c alamo s ; let's turn soldiers, sell our books and buy swords, 
 guns, and pikes, or stop bottles with them, turn our philoso- 
 phers' gowns, as Cleanthes once did, into millers' coats, leave 
 all and rather betake ourselves to any other course of life 
 than to continue longer in such misery." 
 
 In this graphic account of the trials of the clergy, from 
 inadequate salaries, there is a strange oversight of the rewards 
 and honors in reserve for the faithful servant of the Most
 
 15 
 
 High, and the continual joy of a consciousness of Divine 
 approbation. No true minister of Christ, would be tempted 
 to leave his work, for any worldly advantage. lie loves his 
 work as the highest committed to the trust of mortal man. 
 Yet for all this, there is no reason, no ri;,dit, no Christianity, 
 in the meagre stipends paid to the minister at the altar, by 
 which, they are often so loaded with worldly cares, as to be 
 unfitted for the spiritual duties of their ministry. 
 
 Such are some of the trials, through which the professional 
 man has to pass, in his way to the place of inlluenco, which 
 he is to fill. By some they are earlier passed than by others. 
 When passed, life assumes a new phase. Responsibility and 
 a consciousness of power, develop new characteristics and 
 energies. The work of life is now fairly reached. The dis- 
 cipline of preparation is over. When a class of scholars 
 meet together on the tenth anniversary of their graduation 
 they have reached this point. If their preparatory education 
 is not then finished, so that they are ready now to work, from 
 their new and advanced position, it is to be feared that it 
 never will be. The great worth and value of these ten years 
 consist in the education they give, not in any real achiev- 
 ments in life. Something indeed has all along been done, 
 but nothing in comparison to what is to be done. Power 
 has been developing, and now it devolves upon the scholar 
 to wield it. Henceforth his work is greater and nobler. 
 
 His habits of mind are now formed and fixed. Whatever 
 they are, it is generally too late to disturb them, after ten 
 years have given them root. And even if some of them are 
 bad, it is too much to expect that he shall spend his whole 
 life in attention to method, when there is so much to be done, 
 just as if a soldier should spend his days in changing the 
 color and fashion of his regimentals. No I there is something 
 to be achieved, and he is to achieve it. He has spent time 
 enough in the preparation. Now let him, with earnest heart, 
 to the work. A thorough, business-like life in duty, will do 
 more to rid him of defects, than any thing else, just as a 
 thrifty living tree, simply by living, casts oli" its decaying 
 members. 
 
 But besides the formation of his habits of mind, he has
 
 16 
 
 learned the essential requisite of self reliance. He feels the 
 noble dignity of truth and that in the presentation of it he 
 needs no apology. Regard for the opinion of others, which 
 was once so powerful, has given place in the progress of 
 his experience, to a regard for trath, and the candor and reli- 
 ability of his own mental processes in searching for truth. 
 Then too, an experience of ten years has not failed to give 
 him the consciousness of an internal right of self reliance. 
 He has therefore come into the possession of an essential 
 element of power, for self distrust is the spirit of weakness. 
 Self reliance, if it has anything like a respectable foundation, 
 and if it be not inordinate, is absolutely essential to a com- 
 manding influence. 
 
 Moreover, the scholar has learned in his ten years disci- 
 pline his true work and end. Personal advancement must 
 sink very low in the estimate of a ti'ue christian scholar, after 
 ten years of living activity in the world around him. All the 
 little objects and emulations of college life must slide far 
 away into the back gi'ound of thought. A nobler end and 
 a higher purpose now appears to view, as the only rational 
 and satisfying end, the advancement of the welfare and hap- 
 piness of the world. This is a worthy and a glorious object 
 of pursuit. In the words of the great philosopher and orator 
 of Rome ; "quae est, ig-itm', melior in hominum g-enere natura, 
 qnam eorum qui, se natos ad homines juvandos, tutandos, con- 
 servandos, arbitrantur ? Quid propagatio nominis, quid ipsa 
 sepulcrorum monumenta, quid elogia significant ?" 
 
 Fellow Classmates, we stand in an advanced position in 
 life. Deeper responsibilities rest upon us. Behind us are our 
 days of preparation. Before us are our days of achievment. 
 We all know the influence, which, in all the professions, and 
 even in the walks of unprofessional life, is the dignity and 
 the glory of the true christian scholar. Let us to the utmost 
 employ the power committed to us for the good of man. 
 Let not the ministers at the altar be satisfied with fulfilling 
 their Sabbath tasks, with dealing out from commentaries and 
 theologies their weekly allowance to their people, but with 
 earnestness and love let them study the Holy Word for them- 
 selves, that by the blessing of God, they may cast a clearer
 
 17 
 
 light upon its saornrl pages and extend their influence beyond 
 the bounds of their own field of labor. Let tliein not grudge 
 their visits to the poor and the suftering, but superabounding 
 in such labors of mercy, let them imitate the Lord Jesus their 
 Master. 
 
 Let not the physicians engage in their duties as the mere 
 drudgery of gain, or as tlie eternal routine of an unprogres- 
 sive profession, but with a noble end to relieve human suffer- 
 ing, let them dignify their vocations with the spirit of philan- 
 thropy; and with the constant study of all new means of 
 arresting disease, let them ennoble their calling with the truth- 
 fulness of progress. And as scholars in the midst of the 
 community, wielding from the very nature of their posi- 
 tion power; let them assist to the utmost every good and holy 
 
 cause. 
 
 Let the lawyers not be of that class, which merits the woe, 
 
 becoming the mean instruments of the quarrelsome and the 
 litigious, but with a manly purpose, let them seek the right 
 and the true in the deliberations of justice, and the continued 
 advancement and purification of the laws; while in their 
 position of influence they are ever found the advocates and 
 earnest supporters of every thing which tends to the advance- 
 ment of human welfare. 
 
 Let not the members of the teacher's profession, sit down 
 satisfied with the recitations of the day, but seeking ever 
 new avenues of instruction and studying earnestly the best 
 means of education, let them be found struggling actively 
 and successfully, shoulder to shoulder, with those who are 
 now endeavoring to raise to a higher point, and even to the 
 highest point, our system of schools. 
 
 Let not those scholars, who have entered no profession, 
 having before them a life of literary pursuits, fold their hands 
 in useless idleness, as though they had no mission of good to 
 man. Well did the younger Pliny write to his friend Minu- 
 tius; ^^ Satin s est enim, ut Attilius noster eniditissimc simul 
 et facetissime dixit, otiosum- esse, quam nihil ag-ere." Let 
 '''■otiosum esse," be cultivated and '■'■ iiiliil ag-ere" rejected. 
 
 3
 
 • 18 
 
 Let your leinire not be idleness. For there is and must be 
 in a true scholar ever the element of power. 
 
 Classmates, there is work for all. We have reached a 
 point, from which our labors should tell more than ever be- 
 fore, upon the destinies of those arround us. Let us go forth 
 to our duties from this anniversary, resolved in the strength 
 of a higher power, to do service for God and humanity. 
 Little doth it matter what may become of us, or what be said 
 of us, if we do our work and receive the approbation of our 
 Judge.
 
 PROCEEDINGS. 
 
 Hartford, July 28, 1852. 
 
 The Class met pursuant to adjournment u])on their graduation in '4 2, on 
 the day preceding the annual tonwiu-ncement, in the Free Episcopal Chapel. 
 
 The Rev. Charles R. Fishf.u was appointed chairman. 
 
 After the reading of prayers, the preceding address was delivered before 
 the Class and a numl)er of invited friends. 
 
 On motion of the Rev. T]ioJi.\s Gallaudet, it was voted that the Rev. 
 Charles R. Fisher and A. N. Le'Roy, Esq. be a committee to request a 
 copy of the address for publication. 
 
 Voted, to adjourn to meet at the house of the Rev. Charles R. Fisher 
 on commencement day at 3 o'clock P. M. 
 
 July 29th. 
 
 The class met pursuant to adjournment. 
 
 Letters Avere read Irom several members of the class unable to be pres- 
 ent. Those present gave an account of their fortunes since they were grad- 
 uated. The memories of those departed were recalled with sadness. 
 
 The committee on the address reported that Mr. CoRNiXG consented to 
 yield it to the wishes of the Class, and, on motion, they were requested to 
 superintend the printing of the same. 
 
 On motion of the Rev. G. Jarvis Geer, it was voted, that the names of 
 the members of the Class, with their present residence, so far as ascertained, 
 be published with the address. 
 
 On motion of A. N. Le'Roy Esq., it was voted, that the Class will erect a 
 suitable monument to the memorj' of their late classmate Geo. H. Wales, 
 and that the Rev. Henry Olmstead and the Rev. Charles R. Fisher 
 be a committee to prepare a plan for, and procure the erection of the same. 
 
 On motion of E. W. Braixard, Esq., it was voted that another meeting 
 of the Class be held on the commencement of 1857. 
 
 On motion of the Rev. Henry Olmstead, voted, that the members of 
 the Class resident in Hartford in 1857 be appointed a committee to issue the 
 call and make arrangements for the proposed meeting. 
 
 Voted, that the Rev. Charles R. Fishku be appointed to receive any 
 communications which may be made to the Class in the interim, and that 
 members be requested to communicate to him all matters of interest con- 
 nected with (he Cla.ss. 
 
 On motion of H. C. Preston, 'M. D., voted, that the thanks of the Class 
 be given to their classmate the Rev. Ch.vkles R. Fishku, for his energetic 
 and successful efforts, in issuing the call and making arrangements for our 
 delightful gathering.
 
 2^rimiti| C-oll^egi, 
 
 CLASS OF JMDCCCXLII 
 
 Henry Nichols Beers, - - - 
 Edavix Whittlesey Brainard, 
 James Stewart Brander. 
 Rev. James W. Buadin, - 
 Rev. Wieliaji Hexry Corning, - 
 Frederick Cornwall. 
 "WiLLi.^M Adhiel Ely, - - - 
 Rev. Charles Richmond Fisher, 
 Rev. Israel Foote, - _ . 
 Edward Carroll Franklin, M. D. 
 Rev. Thomas Gallaudet, 
 Rev. George Jarvis Geer, 
 Rev. Eli.tah Guion, _ . . 
 George Rogers Hall, M. D., - 
 George Hall Hazlehurst. 
 Augustus Newbold Le'Roy, - 
 Thomas Otis Le'Roy, - - - 
 John Marshall, . _ - 
 Rev. James Mulchahey, 
 Rev. Abel Ogden, - - - 
 Rev. Hexry Olmstead, 
 *Rev. Charles Foote Peake. 
 Rev. Charles Edward Phelps, - 
 Henry Canfield Preston, M .D., 
 *George Rossiter. 
 Laxdaff Strong. 
 Rev. Baylies Philips Talbot, 
 WiNSLOW Decatur Tracy, 
 Coertlaxd Van Buren, 
 *Geokge Hexry Wales. 
 Rev. Abraham Joseph Warner, - 
 Charles AVesley Wooster, 
 
 ♦ Dead. 
 
 Newtown, Conn. 
 
 - Lynchburg, Va. 
 
 - Holland Patent, N, Y. 
 Hartford, Conn. 
 
 Brovmville, Jefferson Co. N. Y. 
 
 - Hartford, Conn. 
 Bainhridge, N. Y. 
 
 - New York City. 
 New York City. 
 
 - Ballston Spa, N. Y. 
 Carrolton, La. 
 
 - Shanghai, China. 
 
 - Hartford, Conn. 
 NeiD York City. 
 
 - Salem, Fauquier County, Va. 
 Middlebwy, Vt. 
 
 Canton, St. Lawrence Co. N. Y. 
 Branford, Conn. 
 
 Whitehall, N. Y. 
 
 - Providence, B. L. 
 
 Woonsocket, R. J. 
 Chicago, III. 
 Brooklyn, N. Y.- 
 Grand De Tour, 111. 
 Bristol^ R. L
 
 ®crm Sermon. 
 
 THE 
 
 STUDENT'S PREPARATION FOR LIFE: 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
 
 0tubcnt0 of ©rtnitg <!Iollcgc, i^artforD, 
 
 ON SUNDAY EVENING, SEPT. 26, 1852, 
 
 AND PUBLISHED AT THEIR REQUEST. 
 
 BY THE REV. THOMAS M. CLARK, D. D., 
 
 RECTOR OF CHKIST CHURCH, HARTFORD. 
 
 *¥-*- 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 I'riU.TrtllED BY F. A. BROWN, 
 
 1852.
 
 PRESS OF CASE, TIFFAKY AXD COJirANY.
 
 The Ekv. THOMAS M. CLARK, D. D. 
 Reverend and Dear Sir : 
 
 We the undersigned, jrraduate and under-graduatc members of 
 Trinity College, having Hstened with mueh pleasure, and we trust 
 profit, to your Tenn Sermon delivered in Christ Church last eve- 
 ning, and desiring that greater publicity should be given to it in 
 order that those who had not an opportunity of hearing, may en- 
 joy the perusal of the same; request a copy for pubhcation. 
 
 We are truhj yours. 
 
 JOHN BIJAIXARI). B. A., 
 
 CHARLES J. IIOADLV, H. A., 
 
 JOHN N. MARVIX, B. A., 
 
 GEORGE D. SARGEAXT, B. A., 
 
 WILLIAM H. MUXHOE, B. A., 
 
 WILLIAM K. DOUGLAS, B. A., 
 
 JOHN C. DUBOIS, 
 
 F. T. lU'SSELL, 
 
 HIRAM STOXE, 
 
 A. F. GOULD, M. A., 
 
 JOHX U. M-IXTOSH, 
 
 JAMES BUCHANAN, 
 
 E. WINSLOW WILLIAMS, 
 
 HENRY A. PERRY, 
 
 A. HAMILTON POLK, 
 
 D. B. KXICKKRIUJCKER, 
 
 ALFRED L. BREWER, 
 
 ROBERT AXDREWS, 
 
 ISAAC S. WHEATOX, 
 
 WALTER WEIR, 
 
 LOUIS FKEXCH, 
 
 JAMES P. BOWMAN, 
 
 J. M'CORMACK, 
 
 WILLIAM G. SPENSER, 
 
 WILLIAM F. STAUNTON, 
 
 JAMES K. BIRD, 
 
 J. M. DICK, 
 
 GILES A. EASTON, 
 
 RUFUS EMERY, 
 
 DAVID GREGG, 
 
 SAMLT^L HALL, 
 JAMES M. IIR'KS, 
 HORACE B. HITCHINGS, 
 JA:\IES D. HEWITT, 
 WILLLVM A. HITCHCOCK, 
 JOHN H. HODGES, 
 GEORGE D. JOHNSON, 
 JOHX H. JOXES, Jr., 
 DE WITT CLIXTON JONES, 
 C. S. LEFFIXGWELL, 
 JOHX M. PECK, 
 J. ATTICUS ROBERTSON, 
 CORNELIUS B. SMITH, 
 JAMES H. WILLIAMS, 
 JOHN R. WILLIAMS, 
 JOHX GARDNER WHITE, 
 WILLIAM S. YERGER, 
 FREDERICK CLAPP, 
 JAMES E. COLEY, 
 JOHX XEWBOLD COXE, 
 ROBERT M. CRANE, 
 GEO. ALBERT DE FOREST, 
 GEO. SMITH DEVEXDORF, 
 SAMUEL EDSOX, 
 EDWARD B. HUGHES, 
 GEO. C. JARVLS, 
 ARTHUR C. KXOBLOCK, 
 LUKE A. LOCKWOOD, 
 JOHX L. OVERFIELD, 
 ELISHA TRACY,
 
 GEORGE A. WOODWARD, 
 CIIARLKS F. GREEN, 
 HENRY PHELPS, 
 W. B. KRU.MBHAAR, 
 A. H. "\VILD:\IAN, Jr., 
 P. P. WIGGINS, 
 EDWARD 0. JIITCHELL, 
 EDWIN P. BOLLES, 
 ARTHUR W. ANDREWS, 
 J. F. BISBEE, 
 CHARLES E. BULKLEY, 
 W. C. CLEMENT, 
 
 D. K. CADY, Jr., 
 CHARLES H. DENNISON, 
 S. J. DEUEL, 
 RHOADS FISHER, 
 EDA\1N R. GARDINER, 
 ROBERT GARDINER, 
 
 D. E. HOLCOMB, 
 CORNELIUS W. LAURENCE, Jr., 
 HUGH M'GEGORY, 
 
 A. T. POST, 
 CHARLES A. SUMNER, 
 
 E. R. TOMLINSON. 
 
 I'. 
 
 I 
 
 ^•» 
 
 Messrs. John Brainard, B. A., 
 John C. Dubois, 
 John H. M'Intosh, 
 A. Hamilton Polk, 
 E. W. "Williams, and others. 
 Gentlemen : 
 Tlic sermon wliicli was preached before you last evening, was 
 written in great haste and with no thought of its publication ; iind 
 still I do not feel at liberty to decline your polite request. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 THOMAS M. CLARK. 
 Hartford, Sept. 27, 1852.
 
 SERMON. 
 
 I. St. Jonx, 2: 14. — I have written unto you, tounq men, because ye 
 
 ARE STKONO. 
 
 It was a saying of the great sacred poet of Eng- 
 land, " To be weak is the true misery." A vacilla- 
 ting mind, an infirm will, inability to resist tempta- 
 tion, is indeed " the true misery." It depends mainly 
 upon our early discipline, whether or not this shall 
 be the character of our life. The young man is 
 strong, not in his acquirements, but his capacities : 
 his powers are latent, and they may be indefinitely 
 expanded, or by neglect, they may shrivel and go 
 to decay. 
 
 Those of yon, who are now passing from child- 
 hood to maturity, will enter the arena of active life 
 at a most interesting and influential period of the 
 world's history. Faithfully to discharge your part 
 in the approaching era will tax the mightiest ener- 
 gies of your being, and demands of you now the 
 sternest and most thorough preparation. 
 
 The next fifty years will be one of the most 
 momentous epochs in the annals of our race. It is 
 possible that practical science may not continue to
 
 6 
 
 multiply inventions and improvements as rapidly as 
 it has done during- the last half-century ; for it 
 would seem as though mechanical art had already 
 accomplished, in a great measure, all that the exi- 
 gencies of our social state require. 
 
 But what has been done, by the generation 
 which is soon to pass away, has been only prepara- 
 tory to the practical solution of certain great politi- 
 cal, social, and ethical problems, upon which the 
 destiny of man, for weal or for woe, is intimately 
 suspended. There will be great contests of opin- 
 ion and thought — before you, whom I address to- 
 night, have closed your mortal career — which will 
 put your intellectual and your moral powers to the 
 severest test. This trial will not be for mere ab- 
 stractions, but for solemn realities, such as take 
 right hold of man's temporal and eternal destiny. 
 
 That young man, who now fits himself by care- 
 ful study and holy religious discipline, to act well 
 his part in this grand crisis, will find around him 
 the noblest opportunities for action, and will raise 
 for himself the proudest trophies ; while he, who 
 allows his youthful energies to become enervated 
 by indolence and unwholesome pleasure, will find 
 himself an incumbrance on the battle-field, and be 
 hustled off into obscurity. 
 
 The character of the world is to be impressed 
 for good or for evil, more decisively during your 
 lifetime, than it ever has been before, in one gener- 
 ation, since the Christian era. All the parts of 
 the globe are fast coming into intimate contact, and 
 the strongest influence will impart its hue to the
 
 whole. Tlicre will soon be no such thing as dis- 
 tance; no place on the face of the earth in whicii 
 a nation can insulate itself 'J'he westward tide of 
 empire, -which has flowed continuously from the 
 creation of man down to the present hour, has now 
 reacho<l its terminus, and the reflex current has 
 begun to run, China is sending lier emigrants 
 eastward; Japan Avill soon be unsealed; Aus- 
 tralasia is becoming another Britain; a line of 
 light is gradually kindling along the shores of Afri- 
 ca; Christianity and civilization are in the ascend- 
 ant, as they never were before. And in Christen- 
 dom herself, great movements have commenced, 
 bearing upon the interests of humanity, which will 
 require the noblest powers of the noblest minds, to 
 carry to a successful issue. Their aim is the practi- 
 cal application of the blessings of Christ's gospel 
 to all classes of society ; and to reproduce that 
 style of religion which Jesus taught, and which 
 Jesus lived. Surely, in such a prospect as this, 
 there is stimulus enough to incite you to diligent 
 improvement of the advantages with which you 
 are favored. 
 
 Those of you, who stand to-night on the thresh- 
 old of your collegiate life, have your future in your 
 own hands : if you so will, every day may bring 
 Avitli it its own peculiar blessing ; you may go on, 
 gaining new" strength, new knowledge, and new 
 grace, continually. But, in a few, short years, 
 whicli will liave gone like a flash, this future will 
 be past, and its errors and follies, it will be too late 
 to remedy. And, if you could read the secret ex-
 
 8 
 
 perience of those who, in their maturity, are forced 
 to look hack upon a college life unimproved and 
 "wasted ; if you could see the struggles which they 
 constantly endure, for want of that early culture, 
 which would have made all after-study a pleasure, 
 and deep thought natural and grateful ; if you could 
 see the agonies which they suffer, in striving to 
 throw off the dominion of evil habits, acquired and 
 fostered by youthful indulgence ; if you could read 
 the bitter memories which rob the past of all its 
 sweetness, and make retrospection a torment ; I 
 tell you, my young friends, there is not one of you 
 that would not resolve this night, praying on your 
 knees for God to help you, to overcome your native 
 indolence, to crush every evil habit in the germ, to 
 shun all vice without and all unholy fancies within, 
 as you would the pestilence, and consecrate every 
 power and faculty to the service of Christ, of hu- 
 manity, and of truth. 
 
 There are three sorts of strength, which you 
 need to cultivate by discipline, physical, intellect- 
 ual and spiritual. Allow me to offer a few sugges- 
 tions upon each of these points. 
 
 I. It is indispensable, in order to the best devel- 
 opment of your powers, that you should carefully 
 guard against every indulgence and every habit, 
 which tends to unnerve your physical system, and 
 incapacitate the body to be the ready servitor of 
 the mind. The machine should be kept in good, 
 working order. Pliysical inertia will induce men- 
 tal torpor. A tainted body will impart its taint to 
 llif soul. Firmufss of nerve must exist, in order
 
 to the firm action of the will, Our educated men 
 are sadly deficient in that healtliy robustness, which 
 is so important to their energy ot" thought and ac- 
 tion. And this is owing, in a great measure, to 
 their ignorance or neglect of physiological law. 
 The intimate and vital connection between the 
 physical, the mental, and the moral, is a point which 
 has been strangely neglected in our education. It 
 is only when this outraged law begins to avenge its 
 neglect and make us sulVer, that we learn to recog- 
 nize its existence. A morbid body must induce a 
 morbid mind. There are many developments of 
 unhealthy character, which have their seat in an 
 unhealthy body. Ill-temper, fretfulness, selfish las- 
 situde, suspiciousness, and numberless other quali- 
 ties which serve to make men disagreeable, origi- 
 nate there. Now, whatever affects the clearness 
 of our perceptions or the purity of our thoughts, is 
 surely worth regarding ; and let me solemnly as- 
 sure you, that you can have neither wholcsomeness 
 of mind or of heart, unless you do regard these 
 conditions. Sound principles are of little practical 
 avail, without good habits ; and most men are more 
 controlled by their habits than their principles. 
 How often do we hear men say, " I know that I 
 ought to do this or that, but I can not : my will is 
 too feeble to obey my conscience." This is a de- 
 plorable condition, when the law of the members 
 wars successfully against the law of the mind ; it is 
 the most horrible form of slavery ; and there is a 
 point in experience, when it seems to be a hopeless 
 slavery. Many a man is held in the bonds of a
 
 10 
 
 licentiousness which he loathes, and drinks of a 
 cup which he would be glad to dash to the earth 
 if he could — despising himself for doing what his 
 lower nature compels him to do. 
 
 My friends, if you would avoid this loathsome 
 self-servitude, begin now to exercise stern self- 
 restraint in every thing which your conscience for- 
 bids ; check the beginnings of evil ; stop the start- 
 ing ball before it rolls itself up into an avalanche ; ex- 
 tinguish the fire, before it envelops you in its flame. 
 Now is the day of your salvation. These college 
 years may be the crisis of your existence. They 
 will inevitably stamp an indelible impress upon 
 that existence. If you should do evil now, and 
 afterward through God's grace recover, you would 
 rise up weakened, soiled, and degraded in your own 
 eyes. It is a thousand-fold better not to sin, than 
 to sin and then repent. God may forgive us, but 
 we can not forgive ourselves. Heaven may be 
 opened to us, but there can be no heaven for us 
 here on earth. Life loses its bloom, when the hand 
 of corruption has brushed across it. And then, re- 
 member, you may not repent. In the evil path, 
 which you now choose, you may travel on to the 
 end ; down, down to those gloomy regions of moral 
 darkness, where no sunbeam ever shines. If you 
 have entered that path, stop where you are, take 
 not another step ; but cry unto God to rescue you. 
 One more step may seal your doom ! 
 
 II. In order that you may be prepared for the 
 serious responsibilities of your future life, it is also 
 indispensable that you should now improve, to the
 
 11 
 
 best possible advantage, all the facilities which you 
 have for intellectual culture and discipline. 
 
 If time allowed, I Avould be f^^lad to enlarge upon 
 the beneficial moral effect, which results from the 
 habit oi^ careful study and earnest thou<^ht. It is 
 the vacant soil that is taken i)ossession of by ven- 
 omous reptiles and noxious weeds. The surest 
 way to keep bad thoui^hts out of the mind is to 
 keep it full of good, ^\holesome, invigorating 
 thoughts ; such as tax its energies, absorb its inter- 
 est, and make it glo^v with ruddy life. A great 
 part of all our sin and suffering comes of a flaccid 
 will, from mental and moral inertness ; and it is the 
 effect of real study and thought to brace the will, 
 and to give that activity to the nobler powers, by 
 which we instinctively resist the insidious attacks 
 of temptation. 
 
 I might also enlarge, if it were not through fear 
 of wearying your patience, upon the fact that all 
 the pleasure of study depends upon the degree of 
 thoroughness with which you study. Our interest 
 in any subject is proportioned to the accuracy and 
 minuteness of our knowledge of that subject. It 
 is therefore of great importance that you master 
 most carefully the lluuhunental principles of every 
 branch of knowledge, which you attempt to study. 
 To fuid one's self, sailing about at random beyond 
 sight of land, having left the shore in a fog, is never 
 very agreeable or serviceable. If you would make 
 your college life pleasant and profitable ; if you 
 would have your studies animate, instead of de- 
 pressing you, you must start right. You must see
 
 12 
 
 to it, that the foundations are not out of joint. 
 That buikling will be rickety and insecure, whicli 
 is erected upon an insecure foundation ; and it is 
 not very easy to repair the foundation, after the 
 house is built. 
 
 But the point to which I desire to call your spe- 
 cial attention, is the necessity of acquiring a true 
 and profound mental disciphne, habits of real, act- 
 ual thought, in order to your being prepared for the 
 exigences which lie before you', as the future 
 guides of public opinion and conduct. Now it is 
 possible to crowd the mind with facts, without any 
 vital, mental culture. There must be an exercise 
 of the mind upon each fact, as it is received ; or 
 the intellect becomes a mere receptacle — a reser- 
 voir, and not a running stream. Education consists 
 very much in gorging the mind with knowledge, and 
 there is not always that care taken, which a sound 
 psychology would dictate, to see that this food is 
 properly digested, and taken up into the vital circula- 
 tion, to be converted into serviceable bone and sinew. 
 But the time is fast coming, when this plethoric 
 feeding will not suffice. There is a power of thought 
 developing itself outside of our colleges, and be- 
 yond the circle of what are called the educated 
 classes, wiiich you will be forced to meet and to 
 recognize ; your dictum, as a man of liberal educa- 
 tion will not suffice, unless you can show that your 
 opinion has a good basis. There is sometimes as 
 much real thought in the workshop, as in the study. 
 The liberal professions as they are termed, are 
 losing their relative ascendency, in the region of
 
 13 
 
 influence and opinion. There is as much intelli- 
 gence, and perhaps more of real, rohust thoujjht 
 outside of their charmed circle, as within it. The 
 press, for instance, is fast encroaching upon the 
 pulpit, so that it has been well said, we are now 
 " press-ridden, instead of priest-ridden." Men are 
 falling into the way of submitting their disputes to 
 arbitration, instead of encountering the glorious un- 
 certainty of the laAV. There are few, who do not 
 feel themselves competent to criticise the diagnosis 
 of their family physician, and who have not some 
 favorite system, which they consider superior to 
 the regular practice. Nou', in this emergency, 
 what are we to do ? Shall we look with contempt 
 upon all these popular tendencies, and go scornfully 
 on our way, regardless of all the great phenomena 
 of our times ? The result will be that we shall be 
 despised in turn, and allowed to go on our way, 
 quietly and alone. 
 
 No, my young friends : if you would be of real 
 service in your generation, and take that high rank 
 among your fellows, which your present advantages 
 should qualify you to take, you must understand 
 the nature of the times in which you are to live, 
 and prepare yourselves, by the most diligent study, 
 by liberal and comprehensive thought, and by earn- 
 estness, simplicity and purity of ])urpose, to en- 
 counter the tremendous responsibilities that will 
 devolve upon you. It is perhaps a greater privi- 
 lege to live in these days, than ever before ; but then 
 there has never been a period, in which true nobil- 
 ity of soul, elevation of purpose, self-sacrificing in-
 
 14 
 
 tegrity, have been subjected to a severer ordeal. If 
 you are content just to lloat with the popular cur- 
 rent, you may float peacefully down to quick obliv- 
 ion ; but, if you W' ish to live in the memory and 
 the hearts of those who will come after you, if you 
 wish that future generations should call you blessed, 
 you must be prepared to breast the current, you 
 must be ready to sacrifice the pleasure of the mo- 
 ment at the call of conscience and of God ; you 
 must seek first tlie kingdom of God and His right- 
 eousness, and leave all which concerns yourself in 
 His hands. 
 
 in. And this leads me to remark, in the last place, 
 that you can not be properly trained for the serious 
 duties which lie before you, as men of influence 
 and education, unless you are early strengthened 
 with might hij God's Spirit in the inner man. 
 
 I know precisely the feeling with w hich some of 
 you will listen, wlien I come upon the ground of 
 positive religion. Now, you will say, we shall have 
 something technical and professional ; something 
 appropriate to candidates for the ministry ; some- 
 thing, which it may be, will be of interest to us, 
 when old age or some dangerous illness comes, and 
 the things of the world have ceased to interest us. 
 What has been uttered thus far is all well enough ; 
 but now the discourse w ill take a turn, not very 
 appropriate or interesting to free-hearted and spir- 
 ited young men. Dissipation is a bad thing, and it 
 is all right to preach up good morals ; but if you 
 are about to call upon us to be religious, that is 
 another matter. You feel then that there is some-
 
 15 
 
 thing degrading in religion ; tliat it is rather incon- 
 gruous to your position as young men ; and, that it 
 involves a degree of constraint and uidiap[)iness, to 
 Avhicli you do not wish to be subjected any sooner 
 than it can be helped. What is religion ? It is 
 the solemn consecration of all the powers of our 
 being to the God who gave us tliat being. What 
 is religion ? It is the reduction of the soul to that 
 order and harmony, which is the restoration of the 
 image of God, in which man was originally made. 
 What is religion ? It is the subjection of the lower 
 to the higher functions of our nature ; of passion to 
 principle, desire to conscience, the beast to the an- 
 gel. What is religion ? It is to live for the grand 
 and eternal object for which God gave us an im- 
 mortal existence ; and to subordinate this world to 
 the next. What is religion ? It is to take the 
 Lord Jesus as the guide and pattern of our lives ; to 
 receive him in faith as our Saviour; to assume the 
 badge of Christian discipleship, and follow Christ 
 through evil and good report, unto the end. This 
 is religion : is there any thing degrading in it ? 
 any thing unmanly in it ? Is there any element of 
 wretchedness in it ? any thing, which makes 
 it exclusively appropriate to old age, and sickness, 
 and death ? The religion ^\ Inch I would exhort 
 you to attain, and attain now, is a glorious reality, 
 and is as appropriate to the pursuits and duties of this 
 world as of any other, and is more appropriate to 
 the season of youth than to any subsequent period, 
 because it is then more needed. You are not safe 
 for a day without it. You do not know how weak
 
 16 
 
 you are, till you are tried ; and you can not tell 
 what trial a day may bring forth. And O, my 
 friends, to lose the soul, to have your personal ex- 
 istence become a failure, to crawl through the 
 world leaving only the slime of corruption behind, 
 can you endure such a prospect as this ? 
 
 Some of you have just left the home around 
 which all the past associations of your life are gath- 
 ered, and you have come up to this seat of learning, 
 to fit yourselves for the stern battle of life. You 
 can have no adequate conception of the solemn in- 
 terest with which those, who once watched over 
 your infancy and childhood, now trace your peril- 
 ous progress to maturity. The father looks upon 
 his son, as though in him he was to live over another 
 life. It is possible that you may bring down that 
 father's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. The 
 true mother would gladly die to save her child 
 from death ; and still she would rather come here 
 to lay your youthful form under the sod, than see 
 vou go astray from the paths of truth and virtue. 
 It is hard to lose a son by the ordinance of God, it 
 is hard to bury him out of our sight, and see his 
 familiar face no more on earth ; but O ! a thousand- 
 fold harder must it be, to see him live and make 
 shipwreck of his soul. 
 
 My young friends, it is not a morbid or an un- 
 manly religion which I exhort you to cultivate in 
 this precious season of youth : I merely beg you to 
 follow the voice of conscience and of God. You 
 probably will soon establish the character, which 
 you will sustain through life, and carry over with
 
 17 
 
 you into eternity. What shall that character be ? 
 This <^reat question, each one of yon must settle 
 for himself. Will you settle it to-ni<^ht ? Will 
 you to-night turn your face heavenward; resolving 
 in the strength of the living God, to consecrate tlie 
 powers which God has given you, to his blessed 
 service ? If you really do this and then live ac- 
 cording to this resolve, what joyful memories will 
 hereafter cluster around this holy evening ! You 
 know, in your souls, that you ought to do this. 
 Why then will you not follow the dictate of your 
 conscience ? Are you ashamed to heed the voice 
 of God ? What ! so " brave toward God, and such 
 cowards toward men ?" 
 
 The only thing of which a man, old or young, 
 need ever be ashamed, is sin. The only true no- 
 bility is found in the service of truth and of God. 
 
 3
 
 ^I)c Stan^arb of 2lppcal on boublful points, u)I)crc tl)c Biblt 
 
 fails to proiince unitrj. 
 
 
 A SERMON, 
 
 DKMVKRKD DKKORK 
 
 THE STUDENTS AND MEMBERS 
 
 OF 
 
 ^rinitn College, 
 
 IN ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, HARTFORD, CONM., 
 
 At Evening Service, Nov. 14, 1852. 
 
 BY THE REV. THOMAS \V. COIT, D. D., 
 
 PROFEHSOR OF ECCLESIASTICAL IIISTORV. 
 
 Coiitni Kationem, nemo sobrina ; 
 contra Scriptiiras, nemo Christianus ; 
 contra Ecclcsiam, nemo pacificus Bonserit. 
 
 Augustine de Trinitale, L. iv. ck. 6. 
 
 H A UT FOKD: 
 
 8. HANMICR & CO. dALEND^Ui PRESS. 
 
 1 852.
 
 The consideration of the unhappy condition of the Christian world and the inf- 
 nite distractions of men's minds, not ivnowing, in so great variety of opinions, what 
 to think, or to whom to join themselves, (every faction boasting of the pure and sin- 
 cere profession of heavenly truth, challenging to itself alone the name of the Church, 
 and fastening upon all that dissent, or are otherwise minded, the hateful note of 
 •chism or heresy,) hath made me ever think, that there is no part of heavenly knowl- 
 edge more necessary, than that which concerneth the Church —Field's treatise on the 
 Church. Epistle Dedicatory. 
 
 In the mean time, every (not ungracious) son of this Spiritual Mother w'll learn 
 to kiss the footsteps of the Universal Church of Christ ; ns knowing the dear and in- 
 fallible respect betwixt him and this blessed spouse of his, as to whom he hath 
 engaged his everlasting presence and assistance ; Behold I am with you always to the 
 end of the world : and will resolve to spit in the face of those seducers, who go about 
 to alienate his affections from her, and to draw him into causeless suspicions of lier 
 chaste fidelity to her Lord and Saviour. — Bp. Hall's Works, X. 176.
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, NoveiLb r 17, ISW. 
 
 TO 'rillC KEV. T. Vf. COIT, D. I>., 
 
 Dear Sir, — We, the nii(lpr.sigiiPil,nieiiibors of the Tln^ological Depart- 
 ment of Trinity ColliJgc, gratefully appreciiiting your kindness indelivoring to iih your 
 impressive and convincing Sermon, on llie Mppeal to the Primitive Church, and desi- 
 ring that the principles set forth in it should he more widely disseminated, nolieit a 
 copy for the press. 
 
 We are, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours, most respectfully, 
 
 A. F. Gould, John Brninnrd, 
 
 Francis T. Russell, Hiram Stone, 
 
 A. B. Gooiirieh, John N Marvin, 
 
 K. H. Rush'ioll, Nicholas J Seelcy, 
 
 Wm. II. Douglass, Rufus Adams, 
 
 Johnston McCormac, S. Farmar Jarvis, 
 
 Wm. I'. Hostwick, Wm. II. Williams, 
 
 •lames W. Robins, E Seymour, 
 
 John C. Du Bois, Wra. H. Munroe. 
 J. I?. Lynn, 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, November 29, 1852. 
 
 TO MKriSRS. GOULD, RUSSKLL, GOODRICH, AND OTHERS, 
 
 Gkntlkmkn, — A pressure of duty constrained me to deliver a Sermon 
 before you, composed long since, atid never intended for the press. Its subject, how- 
 ever, seems to have awakened an interest in others than yourselves, and I therefiire 
 comply with your request. 
 
 I have added some notes, necessary to fortify it.s positions ; and which may render 
 it more serviceable to you as a tract for reference. 
 With the kindest rcjjard. 
 
 Your friend and servant, 
 
 T. W. COIT.
 
 SERMON. 
 
 John, ix. 22. — For tho Jews had agreed already, that if any man did cunfesa ihu i 
 he was Christ, hoHhuuid be put out of the Synagogue. 
 
 JI KiNUs, V. 11. — Hehoid, I tliought, he will surely come out to me. 
 
 Acts, xxvi. 'J. — 1 verily thought with myself, ihnt I ought to do muny things con- 
 trary to tho Nante of Jchus of Nazareth. 
 
 Acts, ix, 6. l^rd, what wilt thou have me to do ? 
 
 Tins putting together of passages from different parts oi' 
 the Bible, in order to form 07ie text, may seem singular and 
 unauthorized ; but ought hardly to do so, in view of the fai-t 
 that the author and subject of the Bible arc one also. 
 And still less should it seem improper, in the present case ; 
 since all four of the passages selected bear directly upon 
 my subject, which is to show, how differently we judge of 
 Divine requirements, when influenced by our own spirits, 
 and when influenced by the Spirit of God. And I cannot 
 but think such a subject eminently deserving our soberest 
 meditations at the present day. For never, brethren, as it 
 appears to me, has there been a time since man was made, 
 when he was more disposed to put his own "I thought" 
 Ijefore any testimony to the contrary, presented by earth or 
 heaven, or by both together. This is indeed an age, not of 
 reason, but of individual reasons ; in which every man's 
 own mind is his highest source of infornuition and guidance. 
 and when, in all matters of opinion, man's highest delight 
 has grown to be, the doing of that, and that only, which 
 is right in his own eyes. Talk to the world now of autlior- 
 ity in matters of religion, and you are suspected at once of 
 talking Popery ; of a disposition to steal from the unwary
 
 the blessed riglit of private judgment, and to entrap tliem 
 in the toils of a second Inquisition. 
 
 And is it, then, that tlicre is no snch thing as authority in 
 matters of religion ? That there are no laws of reverence and 
 submission, which we are obligated to respect and obey ? that 
 nothing is to be taken upon trust, but demonstration 
 must be had for every thing; and that, too, a demonstra- 
 tion which puits exactly our own "I thought?" If this be 
 the ground, which, in our protestation against Eomish and 
 inquisitorial tyranny, we arc called upon and expected to 
 take, it behoves us well to know it understandingly. Tliat 
 Kome, that many Protestants do suppose this to be the 
 ground, which all Protestants are bound to take, I am 
 constrained to fear is but too true; for some, for many, 
 appear to think, that Protestantism is, in all respects, the 
 dii-ect opposite of Popery ; and that the only way in which 
 we can be true Christians, is to believe and to do, in all 
 j»articulars, tlie absolute contrary of what is believed and 
 «lone by Papists. 
 
 Now if tliis be right, in reference to authority in matters 
 of religion, because the Church of Pome asserts and 
 maintains that there is such a thing as such authority, then 
 I have simjjly to observe, that the T3eists are, in this article 
 at least, tlu^ most correct of all opponents of Popery ; for 
 no writers of modern times avow so stiffly, as they do, the 
 unlimited rights of reason and of private judgment, or have 
 advocated those rights so vehemently. If to disbelieve all 
 authority in matters of religion, to argue against it strenu- 
 ously, and even to sneer at it as a dogma of Romanism — 
 if this be to become a true and deserving Protestant, then, 
 of all others, do the Deists most merit that high and hon- 
 ored name. 
 
 Do we slirink from such a conclusion, which I have 
 purposely followed out, to show you where they must end, 
 who account the opposite of Popery the only truth? then 
 what remains, but that we take our stand somewhere
 
 between the extreme of Ivomanisin, wliicli enslaves the 
 judgment, and hititndinurianisni, heresy and Deitini, whieh 
 set it free from every thiii<^ but the counsel of its own will ? 
 Ijuttiiis is precisely the stand taken by our own Church ; of 
 which you could not have a more thorough proof, than the 
 fact, that, from the days of the Jleforniation, Papists have 
 called us schismatics and heretics, while schismatics and 
 heretics have called us Papists. Of course, we are exactly 
 between the two — as far i-emoved from the one extreme, as 
 from the other. And, as a general rule, if you wisli to 
 know^ what the true doctrine of your church in any given in- 
 stance is, you cannot have a better than this : — Strike the mid- 
 dle ground between Papists, who have abandoned the Cath- 
 olic Faith on one side, and schismatics, and heretics who 
 have abandoned it on the other; and there you will find the 
 object of your search.* 
 
 But to come now to our more immediate topic, the 
 subject of authority in matters of religion, — "What is the 
 stand taken upon this subject by the Church of Eome, 
 and by those at the farthest remove from her ; and how is 
 the stand taken by our own Church, between the two, to 
 be illustrated by the passages of Scripture arranged to form 
 ». text ? 
 
 The Church of Eome teaches, that what the Pope, who 
 is its representative and head, shall now declare ex cathedra 
 to be a matter of faith, must be believed on peril of the 
 soul's salvation. There is no a})peal from such decree, no 
 refuoe from its obligation — none whatever. So that one of 
 the ablest of llomish writers, to put this subject in the 
 strongest light possible, <loes nc»t hesitate to say, that if the 
 supreme authority of the Church of Pome were to decree 
 virtues to be vices, and vices to be virtues, there is no 
 help for us ; we must submit implicitly.f 
 
 Those who, to avoid this numifest and inexorable despo^ 
 
 • See Note A. +See .Note B.
 
 s8 
 
 tism, fly to the opposite extreme, tell us that in interpreting 
 Scripture every man is a law unto himself; that what every 
 man believes to be Scripture, is Scripture to his mind ; and 
 that consequently all we can do is, to put the Bible in his 
 hands, and exhort him to read it for himself, responsible 
 to God alone for the sense which he attaches to it.* 
 
 Is there, then, no medium between unlimited spiritual 
 tyranny, and the unlimited rovings of private judgment? 
 Our Church, brethren, and her soundest Divines, have 
 always taught that there is. We find, in the Prayer Book, 
 '' ancient authors" as well as Holy Scripture appealed to, 
 for the settlement of doubtful and disputed points. In the 
 Articles, we are referred to " the custom of the Primitive 
 Church," as a means of throwing light on matters, which 
 Scripture, according to modern disputants, determines very 
 different ways. And in the Homilies, we are again and 
 asrain reminded, that the Primitive Church was "most 
 uncorrupt and pure"; that, in the times of that Church, 
 '' Christian religion was most pure, and indeed golden" ;t 
 and that, therefore, to follow the example of the Primitive 
 Church, is the surest possible way to bring owr religion to 
 the pattern of actually apostolic times. 
 
 And, unquestionably, on all points ot prominence and 
 general interest, this is the surest way of proceeding, and 
 would sooner bring mankind to a substantial unity of faith 
 and practice, than any other which human ingenuity ha? 
 devised. I doubt, indeed, whether the testimony of pure 
 Christian Antiquity covers as much ground, as some have 
 fondly imagined. That Antiquity will not tell us how 
 every disputed text of the Bible is to be translated.:}: But 
 it will tell us, very plainly and very explicitly, facts in 
 respect to cardinal doctrines and rites ; which is all that we 
 want to establish substantial unity. Diversities, in respect 
 
 •See Note C tSee particularly the Homily against Peril of Idolatry. 
 
 \ See Note D.
 
 9 
 
 to lesser subjectft, prevailed even in apostolic times ; and 
 will prevail, wliilc human nature is as impertect as it must 
 ever be in a fallen state. Take, however, any prominent 
 point, in doctrine, disci{)line, or worship — any such point 
 as can be settled by the testimony of widely accepted facts 
 — and pure Christian Antiquity is promj)! and decisive in 
 its answer. 
 
 Would you know, for example, whether the Primitive 
 Church believed in the doctrine of the Trinity ? Tlie Nicene 
 Creed, which was the testimony* of all Christendom, as 
 to what had ever been believed respecting the Godhead, is 
 an answer which heretics cannot quibble away, as they do 
 texts of Scrij)ture. The very ringleader of ancient Unita- 
 rians tried, in every possible manner, to evade that Creed's 
 expressions, and was forced to abandon the enterprise as 
 desperate.f — Would you know whether the Primitive Church 
 had such an officer, as we now call bishop ? Lists of such 
 officers, traced up to the Apostles' days, can be produced 
 with ease4 — ^Would you know whether Primitive Christians 
 worshipped with a form? Their actual liturgies can be laid 
 before you. You have a perennial specimen, in that most 
 comprehensive and appropriate collect, at the close of 
 morning and evening prayer, called " A prayer of St. 
 Chrysostom." — Woidd you know whether they had an 
 order of men called clergy ; and employed sacraments, as 
 outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace 'i 
 You cannot stir one step, in the history of the Pi'iuiitive 
 Church, without encountering such things. 
 
 Thus easily could great principles, now daily and sharply 
 disputed, by different Christian sects, each and all appeal- 
 ing, with the same confidence to the Bible, and appealing, 
 
 *The testimony, noUhe decree. Hence it« amazing value, aa an attestation of 
 the Catholic faith " through the ages all along." 
 
 t This was in A. D- 325. So in A. D. 383, the Macedonians who denied the 
 Divinity of the Holy (Ihost, gave way before " the common suffrage of the ait- 
 cientsy—Waterl'ind's W'ks. Hi. 659. 
 
 \ See Note E.
 
 10 
 
 as fact shows, entirely in vain, (since they differ still as 
 mnch as ever,) — thus easily, I say, covild great principles be 
 settled, which would produce substantial unity, among all 
 who profess and call themselves Christians. 
 
 But even the Papist, fond, as many suppose him, of 
 relying for the maintenance of his cause upon the old 
 Fathers, rejects their testimony, when it pleases him not. 
 They talk of bishops, but not of a pope ; and therefore in 
 his view, the present church is both truer and wiser. The 
 advocate of ministerial parity rejects them, because, silent 
 if they be respecting a pope, they speak too familiarly 
 and frequently of bishops, to be accounted any thing but 
 Episcopalians. The Socinian rejects them for their Nicene 
 Creed ; the Anabaptist for their infant baptisms ; the 
 Quaker for their outward sacraments and standing minis- 
 try ; and Protestants, of many names and classes, because 
 of their habitual employment of forms of prayer. 
 
 And, yet, all of them, from the Papist down to the 
 Socinian, appeal to this same Antiquity, to settle one of 
 the most fundamental of all possible positions, the Canon 
 of Christian Scripture itself The New Testament was not 
 all written, for more than sixty years after the Ascension 
 of Christ. There was a multitude of writings, scattered 
 over Christendom, claiming to be Epistles and Gospels; 
 foi- St. Paul warns the Thessalonians against forged Epis- 
 tles, written to inculcate the opinion that the end of the 
 world was nigh ;* and St. Luke, in the preface to his 
 Gospel, alludes to "many" who had taken in hand the 
 Kubject of our Saviour's life, and executed their task like 
 bunglers ; because they had not written " in order," nor 
 had "perfect understanding of all tilings from the very first." 
 
 But amid this mass of Epistles and Gospels, (many of 
 which were famous enough to be preserved and to come 
 down to our own times,) who should determine what was 
 truly inspired and apostolic, and therefore genuine Scrip- 
 
 ♦II Theas. ii. 1, 2.
 
 11 
 
 ture '? Who should settle the delicate and perplexing 
 question, Mhethcr tlie Epistle of Ijanuibas, an actual 
 apostle, should be thrown out of the Sacred Cane n while 
 productions of Mark and Luke, neither of them of apos- 
 tolic rank, should be inserted into it? Tlic Primitive 
 Church decided these fii^st and foremost of theolofrical 
 questions ; and has given us our ])resent New Testament.* 
 Now^, knowing this, our own Church has, not unwieely 
 or strangely as some think, but most judiciously deter- 
 mined, that the Primitive Church, which settled the 
 great fundamental question, '\Vhat is the Kcw Testa- 
 ment,' is equally competent to testify to the next great 
 fundamental question, ' AVhat was the New Testament, in 
 apostolic times, believed to teach'? Therefore, as in her 
 Homily, on the peril of idolatry, she commends the 
 Primitive Church as a standard, " which is specially to be fol- 
 lowed as most incorrupt and pure"; and is willing to take its 
 testimony at large, on all chief points of doctrine, discii)line, 
 and worship. And she is tlie only Christian communion 
 which treats Christian Antiquity consistently. For, while 
 ehe is ready to go to such Anticpiity for any thing, which 
 the Biljle (as sects and disputes show) cannot settle clearly, 
 all others, from the Romanist down to the Socinian, reject 
 the Fathers for one reason or for another ; and yet, without 
 those Fathers, they cannot determine which is the true 
 Scripture and which is false ! 
 
 Such, brethren, is our Church's view of the necessity of 
 oomething besides private judgment, or a stern aiuUhema, 
 to settle disputed questions in religion, and such is the 
 standard to which she cheerfully and confidently appeals. 
 And this mode of reference was any thing but new and 
 strange, in those trying times, when our ecclesiastical foie- 
 
 * In respect to this question, says the Presbyterian, Dr. Spring, " Our appeal is to 
 the earlioM eci-Icsiasticiil historians ; and we find a perfect agreement among ihem " 
 —Rule of Failh. 1844. p. 2S — They agree as perfectly about Kpi«copacy. Will 
 the learned doctor listen to them on that point ?
 
 12 
 
 fathers, attacked on all sides, had to defend themselves 
 against their thronging foes, " by the armor of righteous- 
 ness on the right hand and on the left." Then, it was well 
 known to the Laity, as well as to the Clergy ; as an extract 
 from even a poem will show. Says Dryden, in his Religio 
 Laici, or Layman's Faith, 
 
 III doubtful questions, 'tis the safest way 
 
 To learn what unsuspected ancients say ; 
 
 For 'tis not likely we should higher soar 
 
 In search of Heaven, than all the Church before ; 
 
 Nor can we be deceived, unless we see 
 
 The Scripture and the Fathers disagree. 
 
 Not, however, " as we be slanderously reported, and as 
 some affirm that we say" — not that our Church puts the 
 testimony of Christian Antiquity ahove Scripture, or on a 
 par with Scripture. That Romanism or Rationalism alike 
 may do ; but we say, ' God forbid it.' "With us, Christian 
 Antiquity is " a witness, not at all competing with Scrip- 
 ture, never to be balanced against it ; but competing with 
 our less able, and less pure, apprehension of Scripture."* 
 But unless we submit to the Pope, and take what he says 
 as infallible ; or erect every man's judgment into a pope, 
 and make it infallible for him / there must be some umpire 
 in disputed cases. Well, if so, what shall that imipire be'i? 
 It is useless to say that the Bible shall be such an umpire, 
 for tlie meaning of the Bible is the very matter in dispute f 
 and with the Bible only for an arbiter, sects would and 
 could come no nearer unity than they do now. If I may 
 again quote Dryden, (of whom it was said, that he rea- 
 soned better and more closely in poetry than in prose,) 
 
 We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain, 
 Thai Christ is God ; the bold Socinian 
 From the same Scripture urges he's but man. 
 Now what appeal can end th' important suit? 
 Both parts talk. loudly, but the rule is mute, 
 
 •Taylor's Primitive worship, p. 4.
 
 13 
 
 We must give up these oj)mwns about the Bible, and come 
 X.0 facts of liiHtory^ for its just interpretation. "We must 
 ask, How did those believe, and those act, who were near- 
 est the Apostles' days ; who received at their hands the 
 Church, the Ministry, and the Catholic Faith, and were 
 most likely to have and to exemplify the Bible's true con- 
 struction? The facts which rise up to answer such a 
 question, you have seen , (a specimen at least of them ;) 
 and you have further seen, how easily, and quickly they 
 can determine questions, now most vehemently disputed. 
 Be it that such an appeal would fail in some cases ; since 
 there ever were, and ever will bo, those who " though 
 vanquished can argue still." It would not fail in multi- 
 tudes ; and it would save us from many of those lawlesa 
 speculations of ignorance, self-conceit, and heresy, which 
 are every whit as arbitrary and magisterial as decrees from 
 the Roman Vatican. Be it that such an appeal is not per- 
 fection, or inspiration. AVhere I ask, with all assurance, 
 since the Bible will not harmonize us — where can conmion 
 sense or " science" Txot ^'' falsely so called," or enlightened 
 piety, point out to us a better \ It is but the principle of 
 settling doubtful constructions by the most authoritative,, 
 and least suspicious precedents. But that is a principle, of" 
 confessed and universal obligation, in all courts of Law 
 and Justice \^ and in such courts, if any where on earth, 
 is pure reason supposed to hold sovereign and undisputed 
 sway. 
 
 It is time, however, some of yon will doubtless think, 
 to draw a little nearer to my compound text, and show 
 how it illustrates the topic on which I have been insisting, 
 the necessity of some standard of appeal in disputed mattera 
 of religion, and the manner in which our own Church has 
 
 • Contemporanea arpo.«jtio est optimn tt/orlissinta inlegt^ u a very taaxiiunmong jur.. 
 isrs. — Broom's Legal Maxims. 2d e<l. p. 33"4.
 
 14 
 
 recognized such necessity, and provided for its exigencies. 
 
 Tliat text, in its various portions, bears chiefly upon the 
 mischiefs attending an avMtranj method of settling dispu- 
 ted or doubtful ])oints, (whether by the decrees of the 
 Church,"^ or the decrees of our own minds ;) and commends 
 to us, in the example of one who was beginning the life of 
 a disciple, the profound and ])ractical submissiveness of 
 humble and earnest piety. 
 
 The })assage depicting the conduct of the Jews, when 
 one of their number acknowlcds-ed Jesus for the Messiah, 
 shows how mischievous ecclesiastical decrees may become. 
 when founded upon nothing but present and dominant 
 impressions. In the decree of the Synagogue, wdiich was 
 a decree of excommunication, you have an exact counter- 
 })art of the policy and conduct of the Church of Rome. 
 That policy is to admit no standard of appeal, but the 
 Church of Rome's decrees, and to denounce as heretics, 
 all who dissent from such a violent and selfish determina- 
 tion ; or dare even to doubt its righteousness.f Sometimes 
 all which can thus be done is simply to denounce ; but 
 where the Inquisition can prevail, the process can be pur- 
 sued to shapes oi torture and death, which fiends might 
 gloat upon. 
 
 But the direful arm of the In<|uisition was w^ielded, long 
 before the name arose, and the thing was founded in form 
 in modern Spaiw. The decree, the excommunication, and 
 the anathema, of the Synagogue of Jerusalem, were as 
 truly inquisitorial, as any thing ever sanctioned by the bulla 
 <)f the Papal See, or the fiats of papal thrones. They are 
 the natural mischiefs attending the erection of a church, 
 into a tribunal, presuming to speak the voice of God, with 
 the majesty and with the force of law. Persecution will 
 .ever be the iesue. The blood of the oppressed, will sooner or 
 
 •1 mean decrees in the proper sense. Not creefls ; for I beg again to say, the point 
 lu-80 coDKtaritly miiianUerstood, thoolil creeds are not decrees they are teslimony. 
 
 {See Note F.
 
 16 
 
 later, cry unto Iliiii, who luis most solemnly and mo^t 
 80vereii>;nly declared, that vent^cance is iiis sole prerogative 
 — that He, and Jle only, may repay.* 
 
 We may think, however, that it is perfectly safe to take 
 from the Cliurch the power to decree, and to enforce de- 
 crees by temporal pimisiimcnts, and refer the whole suhject 
 to private judgment. IJut, as another part of my text 
 teaches, we do no better. Endow private judgment with 
 arbitrary power — let it nuike its own decisions the rule of 
 right — and private judgment is just as persecuting as the 
 Pope, with his crook and sword. Look at Saul of Tarsus, 
 determining by his private judgment, whether all Christian- 
 ity were not treason, or an (»ld wives' fable. " I verily 
 thought with myself, I ought to do many things contrary to 
 the name of Jesus of Nazareth." And what was the direct 
 consequence of this arbitrary thinking with himself? To 
 seek authority for persecuting ; which, once obtained, many 
 of the saints did he shut up in prison ; many did he punish 
 in every synagogue ; many did he compel to blaspheme ; 
 many did he drive before the goads of cruelty, to strange 
 and distant cities; while those who perished, w-ere, by his 
 voice, sentenced to the hori-ors of a malefactor's death. 
 
 So, then, private judgment can persecute, as well as 
 Popery, and with as unrelenting vehemence ; as instance* 
 in modern times, but hardly to be named with prudence, 
 might abundantly demonstrate. f And if private judgment 
 do not, from the nature of civil institutions, or the tenden- 
 cies of an age, (things which are clogs on Popery, too,) have 
 as much swinix as it could desire for a bloody hand, it will 
 none the less indulge a furious temper. Paul said, that he 
 persecuted some from home ; probably because he could 
 not persecute them unto death ; and against these, he says, 
 he was " exceeding nuid." And where, brethren, pain- 
 
 •Wemay rejerl a man for heresy ; hut we cnnnot 50 on, and heap retrihulion on 
 him, after u Jewish or Romish fashion. Titu-. iii. 10. 
 
 tSec Note G.
 
 .16 
 
 ful as the reference is, where will you find more of this 
 excuseless wrath, than among sects, whose fundamental 
 rule is, that each man's decision is infallible for his own 
 self, and that to talk of any standard of appeal in doubtful 
 matters, but the light within, is to talk like the servile 
 adherents of the popedom ? 
 
 From all which, it is clear, that let the Church decree, 
 or let the individual mind decree, the issue is substantially 
 the same ; and the best cure we know of for this serious and 
 ominous predicament, we believe to be, an appeal to a 
 mass of facts, which are alike removed from the present 
 Church, and from present minds — facts far away in the 
 past, where prejudice and misconstruction cannot so easily 
 reach and mould them. But alas ! when we lisp of defer- 
 ence to the old Councils, Creeds, and Fathers, we are 
 Btieered or scoffed at, as depreciating the Bible upon the 
 one hand, and offering fellowship to Rome upon the other. 
 
 Thus, we see, how to reject such a standard of appeal 
 for authority to settle doubtful cases, as our Church com- 
 mends to us, results in the indulgence of a persecuting 
 temper. And this illustrates one class of the mischiefs, 
 attending such rejection. There is another class, also, 
 upon which portions of our text bear ; to this would I now 
 direct you. 
 
 Suppose the restored blind man to have been intimidated 
 by the anathema and excommunication of the Synagogue, 
 and to have disavowed his faith in the Restorer of his body 
 and the Saviour of his soul. The unity of the Synagogue 
 would not have been broken. But what sort of unity 
 would have prevailed there ? a unity of appearance solely : 
 the same which existed in the person of Galileo, when he 
 was denounced as a heretic for affirming the revolution of 
 the earth around the sun.* Galileo, through fear of impris- 
 onment and death, admitted his constructive error; and then 
 
 » See Note H.
 
 17 
 
 observed in an unrlcrtonc to a bvHtander, that notwltlistand- 
 iiif)^ all he had said or done, the earth still pursued her 
 lejj^itirnate course in the solar system. Force cannot produce 
 j2;enuine unity, and it never will; and under the so much 
 boasted unity of the Church of Itonie, lie, who sees the 
 heart, may perceive far inore sad and numerous diversities, 
 than disfigure the whole Protestant world. Force maj 
 make cowards and hypocrites ; it can never make true 
 believers. And he who succumbs to all the <loirmas of 
 Rome, because of her threats or thunders, wt)uld lose 
 heaven twice over; though it were as true, as Home dicta- 
 torially assures us it is, that upon the belief of her dogmas 
 depends our everlasting salvation. 
 
 And now, on the other hand, suppose the blin<l man to 
 have indulged the querulous disposition of Naaman, who, 
 when told told to wash in Jordan for the cure of his leprosy, 
 drew himself up in the full grandeur of self-sufliciency, and 
 resolved to follow the dictates of his private judgment, 
 rather than the mandate of the prophet. " Behold,'' said 
 the haughty captain- general of Syria, " I thought he will 
 surely come out to me." But he did not ; and that self- 
 willed " I thought" had nearly left llis Mightiness a leper 
 still. If the blind man had listened to the promptings of 
 the same deceiver, he might have gone down to his gloomy 
 grave, and never been greeted by " holy light, offspring of 
 Heaven, first born." 
 
 And thie sort of private judgment it is, which inflictfi 
 upon us all the wildness and extravagance of the almost 
 countless sects, which presume to appropriate the name of 
 (christian. Lonij since did Lord Boliiiiijbroke sav, that 
 one "cause of the multi})lication of extravagant opinions 
 and sects in Christianity, has been the arbitrary practice, 
 of giving different senses to the same passages of the Bi- 
 ble."* And, yet, as an infidel, he cared not wjjicli way 
 his remark might cut ; and was as indifferent to it« 
 
 •Wku. iii. 464. Philad. 1841. 
 o
 
 18 
 
 bearing upon one sect as upon another. And ■ym do not see 
 tor ourselves, that he has not missed the mark, in his state- 
 ment, be the motive which brought it out whatsoever it 
 might ? Can we fail to perceive, that sects are inevitable, 
 «o long as the Bible is the sole standard of appeal, and the 
 same passage is interpreted twenty different ways ; while 
 private judgment is tlie only guide, and its decisions are 
 infallible for every mind ? Is not one man's " I thought," 
 as good as any other man's ? and if so, is not one man's 
 •* I thought" about the Bible, as good as that of any of 
 his fellows ; and again if so, is not the wildest sectarian 
 under Heaven in the right? 
 
 But what, then, the captious will exclaim, must we sell 
 the birthright of our soul's freedom, and go and bow down 
 to the image of unity, which ecclesiastical pride and usur- 
 pation has set up in the Vatican at Rome? We ask no such 
 unqualified surrender of your reason, and power of judg- 
 ing aright, and for yourselves. There is a medium ; (oh 
 that it were not such an invisible and inconceivable para- 
 dox to thousands !) there is a medium, and a most blessed 
 one, between the extravagancies of Rome upon the one 
 hand, and the extravagancies of schism and heresy upon the 
 other. We ask you not to surrender your reason, to be 
 bound with links of iron ; and we beg you not to let it run 
 rampant, like the untamed wild ass, which will not be held 
 by bit or bridle. Exercise it no longer upon conjectures, 
 but upon facts; no longer upon opinions, but upon history. 
 Go to the Clmrch, as she was in the days of her virgin puri- 
 ty, before she was wedded to tlie state, and began to do, as 
 the married do, the will of an imperious husband. There 
 is a period of three centuries for you to inquire into ; and 
 what the Church then was, ba])tised in the blood of mar- 
 tvrdom, and refined by the fires of persecution, you may 
 rtafely, most safely, be. Cast in your lot with her, as she 
 then was ; for then, most assuredly, her Lord was with 
 her; then she was tlie brightness of everlasting light, the
 
 19 
 
 uns2)otte(l mirror of tlic power of God, and the image of 
 his goodness.* The; ignoriint will try to frigliten you, by 
 telling you that this will lead you into the mazes of Pope- 
 ry, and that you will lose your indejtendence, if not your 
 Boul. But it is a grand mistake to suppose that Popery ex- 
 isted, during the first three centuries, when the (Church stood 
 alone, mitrammeled, and nneorrnpted ; when, as one of 
 her oldest historians informs us, there was an inseparable 
 communion between the AVestern and Eastern (yhurehes ; 
 i.e. throughout Christeudom.f Popery was the growth of 
 the middle ages ; of periods when this communion began 
 to be broken, or sundered. It attained its fullest develo|>- 
 ment, in periods when this communion was most effectually 
 interrupted. It grew fastest under the shadow of monar- 
 chical patronage ;:}: and is one part of the tribute, which the 
 Church has had to pay, for the misnamed privilege of 
 allowing the State to call her after its own name, and re- 
 ceive her nominally under its protection, ])ut really under 
 its domination. If the Church were set free, to-morrow, 
 from all civil control pnd interference, the doom of Popery 
 would speedily be written. " The holy text of pike and 
 gun" now furnishes its strongest arguments ; and "infallible 
 artillery" is its surest peacemaker. 
 
 Take then, my brethren, such a standard to settle dis- 
 putes about the Bible's meaning, as that commended to 
 you in the Prayer Book, Articles, and Homilies, the Prim- 
 itive Church " most incorrupt and pure ;" and let that be 
 vour rock, while the surges of sectarian controversv are 
 beating about you, and against you. And, with all his 
 ease, and all his comfort, will you do this, if the temper 
 which prevailed in Paul's bosom, wdien he had ceased to 
 listen to the dictates of private judgment, and sought 
 wiser counsel, prevail in yours. "Lord," said the new 
 convert, when he gave up thinking within himself as a 
 guide, " Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" True piety 
 
 •Wisdom, vii.26. fSocrateB. Book. ii. ch. 18. tUomilies. cdit.1817. London.p. 19S
 
 20 
 
 is not a boisterous and self-willed assertion of our own 
 rights, the certainty of oiir own judgments, and a reckless 
 discardance of all authority in spiritual matters. Ecclesi- 
 Astical despotism, and Pharisaism, and heresy, and Deism, 
 can stand by themselves, and be satisfied with their own 
 selves, perpetually. But genuine piety is humble, diffi- 
 dent, clinging, relying, reverential, anxious not for dis- 
 tinction or self-gratification, but for obedience. Where, it 
 says, are the old paths, in which they whom the world 
 knew not, nay whom it hated, the paths in which they 
 walked, where I may find refuge for my longing soul? 
 ( 'arry me back to the days of the earliest followers of Christ, 
 let me see how they thought, and felt, and acted, and I 
 may obtain light and peace. I am weary with the din of 
 «ects ; this perpetual arrogance of infallibility, I am of Paul, 
 and I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ. The 
 Bible, in modern hands, means every thing or nothing. 
 Let me have its meaning, as the Primitive Church possess- 
 ed it, and I will content myself and be at rest.* 
 
 Thus may God help you to discover your Master's will 
 and to do it perpetually for your everlasting joy. And 
 getting out with such a scheme ; discarding Popery on the 
 one hand, and sectarianism on the other, as the manufac- 
 tures of men ; relying on the Church, as she was in her 
 earliest and best days, for your model and guide, my faith 
 is all-confiding, that if, under God, the truth as it is in 
 Jesus without mixture is any where to be found, it will 
 greet your eyes — naj'' bless and gladden them, to your 
 latest days. And, then, when the light of the Church 
 below shall cease to shine on you, the light of the Church 
 above shall be exchanged for it. No more shall your sun 
 go down, or your moon withdraw itself ; for the Lord shall 
 be your everlasting light, and the days of your mourning 
 Bhall be ended. 
 
 •" To understand the Holy Scriptures aright," says the eminently devout Bp. 
 Wilson," id to understand them as the Primitive Church did." — Wilson's Hks.ii. 
 
 ten.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Note A. for p 7. — The miiidlo character of the Ch. ol' iOiig. 
 has been acknowledged by those outside of her. 
 
 " We never doubted that the Ch. of Eng. was widely dinbreiii 
 from the Ch. of Homo ; we own she is freed from innumerable Ro- 
 mish superstitions, and we Iiless God for it." — Pcirces Vmdicai .of 
 Dissenters, p. 299 
 
 Peirce then goes on to say, (as we might expect,) that too much 
 of the old leaven is left. IJut, for all that, here is a clear admis- 
 sion of iNMJMKUAiJi.E refomuuions. 
 
 Says Mosheim, the Lutheran, " Thus was that form of religion 
 established in Britain, which separated itie English, eipialiy Irom 
 the Ch. of Home on the one hand, and from the other churches 
 which had renounced Popery on the other." — Institutes, Cf-.nt. 
 xvi. Sect. in. Part it. |^17 ; or col. iv. p 37S, ^laclaine's 
 Translatioii. 
 
 The foUowino is the testimony of the celebrated Isaac Casaubon. 
 (a layman too,) who visited England in the reign of James I. — 
 " Mr Casaubon, in his epistles, admires and recommends the 
 temper of our church, to his brethren beyond seas, as the tfCvOsfffxOf 
 of purity and antiquity, which was not else to be found, any 
 where."— Todd's Life of Bp. Walton. 1.259. 
 
 Not dissimilar was the testimony of the great Duke of Sidly. 
 when he visited England also. — Quart. Ilcv, x. 94. 
 
 Note B. p. 7. — Nam fides catliolica docet omncm virtulem esse 
 bonam, omnem vitium esse malum : si autem Papa erraret praeci- 
 piendo vitia, vel prohihendo virtutes, teneretur ecclesia credere 
 vitia esse bona, et virtutes malas, nisi vellct contra couscientiain 
 peccare. — Bcllarmine dc Rom. Pont. — Op. Lut.Par. torn. i. col.SOi. 
 To say, as is sometimes said, that Bcllarmine qualified this after- 
 wards, by applying it to doubtful cases only, does not mend the
 
 22 
 
 matter. Who is to say what the doubtful cases are ? Why, oi" 
 course, the Tope ; so that he has the whole game in his own 
 hands still. 
 
 NoTK C p. 8. - The declaration of Rome about the obligation of a 
 present faith alone of the Church, is precisely the ground which 
 John Robinson took, in his farewell address to the Plymouth Pil- 
 grims at Leyden ; and which was taken also by the Independents, 
 when they broke off from the Westminster Assembly, in 1B43. 
 So that here the Romish theory and the private judgment theory, 
 when acted out, come to the same conclusion, i. e. present faith, 
 and that only. Robinson, in his " Parting Advice" to his follow- 
 ers, tlius blames both Lutherans and Calvini.sts. for aliiding bj- a 
 present creed, as obligatory for the future. '• As, for example, 
 the Lutherans, they could not be drawn to go beyond what Luthf^r 
 saw; for whatever part of God's will he had further imparted and 
 revealed to Calvin, they will rather die than embrace it And so 
 also, saith he, you see the Calvinisis stick where he left ihem ; a 
 misery much to be lamented'' Robinson's own creed was that of 
 the Development men of our day, (whether in, or out of, the Ch. of 
 Rome ;) for '• he was very confident, the Lord had more truth 
 and light to break forth out of his holy V^ oxA.'" — Rubinsoris Wks. 
 Vol. i. p. xlio. edit. 1S51. 
 
 True to this Platform, the Independents, when they issued their 
 " Apoligeticall Narration" in 1843, carefully avowed their 
 present notions, as the only truth to them. "A second principle 
 we carried along with us, in all our resolutions, was, not to make 
 our present judgment and practice, a binding law un'o ourselves for 
 the future." — Edward.s^s Antapologia ; or reply to the. Narration. 
 Loud. 1644. p. 85 Edwards was an old fashioned Presbyterian; 
 the same who wrote the celebrated Gangracna. 
 
 Thus we see, that Popery and Independency meet in the same 
 conclusion, a present church; in other words, both embrace 
 the fashionable theory of Development . If Pope Pius JX, 
 adopt the Immaculate Conception into his creed, he will be 
 right, according to the principles of the " Apologeticall Narration," 
 which is the Magna Charta of Independency. 
 
 Note D. p. 8. — This exception is no more than Waterland allows, 
 in his invaluable Chapter on the " Use and Value of Ecclesiastical 
 Antiquity." He says, " the stress is not laid upon any critical acu- 
 men of the Fathers in interpreting every particular text ; but upon 
 their faithfulness in relating what was the doctrine of the church, 
 as to the prime things, in their times, or before ; and upon their 
 interpretation of some remarkable and leading texts, (such as John, 
 i. 1.,) upon which, chiefly, the fundamental doctrines were con- 
 ceived to rest." — Waterland' s Wks. 2d ed. Hi. 650.
 
 23 
 
 Note E p. 9. It seems unaccoiinlably strange, that it should 
 he ihe impiessioi, of many, tliat the Primitive (Church wai not 
 careful lo maintain a record of Episcojjal successioiiH. Why, 
 Eusobius tells us he devoted seven books of his Ecclesias- 
 tical History to that very subject. Sec the preface to liis 
 eighth bt)ok, the opening of his first book, and the close of the 
 setienfh. Surely, an apostolic succession was not lightly esteem- 
 ed in primitive times, how much soever of a novelty and mon.>-trosity 
 some pronounce it now. 
 
 Note F. p. 14. — Nulli ergo omnino honiirmm iiccal Imnc [)aginam 
 nostrae, damnalionis, reprobalionis, d('finitionis, inhibitionis, 
 decreti, ordinationis, statuti, et mandati infrinsjcre, vei ei ausu, 
 femerario contraire — Curie Luff ran K siih. Jjpon. X. Sess riii. 
 
 This is strong enough, probably, as a threat against all acts 
 contrary to Home. Now for an authority ti> extinguish the bare 
 (Jouhfcr of Rome's infallibility. It is from Azorius, a celebrated 
 Spanish Jesuit of the l()lh century, who wrote folios upon morals. 
 " Si quern in foro cxteriori legitime allegata et probata probaverint 
 in rebus Fidei. scienter et voluntarie du!)itasse, arbitror cum, ut 
 vi«re et proprie, hacreticum puniendum.'' — Turn. I. Moral iJh. vin. 
 ch. 9. Quoted in Hacket's .Abp. Williams. Ft. i. p. 303, No. 
 2 ; as p 303 is repeated twice 
 
 NoTR O p.l/>. I alluded to such a denunciatdry exercise of pi ivafe 
 judgment, as was once attempted by a British 1 louse of Commons; 
 when it erected itself into a tribunal to e>tablish Calvinism. 
 
 " We, the Commons in Parliament assemlded, do claim, and 
 protest, and *vi)w for truth, the sense of the Articles of Religion, 
 winch were establislu-d by Parliament, in the 13th year of our 
 late Queen Elizabeth, which, by the public act of the Cli. of Eng- 
 land, and by the general and current exposition of the wr tcrsof our 
 church, have been delivered unto us. And we reject ilu; sense of 
 the Jesuits, and Arminians, and all otheus. wherein they difler 
 iVom us." — Rushiv(>rt)i\s CoUectious. i G49, 50. 
 
 So they rejected all ('hristendom, and the world beside, if they 
 presumed to difler from themselves. They set themselves up for the 
 only " standing order ;" as the old phrase was in the colonial days 
 of New England. I leave it to my readers to say, wlicther they 
 had after them 'a regular succession." 
 \ 
 
 Note H. p. 16. I add a (ew words respecting Galileo ; for many 
 are not aware that he is no longer a heretic in the view of Kome. 
 Very few, probably, ol the (Tinstian public in this coimtry, are 
 aware how he ceased from being a heretic. The story is told by 
 Mr. Mendham in his work on the Index of Gregory .\\ 1., and it
 
 24 
 
 adii)irubly illustrates Rome's way of doing business She puts every 
 body else in the wrong; but when confessedly in the wrong herself, 
 never acknowledges an error, but gets out of a false position bv 
 stealth. But here is Mr. Mendham to speak for himself. "In the 
 Honian Inde.K of 1704, we read the general condemnation: — Lihn 
 ornnes dhccntcs mohilitatem Terrce et immobUifatan Solis. Not a 
 vestige of any of these decisive proscriptions is jwio to be found in 
 any Roman Index. The name of the persecuted and rondenmed 
 reviver of a doctrine now universally received, with that of his 
 Diatogo, kept their place to the last, and were only silently and fur- 
 tively withdrawn, in the year 18.35. In all the preceding Indexes, 
 the condemnation, not of the man, but of the doctrink, stands an 
 imperishable monument of the ignorance, bigotry, and intolerance 
 of the Roman Church." p. IS The question is often asked wheth- 
 er Copernicanism is still heresy at Rome ; and whether she still 
 presumes to dictate about philosophy, as well as theology, to the 
 world at large. To such a question the above is a curious and in- 
 structive answer. Rome is fallible, at last, by her own concession ; 
 vet the acknowledgment is made with not a particle of manliness, 
 but after the manner of a sneak I
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 III 
 
 II 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 AA 000 474 816 6
 
 i 
 
 Ji£^« 
 
 
 \( ■ . 
 
 <<!.- 
 
 rc '^ 
 
 cat at 
 ••ar «»i 
 
 k?!&<»^ 
 
 ..«r «* 
 
 #:, 
 
 ^y^^f" 
 
 
 ■ Ci 
 
 r. 
 
 t,-* 
 
 -•^i 
 
 
 
 c^< 
 
 t^-^ 
 
 C 
 
 -%. 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 iiLd 
 
 
 
 
 c^ 
 
 
 -t^ 
 
 .^<.'<.IS'-' 
 
 
 EM 
 
 
 cC 
 
 Co 
 
 Awifaj^ 
 
 <f 
 
 <r 
 
 r7(-. 
 
 
 
 
 fjix 
 
 ^sa 
 
 ^r' 
 
 ij^ 
 
 X^('^:(fcCf