Topics: Culture & Ideology

Jasper Adams (1793-1841) graduated from Brown University (1815) and was an ordained minister in the Protestant Episcopal Church.

Few things are more striking than the fact, that so few of all the young men, who are permitted to arrive at “man’s estate,” ever come to satisfy the just and reasonable expectations of their parents, their friends, and their country. This is true even of those who are born and educated under the most favourable influences. It has been a standing theme of complaint, and source of unhappiness in all ages and in every country. There are few parents of considerable families whose hopes in regard to their children, have not been more or less blasted by disappointment. Of a thousand youths who grow up to participate in the business of life, how few are there whose lives are crowned with honour, with virtue, and with distinguished private or public usefulness? Yet, perhaps, every one of these youths was the object of the hopes, the prayers and the fond anticipations of devoted and affectionate parents.

This frequent and painful failure of parental anticipations and prospects, cannot be the result of chance, and must, therefore, have an adequate cause or causes. And as the highest interests of society are deeply involved in everything which pertains to its young men, it seems useful to attempt an investigation of the cause or causes to which this so frequent failure may be justly ascribed.

Of all the laws by which events are linked together, the relation of cause and effect is the most permanent, the most extensive, and to us the most valuable. And it is worthy of special remark, that in proportion as knowledge has advanced, the dominion of cause and effect has been extended, and in the same proportion has the dominion of chance been diminished. It is to the imperfection of the human mind, and not to any irregularity in the nature of things, that our ideas of chance and probability are to be referred. Events which to one man seem accidental and precarious, to another who is better informed, or who has a more comprehensive grasp of intellect, appear regular and certain. Contingency and verisimilitude, are, therefore, the offspring of human ignorance, and with an intellect of the highest order, cannot be supposed to have any existence. The laws of the material world have the same infallible operation on the minute and on the great bodies of the universe, and the motions of the former are as determinate as those of the latter. There is not a particle of water or of air, of which the condition is not defined by rules as certain as those which govern the sun or the planets, and which has not from the beginning, described a line determined by mechanical principles, and capable of being mathematically defined. This line is, therefore, in itself, a thing capable of being known, and would be an object of science to a mind informed of all the original conditions, and possessing an analysis that could follow them through their various combinations. The same is true of every atom of the material world;–so that nothing but information sufficiently extensive, and an analysis sufficiently powerful is wanting, to reduce all physical events to certainty, and from the condition of the world at any one instant, to deduce its condition at the next,–nay, to obtain an analytical expression representing at a single view, all the phenomena that have ever happened, or ever will happen in our system. ¹

In truth, the discoveries which we have made in the material world, and the triumphs which we have achieved over physical difficulties, confer imperishable honour on human nature, and have contributed beyond measure to the welfare of mankind. And is it certain, or even probable, that while physical nature is thus subjected to invariable laws, capable of the most definite measurement and calculation, the powers of the understanding, and the results of moral conduct, should be governed by laws not admitting of careful statement and exact knowledge? There is much reason for the opinion, that the material world was originally created, and that the present physical order of things and events is regulated with a view to subserve the intellectual, moral and religious interests of the universe. ² Are we, then, to believe that while the beauty of order, of regularity and of symmetry pervade the one, these same elements may not impart their beauty, their interest and their value to the other? Reason, analogy and common sense equally unite against such a conclusion. It is true, that moral principles and the results of moral conduct, are not capable of being presented in the imposing array of mathematical calculations; but we must not conclude that nothing is certain which cannot be clothed with mathematical formulas, or illustrated by mathematical diagrams. Law is a science scarcely less definite than geometry; and the moral principles and conduct which destroy the expectations of parents, and ruin such numbers of our most promising young men, may be expressed as definitely, and their influence and results may be estimated as exactly in regard to the ultimate issue, as in either of these sciences. It is a great mistake to suppose, that nothing can be certainly known or anticipated, out of the range of the mathematical and physical sciences.

This train of reflections has often presented itself to my mind, and the truths contained in it are entitled, I am persuaded, to a careful and respectful consideration. And in this view, I have thought, I could not select a more suitable subject for discussion, than what may be termed the “Laws of success and failure in Life,” when called by appointment to address such an audience as is now before me; especially one standing in a relation to me of so interesting and confidential a nature. ³ Unless you, young gentlemen, shall become respectable in private life, useful citizens of your country, qualified to participate honourably in private business and in public transactions, examples of integrity, of industry, of enterprise, of virtue, and of piety, my labours will have been expended in vain, and my life will have accomplished no useful purpose.

Permit me, then, to suppose the case of a thousand youths not yet beyond the period of life, at which the plastic hand of education is accustomed to exercise the full measure of its strength and influence. In truth, the case is much more matter of plain fact than of supposition; since in every community, there are not a thousand, but many thousands of youths in the precise situation which I am contemplating. I may well presume, that such youths are still ingenuous and pure in their minds, upright in their dispositions, uncontaminated in their habits, noble and generous in their impulses, and anxious to satisfy the anticipations of their parents, and the expectations of their friends and country, by lives of distinguished virtue, usefulness and honour.

How, then, are our young men of such qualities and such aspirations to attain the advantages and distinctions, in which success in life is supposed to consist; and to avoid the disastrous wreck of mortification and ruin, of blasted hopes and disappointed expectations, which constitute failure in life? I do not expect to exhaust the subject, but I am convinced that young men will attain the one of these results, and avoid the other, in strict proportion as they shall be governed by the principles and maxims which I proceed to state and illustrate.

1. No one can expect to ensure success and avoid failure in life, without a careful, persevering, and extensive preparation for the duties of life in his youth. ⁴

Youth has often been called the seed-time of life. The resemblance, though it has become trite by the frequency of its use, is still strikingly illustrative of the influence which a due improvement of youth never fails to have upon the success of mature life. It has always been true, and it must always remain true, that as we sow in youth we shall gather in manhood. Not more surely will he be disappointed, who expects figs to grow upon thorns, or grapes upon a bramble-bush, ⁵ than he, who expects an honourable and successful manhood will follow a slothful, neglectful or profligate youth. Such is the established order of Providence in the government of this world. This order of Providence, is, in other terms, the decree of the Most High;–we may render obedience to its requirements and secure respect, esteem and happiness; or we may neglect or refuse obedience, and seal our insignificance, shame and ruin.

That the education of young men must be made to correspond with the acquirement and other circumstances of the age in which they are to live and act, is one of those positions which cannot be made more plain by argument. Nor has the world varied more in any respect, than in the kind and standard of qualifications which have been esteemed most necessary and valuable. Milton says, “I call a complete and generous education, that which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully and magnanimously, all the offices both private and public, of peace and war.” ⁶ And many ages before Milton’s time, Juvenal had expressed the same sentiment:

“Gratum est, quod patriae civem propuloque dedisti,
“Si facis, ut patriae sit idoneus, utilis agris,
“Utilis et bellorum, et pacis rebus agendis.”—Sat. 14th, 70-72.

In the age of Homer, swiftness in the race, personal strength, and physical courage, were the chief requisites by which honour and esteem were secured. These were qualities, on which, the fame of Ajax and Achilles, of Hector and Diomedes, was founded. In the later ages of Grecian history, skill in the arts of painting and sculpture, of architecture and the drama, in philosophy, and above all, in oratory, was the chief ground of eminence. Military prowess has always been considered a conspicuous source of individual and national distinction. This was remarkably the case at Rome; yet even in that military republic, moral and civil qualifications seem to have come at length to be held in higher estimation, than military. ⁷ The same will be true in all countries, as civilization and refinement advance in their growth. At Rome, the civil and moral eminence by which Cicero, Cato and Laelius were adorned, was not less honourable than the military renown of Lucullus, Pompey and Caesar; and at the court of Augustus, Virgil and Horace enjoyed as much distinction as the successful generals by whom that Emperor was surrounded. As the Roman Empire declined, the military again triumphed over the civic virtues; and during the middle ages, personal prowess again became the principal qualification supposed to be entitled to confer rank and honour. This continues to be the case, in a considerable measure, in most parts of Europe;-and in Russia, military rank is still the highest, and almost the exclusive source of honour. Colonized as the United States were from Europe, it is not strange, that the European standard of honour was introduced into this country; and while the colonies were surrounded by numerous and warlike nations of Indians, the cultivation of the military spirit was certainly excusable, probably necessary, perhaps even indispensable. The war of the Revolution, moreover, made it necessary, that military talents should be a principal ground of distinction, as they were of usefulness, during the perilous crisis in which the country was then situated.

But our Indian enemies have disappeared, our national independence has long since been fully established; and however indispensable may have been military talents during the preceding part of our national history, circumstances warrant the full belief, that in our future progress, they will be unnecessary;-perhaps they may be injurious to our country. Everything indicates, that the arts of peace will be the great concern, as they have always been the great interest of mankind, during the age for which you are to be educated. It is constantly becoming more probable, that the plan of governing men chiefly by oral influences; by producing a practical and unequivocal conviction, that it is for the general interest of mankind to cultivate peace and tranquility, and by resorting to force only as an aid supplementary to moral causes, will be ultimately successful. Our own experiment has been thus far highly satisfactory and encouraging.

It may well be presumed, therefore, that the sentiments of Juvenal and Milton, so far as they relate to war, will have less application to the age to which you will belong, than to any which has gone before it in the history of mankind. To be respectable, useful, and successful, then, in life, you must be qualified to take a part in an age and in a state of society distinguished for general freedom of opinion and action, unusual diffusion of intelligence among all ranks of people, and an unexampled spirit of enterprise. It is an age, moreover, as much distinguished for profound and various learning, as for the extension of freedom, intelligence and enterprise. “Knowledge” has always been “power,” but never in such a sense and in such a degree, as at the present time. Such an age and such a state of society, therefore, imperatively demand extensive acquirements in knowledge. You must be acquainted with the poets, critics, orators, and historians of ancient Greece and Rome, ⁸ both for their intrinsic excellence; and because an acquaintance with them is necessary to a full and complete acquaintance with our own literature. Some acquaintance with the annals and institutions of other ancient nations, usually enters into a comprehensive course of education. Modern literature and institutions have received a tincture from some of the usages and institutions of the middle ages; and therefore, though they are a barren period in the history of mankind, yet as something may be learned from every situation in which man has lived and acted, they may not be entirely neglected. The French and German languages, are among the most valuable acquisitions with which your industry and enterprise can be rewarded. Every well educated gentleman must feel it to be required of him, to have some acquaintance with the history and institutions of modern Europe. From Great-Britain, much the greatest part of our customs, usages, literature, and institutions were derived, and no man can dispense with a full and even minute knowledge of the history of that Empire. Inventions and discoveries in the exact and experimental sciences, and our triumphs over the physical difficulties of nature, are one of the best defined characteristics of the times in which we live; and to this source we are indebted for the immense improvements which have been made in the comforts, conveniences, and elegancies of life. A full acquaintance with these, must be the result of professional study and the devotion of a life to them; but anyone who is contented to live and die in total ignorance of them, fails of seeing human enterprise and perseverance crowned with their most splendid wreaths.

The branches of knowledge comprised in this enumeration are highly valuable;-they are necessary, even indispensable to success in the highest walks of literature and philosophy, of usefulness and eminence. There are, however, two other departments of learning, which to us, as Christians, as Americans, are of still higher and more permanent value. First, as Christians, the careful study of our religion, merits our supreme regard. It is the standard of our morals both theoretical and practical, the chief source of the moral influences which alone can meliorate the condition of mankind, and the foundation of our ultimate hopes and prospects. We are most sacredly bound by every consideration of duty and interest to study in its history, in its literature, in its evidences, in its morals, and in its doctrines. Again, after our religion, nothing is so valuable as a complete and familiar acquaintance with the history, literature and institutions of our own country. If we remain in ignorance of our own, it is comparatively of small importance, that we are acquainted with the history, the literature, the institutions, and the languages of ancient times and foreign nations. Nor has there been a country, perhaps, from the beginning of time, whose history and institutions have been more worthy of careful and attentive study. ⁹ Our aboriginal history presents a field, which, as yet, has been but partially explored. There is nothing in the history of the world, which can be compared with our colonial growth. Our Revolution has as yet only begun to exert the influence which it must be destined to extend over the other quarters of the globe. The rise and progress of our National and State governments may justly excite our self-respect, and our confidence in our ability to maintain, perfect and perpetuate them. If we have been too much engaged by active employments to distinguish ourselves in speculative philosophy and the more abstract sciences, we have signalized ourselves by some of the noblest inventions in the more practical and useful departments of the arts and sciences. Government is the most practical, the most useful, and the most difficult of all human sciences; and in this great department, we have long since reached a point, which some of the European nations have attempted to reach in vain; and towards which, all of them are but gradually advancing. In a sense and in degree in which it was never attained before, we have consummated the beau-ideal of good government which presented itself to the mind of the philosophic Cicero when he said, “Statuo esse optime constitutam rempublicam, quae ex tribus generibus illis, regali, optimo et populari, modice confusa.” Finally, the people of the United States, in retaining Christianity as the basis of all their great institutions, social, civil, and political, have discontinued the abuses of all religious establishments, and while placing all denominations of Christians on an equal footing, they have granted universal toleration to all other religions.

2. No elements are more indispensable to ensure success in life, than industry, perseverance and enterprise. They will be equally necessary, in your case, to the accomplishment of the plan of education which has just been sketched, and to the successful pursuit of any profession of life, in which you may hope to be useful and honourable. If the Creator has made an original difference among men, by dispensing talents to them with an unequal hand, men have made an infinitely wider difference among themselves, by the unequal improvement which they have made of these precious endowments. In this, as well as in all other countries, men frequently become rich by inheritance, and by other ways in which personal merit has no concern, but substantial usefulness and honour must ever, among us, be the fruit of personal industry, enterprise and perseverance. The noble sentiment of Juvenal has its full force in respect to us, and our institutions:-

“Panlus, vel Cossus, vel Drusus moribus esto;
“Hos ante effigies majorum pone tuorum;
“Praecedant ipsas illi, te consule, virgas.
“Prima mihi debes animi bona. Sanctus haberi,
“Justitiaeque tenax factis dictisque mereris?
“Agnosco procerem. Salve, Getulice, sent u
“Silanus, quocunque alio de sanguine rarus
“Civis et egregious patriae contingis ovanti.”—Sat. 8. 1. 21-28.

The love of labour and the ability to bear long continued, exhausting, and perplexing labour, can only be acquired by a patient and severe course of discipline; but it is a qualification equally indispensable for attaining to stations of distinguished usefulness, and for discharging the duties of such stations when attained. The men who have fulfilled the duties of the more useful and difficult situations in life, with credit to themselves and advantage to their country, have been prepared for them by a careful preliminary training. It cannot be necessary to do more than refer to the story of Demosthenes, when addressing a literary society. Cicero says, that he acquired the immense treasures of literature and philosophy by which he adorned the annals of his country, and conferred immortality on himself, while his associates were occupied at entertainments, in celebrating festival days, in gaming, in athletic sports, or in other amusements and relaxations. ¹⁰ King Alfred, without an example to imitate, without the advantage of early education even the most scanty, in an unlearned age, and a still more unlearned country, after his best years had been consumed, and his youthful strength exhausted by the hardships of a military life, in the course of which he is said to have fought fifty battles; amidst the seductions of a throne, seductions of all others the most difficult to be resisted, became the first scholar and the most useful man, as he had before been the greatest soldier of his age. Hence, he ranks the greatest among kings, and almost the greatest among men. Sir Isaac Newton ascribed his success in the sciences to his superior patience and willingness to labour. If patience and resolution are not, as some have asserted, the only elements of genius, they are at least its firmest auxiliaries, its most powerful instruments;-and they are qualities so important, as to lead not unfrequently, in search of truth, to the same results as genius itself. But of all others, the example of Franklin is the most instructive to those whose circumstances require them to be the architects of their own fortunes. His father was accustomed to quote this verse of the Proverbs of Solomon:–“Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings; ¹¹–and the memoirs of the son warrant us in believing, that it had a decisive influence on his aspiring genius. ¹² Born in the lowest obscurity, his industry and enterprise raised him to be the companion and the adviser of kings. Lord Chatham said, he was “one, whom all Europe held in estimation for his knowledge and wisdom, and ranked with Boyle and Newton; who was an honour, not to the English nation only, but to human nature.” ¹³ How great must have been the industry of Washington? How great must be the industry of every President of the United States? ¹⁴ How great must be the industry of all men who fill situations of distinguished usefulness and honour? Lord Chancellor Brougham said in the House of Lords in 1831, that during more than twelve months preceding, he had been employed, with the exception of five days, and those spent chiefly in travelling, from six or seven in the morning, until twelve or one at night; and he seemed to intimate on the same occasion, that two other members of the government had been engaged in still more exhausting labours. ¹⁵ No branch of reading is more instructive than the biography of those, who, born in the humbler walks of life, have risen by their talents and virtues, to the highest grades of useful distinction. The examples of Kepler, Hardwicke, Kenyon, Thurlow, La Grange, Day, Canova, Eldon, Stowell, West, Franklin and Sherman, are fitted to refresh the spirits and give an impulse to the energies of men the most industrious, and the most enterprising. When we look into the lives of such men, the cause of their success is no longer a secret to us; we cease to be surprised at the distinctions which they won. When we observe the series of struggles which they endured amidst poverty, obscurity, and neglect, their disciplined passions, their love of knowledge, their firmness of purpose, and their unconquerable zeal, we perceive that their success has followed in the rain of their exertions by the ordinary law of cause and effect.

It is a great mistake, however, to suppose, that the “res augusta domi” is the only obstruction to young men in the way to acquirement of knowledge and the attainment of eminence. In such a state of society as ours, where our peculiar institutions free most of our young men from the necessities of personal labour, the love of ease, the appetite for frivolous amusements, the seductions of pleasure, and the impulses of false honour, constitute obstacles still more formidable. It will require all your resolution and energy, to withstand these fatal enemies to your future prospects and welfare. Men have, sometimes, overcome the obstacles of obscure birth and narrow circumstances, who have afterwards fallen victims to sloth, intemperance and sensual gratifications of every kind.

Most intimately connected with a habit of industry, is a judicious employment of our time. How have those men, who have accomplished most in life, found time for all their variety of occupations? The answer is not difficult. They found time by never losing it. Time is the only gift of heaven, of which every man living has precisely the same share. The passing day is exactly of the same dimensions to each of us, and by no contrivance can anyone extend its duration by so much as a single minute. It is not like a sum of money, which we can employ in trade, or put out at interest, and thereby add to, or multiply its amount. Its amount is unalterable. We cannot make it increase; we cannot even keep it by us. Whether we will or not, we must spend it; all our power over it, therefore, consists in the manner in which it is spent. Part with it we must; but we may give it either for something or for nothing. Its mode of escaping from us, however, is so silent and subtle, that we are exceedingly apt, because we do not feel it passing out of our hands, to forget that we are parting with it at all, and thus from mere heedlessness, the precious possession is allowed to flow away as if it were a thing of no value. The chief rule, therefore, in regard to the economizing and right employment of time, is to accustom ourselves to watch it as it passes away. Of all the talents entrusted to our care, our time is the most valuable. ¹⁶

As long since as the time of Cicero, the intimate connexion which subsists between different branches of learning, and the light which they reflect on each other, was well understood. Etenim omnes artes, says he, quae ad humanitatem pertinent, habent quoddam commune inculum, et quasi cognatione quadam inter se continentur. ¹⁷ This fine observation is not less true now than in the time of Cicero, while its application is continually becoming more extensive as new sciences are invented, new departments of literature are cultivated, new arts are discovered, and new branches of business are opened or extended. Without the aid of the instruments which the science of optics has conferred on astronomy, this most noble of all the natural sciences, could not have been successfully cultivated. In like manner, astronomy has greatly contributed to the advancement of geography, navigation and commerce. Chemistry has the most intimate connexion with manufactures, with the mechanic arts, and with agriculture. An elaborate comparison of the various languages of the earth, has shed much light on the history of the nations which have inhabited its surface. No man can be an accomplished physician, without making himself acquainted with the laws of the intellectual powers. Chemistry and botany are the foundation of the medical profession. Law, Politics, and the Law of Nations are but branches of Ethics in the extensive use of that term. Christianity has a most intimate connexion with man in all his relations, social, civil, and political. There are few sciences that have not contributed to bring commerce to its present state; and commerce, in its turn, has greatly contributed to advance natural history, geography, physics, and astronomy. Moreover, from it has sprung, in a great measure, the system of European colonization, which is producing such mighty results in Asia, in Africa, and more especially in America. Finally, commerce has become instrumental in the diffusion of Christianity among “the nations that have long sat in darkness,” by furnishing facilities for the conveyance of missionaries, and for keeping up the intercourse with them which is necessary for their support, their comfort, and their usefulness. This part of my subject might be amplified to any extent; but the few facts adverted to, are sufficient to vindicate my views in regard to the comprehensiveness of the education which I have ventured to recommend. It will never cease to be true, that the various branches of science, of literature, of art, and of business, have, with each other, relations so intimate, that a man who has traversed a wide range of enquiry, will ever have an immense advantage over others, whose education has been less generous, comprehensive, and liberal.

3. But while an education thus extensive and liberal is recommended, we must remember that human powers and human efforts are limited, and that a judicious concentration of our exertions on the profession of our choice, is still more necessary to our success in life. No genius can correspond with the inscription on the pedestal of Buffon’s statue;-“majestati naturae par ingenium.” An acquaintance with many branches of learning is most highly useful; an acquaintance with our own profession is indispensable. In our profession, our learning must be full, minute, exact, and familiar; and it must comprise all the acquirements which our profession embraces. The field of scientific, literary and philosophical enquiry, has become so vast, that the most industrious may well be excused for being unacquainted with many things, even with entire departments of science; but any want of acquaintance with our own chosen profession, the little vineyard of science we have chosen with special care to cultivate, will always be disreputable, injurious to our interests, and to the trusts committed to us, and may not unfrequently cover us with mortification and disgrace.

Every professional man may be said to live by the public confidence; and confidence, as Mr. Pitt well remarked, “is a plant of slow growth.” The public will not give us its confidence, as Mr. Pitt well remarked, “is a plant of slow growth.” The public will not give us its confidence, unless we furnish some title by which we may justly claim it. Public confidence in us, cannot grow up healthy, strong, and vigorous, without the most careful and judicious cultivation. Men seldom gain it without knowledge, talents, and integrity; and if without these qualities, they, by the aid of propitious circumstances, succeed in its attainment, their hold on it will be temporary, it will soon elude their grasp, and leave them to the pain of blasted hopes, the victims of disappointment and failure. Industry, enterprise, devotion to business, knowledge, talents, worth, are the only qualities that can ensure permanent reputation and lasting usefulness.

4. We must avail ourselves of opportunities favourable to our success in life. History acquaints us, that even the destiny of nations has often been determined for evil or for good, by incidents slight in themselves. The Patriarch Moses, after having been “hid three months” in the house of his father, was exposed in an ark of bulrushes on the banks of the river of Egypt. How much has depended, in the history of mankind, on the preservation of this child by Pharoah’s daughter? Without any reference to his Divine inspiration, no other individual mentioned in the annals of the world, has exercised a more extensive and permanent influence over the destinies of mankind in general, than Moses. Christianity and Mahometanism alike respect, and in different degrees, derive their origin from the Mosaic institutes. Europe, with all its American descendants, the greater part of Asia, and the north of Africa, retain, in their opinions, their usages, their civil as well as their religious ordinances, deep and indelible traces of the Hebrew polity. ¹⁸ Rome was saved from being taken by the Gauls, by the cackling of the sacred geese kept in the Capitol. And when we consider, that the Roman Empire continued to comprise whatever was formidable in power, pure in morals, refined in manners, cultivated in art and science, and illustrious in genius, during the long period of a thousand years; that the Eastern Roman Empire continued to exist almost to our own times; (1453,) that the Western Imperial City was the metropolis of the unbroken Latin Church during more than another thousand years, and still continues the Metropolis of more than half of all Christendom;-when we recollect with Lord Holt, ¹⁹ that “the laws of all nations are raised out of the ruins of the civil (Roman) law, as all governments are sprung out of the ruins of the Roman Empire;” or with D’Aguesseau, (alluding to the Roman Law,) that “the grand destinies of Rome are not yet accomplished; (that) she reigns throughout the world by her reason, after having ceased to reign by her authority;” ²⁰-I say, when we take into view all these consequences, we may well understand the influence exercised by the trivial circumstance referred to, on the destiny of the nations of the earth. How much is our situation affected at this day by the voyages of Columbus and Sebastian Cabot? How much are we affected personally, as well as nationally, by the wise moderation, the elevated wisdom, the consummate prudence and good judgment, the untiring industry, the inflexible patriotism, the exalted genius and high moral courage of one man;-Washington.

But if entire nations and successive ages are so much affected by circumstances in themselves trivial, this is still more strikingly true of individuals. In fact, almost every man, in reviewing his past life, must recollect occasions, when, in the order of Providence, his future welfare was made to be depending on the most trivial contingences. ²¹ Of men in similar circumstances, we habitually see one eminently successful, another successful in a measure, and a third failing entirely of the result which he had promised himself to attain. This remark is confined to no class or order of men. Of merchants who have commenced business under equal advantages, we every day see one prosperous and another ruined. Lawyers, physicians, clergymen; and planters of the same education, and of equal natural endowments, meet in life with the most unequal success. So marked a difference of results is not without an adequate cause. It cannot be true, that while “the condition of every particle of water and of air is defined by rules as certain as those which govern the sun or the planets,” ²² the results of human conduct and of human endeavours, are undefined by laws and uninfluenced by cause and effect;-the pervading principle by which all the parts of universal nature are bound to each other. We are accustomed to see almost uniform success accompanying the endeavours of some men, while failure scarcely less uniform, waits on all the plans of another. Where other circumstances are equal, (and this is the supposition upon which we are reasoning,) to what can this difference be ascribed? It cannot be ascribed to chance;-for, “it is to the imperfection of the human mind, and not to any irregularity in the nature of things, that our ideas of chance and probability are to be referred.” ²³ Chance means a series of events not regulated by any law that we perceive; but because we do not perceive the existence of a law, we must not reason as if there were none, or were no principle by which a previous state of things determines that which is to follow. ²⁴ Juvenal has admirably expressed the truth on this subject.

Nullum numen habes, si sit prudential; sed te
Nos facimus, Fortuna, Deam, coeloque locamus. ²⁵

In the same situation, one man is attentive to the course of events, is watchful of favourable occasions as they arise, decides with promptitude, acts with intelligence and energy, and in this way controls events and turns them to his advantage; or if this is impossible, averts the ruinous consequences which might otherwise overwhelm him. Another is inactive, neglectful, without foresight to anticipate results; he acts with feebleness and irresolution, and instead of controlling events, becomes the victim of circumstances.

5. The cultivation of personal religion and moral qualities of a high order, is indispensable to our full and complete success in life. A sacred writer says, “trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Be not wise in thine own eyes; fear the Lord, and depart from evil. Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom; and with all thy getting, get understanding. Exalt her, and she shall promote thee; she shall bring thee to honour when thou dost embrace her. She shall give to thine head an ornament of grace; a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee.” ²⁶ This language is as beautiful as the sentiments are persuasive, authoritative and valuable. In truth, it is only the inferior ends of life which can be attained without personal religion and the high moral qualities which flow from that perennial spring. But I can establish this position by authority so high and so decisive, that I may well omit all argument of my own. Lord Chatham, in advising his nephew while at the University of Cambridge, writes thus:-“I come now to the point of the advice I have to offer you, which most nearly concerns your welfare, and upon which every good and honourable purpose of your life will assuredly turn. I mean the keeping up in your heart, the true sentiments of religion. If you are not right towards God, you can never be so towards man; the noblest sentiment of the human breast, is here brought to the test.” Again he says, “Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, is big with the deepest wisdom; the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; and an upright heart, that is understanding. This is eternally true.” “Hold fast, therefore, by this sheet-anchor of happiness, religion; you will often want it in the times of most danger, the storms and tempests of life. Cherish true religion, continues he, as preciously as you will fly, with abhorrence and contempt, superstition and enthusiasm. The first is the perfection and glory of human nature; the two last the depravation and disgrace of it. Remember, the essence of religion is, a heart void of offence towards God and man; not subtle speculative opinions, but an active vital principle of faith.” ²⁷ Again, another statesman says, “The individuals, the communities that are penetrated with a truly religious spirit, and exercise the moral qualities which flow from that source only, regularly prosper. They inherit the earth. Those that pursue a different course, as regularly dwindle into nothing and disappear.” ²⁸ The most accomplished and successful chemist of the present century says, “I envy no quality of the mind or intellect in others; not genius, power, wit, or fancy; but if I could choose what would be most delightful, and I believe most useful to me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to ever other blessing; for it makes life a discipline of goodness, creates new hopes when all earthly hopes vanish, and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of all lights; awakens life even in death, and from corruption and decay calls up beauty and divinity.” Again he says, “religion, whether natural or revealed, has always the same beneficial influence on the mind. In youth, in health, and prosperity, it awakens feelings of gratitude and sublime love, and purifies at the same time that it exalts; but it is in misfortune, in sickness, in age, that its effects are most truly and beneficially felt; when submission in faith and humble trust in the divine will, from duties become pleasures, undecaying sources of consolation; then it creates powers which were believed to be extinct, and gives a freshness to the mind, which was supposed to have passed away forever, but which is not renovated as an immortal hope. Its influence outlives all earthly enjoyments, and becomes stronger as the organs decay and the frame dissolves; it appears as that evening star of light in the horizon of life, which, we are sure, is to become in another season a morning star, and it throws its radiance through the gloom and shadow of death.” ²⁹ Such are the sentiments, and such the result of the experience and reflection of men of the most cultivated understandings, and of the most enlarged acquaintance with human affairs. Many can comprehend the value and necessity of personal religion in reference to another life, who are not prepared to admit its value or its influence on the affairs of this life. The truth, however, the everlasting truth is, that without a clear sense of our relation to God, and of the duties, responsibilities and prospects thence resulting; man, in every period of his existence, is a desolate being, and cuts himself off from all the purest sources of happiness. The poet has well said;-

“But dreadful is their doom, whom doubt has driven To censure Fate, and pious hope forego; Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, Perfection, beauty, life, they never know.”
³⁰

It is probable, that the sentiment now under illustration, might be brought to the test of positive proof and actual experiment, by an extensive enquiry into the lives of individuals, especially into the lives of those whose biography we possess, minutely and accurately written. Such an inductive examination, my time and avocations have not permitted me to make; but two instances of testimony on this point have fallen in my way, which are so decisive and valuable, that I should do wrong to omit citing them. A gentleman, educated at one of our most distinguished colleges, has furnished this statement respecting the class to which he belonged, not more than thirty years since. “It was a class,” says he, “from which much was expected, as the instructors were often heard to declare, and was certainly not deficient, when compared with other classes, either as to numbers or talents. Unhappily a very low standard of morals was prevalent; only two of the class were free from the habit of profane swearing; and nearly all except these two, would occasionally get intoxicated. This class went out into the world as one of the hopes of the country. Comparatively a small number of them ever occupied respectable and conspicuous situations. In twenty-two years after leaving college, two-thirds of that class were known to have died; and of these full one half died the victims of intemperance. Of the survivors, some now living are known to be in the lowest state of degradation.” Another individual has given the character and history of another class which was graduated less than forty years since. “It was numerous;” says he, “the influence was decidedly in favour of morality. Before leaving college, a large proportion came under the power of religious principle, in consequence of a general revival of religion. Twenty-five years after the time of graduation, only one quarter of the class had died; and of the surviving three quarters, a large proportion were occupying stations of considerable usefulness.” ³¹ This is a highly instructive narrative, and it would be well, if others, in imitation of these gentlemen, would furnish direct testimony of the same kind, in regard to the connection between early moral and religious character, and subsequent success in the business of life. The entire subject of such a connection, is worth a careful investigation. No persons are so well qualified to furnish the requisite information, as the aged graduates of our colleges. The reason of this is plain. No persons are so well acquainted with the real characters of each other, as those who have been associated in the relation of classmates at our colleges, at the gay and fresh season of youth, when mankind are not accustomed to disguise their motives, feelings, intentions, and principles.

I can scarcely be mistaken, young gentlemen, when I suppose, that I have brought to your notice, on this occasion, a subject in which you will consider yourselves very deeply concerned. Next to your eternal salvation, and the welfare of your country, your success in life, must, of all subjects be the most interesting. An estate wasted by extravagance may often be repaired by subsequent industry and frugality; health injured by excesses may sometimes be restored by the renovating powers of nature or by the skill of physicians;-but who shall recall a wasted life to the guilty individual who has squandered the precious treasure? One life, and one life only is given you, and I am convinced from the reason of the case, from my own partial experience, and from the more ample experience of others, that your failure or success will chiefly depend on your neglect of, or adherence to, the principles and maxims which I have at this time attempted to establish and illustrate. To be successful, i.e. useful and honourable in life, you must laboriously prepare for discharging its great duties. You must be industrious; you must be enterprising. You must carefully cultivate your understandings, by making yourselves extensively acquainted with the most useful and valuable branches of literature, and science. Still one man cannot know everything, and to attempt this, would be not only unwise and visionary, but ruinous. Your attention, then, must be specially concentrated upon your chosen profession, and pursuit in life. You must watch the favourable occasions that may present themselves in your way, and skillfully turn them to your advantage. Nor must you consider the minor moralities and observances beneath your notice. You must cultivate all the qualities which make up good manners and good morals;-for good manners are part of the code of good morals. Above all, you must cultivate personal religion;-for as Lord Chatham says, “if you are not right towards God, you can never be so towards man.” It is a great mistake to suppose, that personal religion is valuable only in reference to the life to come;-it is the grand elevating and purifying element in character, the most precious of all precious possessions even in regard to the affairs of this life. All these various means of success, you must use carefully, perseveringly, resolutely;-and what young man ever failed in life, who used faithfully all these ways of ensuring success?-no one, I may assert with all confidence.

The reason why so many fail in life, is very obvious to all who will observe and reflect on the subject. They never use the means which are indispensable to success. Their preparatory and professional education has, through indolence, negligence, or impatience of restraint, ³² been totally inadequate to its end. There is a lion in their path, ³³ whenever any object is to be accomplished requiring serious labour and adventurous enterprise. Their minds have not been enriched by various literature, nor their understandings disciplined by laborious study, precise method, and exact learning. Even within the narrow precincts of their own professions, their knowledge is too loose and indefinite to guide them in practice. All favourable occasions, and opportunities leading to success are seized by others, while they are beset by sloth, or the love of frivolous amusements; or they are destroyed by the withering blight of gross and degrading vices. Perhaps they neither fear God nor regard man. Perhaps they have small regard for the pious and moral influences which never fail to spring from the religious observance of Sunday, and an habitual attendance on the public worship of Almighty God. Perhaps the language of cursing and bitterness, and vulgar abuse, may be more familiar to them, than the accents of kindness and the law of love. Perhaps “God is not in all their thoughts,” nor his name upon their tongues, unless for the purpose of profaning it. Perhaps “they tarry long at the wine,” ³⁴ and are “mighty at strong drink.” Perhaps they are more familiar with the theatre than with the church; and the evening may more often find them at the gaming table than at their own fire-sides. Perhaps they have been ensnared by “the strange woman, who forsaketh the guide of her youth and forgetteth the covenant of her God; whose house inclineth unto death, and whose guests are in the depths of Hell; who hath cast down many wounded; by whom many strong men have been slain; whose house is the way to Hell, going down to the chambers of death.” ³⁵ They have neither said nor done anything to inspire public confidence. And yet these men are surprised at their want of success in life; and charge their failure upon their friends, upon want of discernment in the public to discover their merits, upon the government under which they live, upon fortune, upon fate, and sometimes upon Divine Providence. No one, however, is surprised at their failure, but themselves;-everyone else sees it to be the natural and inevitable consequence of their original deficiencies, and subsequent indifference, neglect, or misconduct. After some years, they abandon their professions for which they were never qualified, give themselves up to ruinous vices, if they have not done so before and become the victims of discouragement and despair, if not of premature death. In this way, thousands of ingenuous young men have been lost to themselves and to society, who under more favourable auspices, might have been useful, respectable, and happy.

Next to the blasting effects of vicious habits, nothing is more destructive to the ultimate prospects of young men, than an injudicious haste to enjoy the honours and emoluments of the learned professions, before they are qualified to discharge the duties which these professions impose. So sensible have the people of the United States been, to the danger of entrusting concerns of weighty import to very young men, that in our National, and in many of our State constitutions, a particular age is prescribed, previous to which, the public interests cannot be committed to their hands. ³⁶ The law supposes that a man is not qualified to manage his own concerns until he is twenty-one years of age; and, therefore, does not permit him to become responsible for his own civil acts, before he has reached that time of life. Yet we constantly see youths in their minority, or if not, yet in the very first months of their majority, willing to assume the responsibilities of the Medical profession, of the Bar, and of the Christian Ministry. I must not be understood to say, that wisdom always accompanies length of days; still the position may be assumed as a general rule, with all confidence, that the term of twenty-five years does not usually bring with it more wisdom, discretion, and good judgment, than is sufficient to justify men in entrusting to the hands of others, their fortunes, their lies, and their eternal interests. It is the obvious dictate of reason and common sense, that the previous part of life should be occupied in a comprehensive course of study and discipline.

I cannot persuade myself to close; until I have presented this subject in still another light. I refer to the happiness of an active, energetic, and useful life, compared with a life of indulgence, sloth, and inglorious ease. Man was formed chiefly for action, and an active life is to him the highest sphere of duty and usefulness, of dignity and happiness. Study and contemplation are, in themselves, sources of high satisfaction and enjoyment, but they derive a still greater value from their relation to our future pursuits in an active course of duty and usefulness. Cicero commends some of his countrymen of distinguished rank, for their fondness for the study of geometry, dialectics, and the civil law, because those sciences are employed in the investigation of truth; but he affirms, that to permit ourselves to be drawn away, even by these attractive sciences, from active employments, is contrary to our duty. He says, “Virtutis enim laus omnis in action consistit.” ³⁷ All wise and effectual action must spring from study and reflection. Eminent scholarship must be the fruit of industry, energy, and enterprise. You will not be learned men when you leave the walls of the college. You will not be learned men when you are admitted as members of the learned professions. Your success and happiness must consist, in your making continual advances, in the path of life which you have chosen to pursue. That class of learned men whose closets are the chief scene of their labours, or who are engaged in the instruction of youth, are supposed to be principally useful, inasmuch as their labours contribute to furnish others with materials and qualifications for active usefulness. The approbrious appellation of literary miser, is bestowed on him who is intent only on acquiring knowledge for its own sake, and without any view to convert it to the benefit of mankind.

Observe the distinctions around you in society, and reflect on the causes in which they originate. The choice of Hercules is substantially, if not formally presented to every young man in your situation. ³⁸ Milton exhorts instructors “to inflame their scholars with the study of learning, and the admiration of virtue, to infuse into their young breasts such an incredible diligence and courage, (spirit of enterprise,) such an ingenuous and noble ardour, as will not fail to make many of them renowned and matchless men, and to stir them up with high hopes of living to be brave (excellent) men and worthy patriots, dear to God and famous to all ages.” “The end of learning,” continues he, “is to repair the ruins of our first parents, 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, makes up the highest perfection.” ³⁹

The original standard of acquirements and of character in South-Carolina, was very high; and by this standard, the illustrious men were formed whose names adorn our annals. One of the most distinguished of our statesmen has said, “the only distinction to which South-Carolina can aspire, must be based on the moral and intellectual acquirements of her sons.” ⁴⁰ The names of Rutledge, of Pinckney, of Laurens, of Drayton, of Heyward, of Lynch, of Middleton, of Moultrie, of Marion, of Gadsden, of Hayne, of Dehon, of Lowndes, and of Waties, are embalmed in our history, and their renown can never perish. You will inherit the country and the institutions which they loved and honoured by their talents, their acquirements, and their virtues. The same country will hereafter commit its interests and its honour to your keeping. It will also fall to you to sustain, perfect, and perpetuate the institutions which they founded, and to perform the duties which they so honourably performed. This is the time for you to decide, whether like them, you will be respectable, useful, and distinguished in life. The distinctions of talents, of acquirements, of virtue, of piety, are imperishable. By sloth, by impatience under restraint, by impiety, and by vice, you may consign yourselves to insignificance, blast the hopes of your parents, and refuse to render them those returns (pretia nascendi) for their expense, their labour, and anxiety, which will be inestimably precious in their eyes, their chief solace in advanced age, and which they may so rightfully require at your hands.

I am very sensible, that an address upon such a subject as that which I have chosen for this occasion, would have come with a much superior grace, from one who could have furnished in his own person, a case of signal success in life to be ascribed to an observance of the maxims and principles which I have attempted to illustrate and enforce. Such an one might have spoken with a degree of authority and a weight of argument to which I can lay no claim. “Feci ut potui.” Feeble as my attempt may have been, to point out to you the path to useful distinction, it is a sincere and disinterested endeavour to promote your welfare for time and eternity. Blessed will your lives be to yourselves, to your relatives, to your friends, and to your country, if you are habitually governed from the beginning to end of them, by high moral and religious principle, by the love of knowledge, of labour, of order, of truth, of your country, and of mankind.

NOTES.

A.
The author takes occasion to publish Cicero’s account of his professional education as an illustration of his views contained in this address. The greatest part of it was published in the Southern Review, vol. ii p. 515. He has used the translation of the Review, after carefully comparing it with the original, and has translated the remainder, so that it is now published entire.

Cicero says, “when I became acquainted with the Roman Forum. Hortensius was at the height of his reputation, Crassus was dead, Cotta had been banished, and judicial proceedings were suspended in consequence of the war. Hortensius was in the army, performing his term of service, according to the Roman discipline, one year as a common soldier, another as a military tribune. Sulpicious was absent, as was also M. Antony. Trials were conducted under the Varian law alone, as there was occasion for no other, by reason of the war. L. Memmius and Q. Pompey were habitually present, and spoke as their manner was. They were not distinguished in their profession; but still they are honoured with the title of orators by the eloquent Philip, according to whose testimony their speaking had the ehemence and fluency which belongs to the style of accusation.

The other most celebrated orators of the time, were in office, and I had almost daily opportunities of hearing them speak in public. For, C. Curio was then tribune of the people;-he, however, was not in the habit of speaking, since he had, on one occasion, been deserted by the whole assembly;-Q. Metellus Celer was not distinguished, but spoke occasionally. Q. Varius, C. Carbo, and Cn. Pomponius were distinguished orators, and may almost be said to have lived in the Forum. C. Julius, also, Curule Aedile, almost daily delivered speeches in a very accurate style. As I had been extremely desirous to hear Cotta, I regretted his banishment; still I attended on the speaking of the other orators with great zeal. In the mean time, I was not satisfied with hearing oratorical performances only, but passed no day without reading, writing, and meditation. The next year, Q. Varius was condemned to banishment under his own law. Moreover, I attended diligently to the study of the civil law under Q. Scaevola, who, though he did not give formal instruction on the subject, yet permitted such as were desirous of learning, to attend his consultations and learn what they could in that way. The year succeeding, Sylla and Pompey were elected consuls, and P. Sulpicius, tribune. With the oratorical style of the latter, I became intimately acquainted, as he spoke daily in some cause or other.

About the same time, Philo the head of the Academy and some of the principal men of Athens, left that city and came to Rome, being driven away by the Mithridatic war. To his instructions I devoted myself with the greatest ardour, not only because I was enthusiastically fond of philosophy itself, and delighted with the variety and importance of the subjects with which it made me acquainted, but because I was impressed with the belief, that the whole judicial system was abolished forever. During this year, Sulpicius died. The next, three of the most distinguished orators, Q. Catulus, M. Antony, and C. Julius, were most cruelly put to death. This same year, I also took lessons at Rome of Molo the Rhodian, who was both an eminent pleader at the bar and skillful teacher of rhetoric. Although this account of my studies may seem irrelevant to the object of this treatise, yet I have given it, that you, Brutus, (as it is already known to Atticus,) might have your wish gratified, of being made perfectly acquainted with the course I have pursued, and that you might likewise see how closely I have followed the footsteps of Hortensius throughout the whole of it. For almost three years after this, the city was free from any disturbance, but by reason either of the death, or departure, or banishment of the public speakers (for even M. Crassus, and the two Lentuli were not at Rome,)Hortensius took the lead in pleading causes;-the reputation, however of Antistius daily increased; Piso spoke frequently; Pomponius not so often; Carbo seldom; Philiponce or twice daily.

During this whole period, I was engaged night and day in the assiduous study of every branch of knowledge. I used to be with Diodotus the Stoic, who died lately at my house, where he had long resided. From him I learned, among other things, the principles of dialectics, which deserves to be considered as a more contracted and circumscribed eloquence, and, without which, you too, Brutus, have judged it impossible to attain to that higher kind of eloquence which is regarded as only a diffusive or expanded dialectics. To this teacher, and to the various branches of knowledge he professed, I devoted myself, but not so exclusively, as not to continue my oratorical exercises regularly every day. I studied and declaimed together, often with M. Piso and Q. Pompey, or with somebody else, sometimes in Latin, but more frequently in Greek, both because the Greek being riher in oratorical embellishments, naturally led to the same perfection in the use of the Latin language, and because I could not be instructed, nor have my errors corrected by Greek masters, unless I spoke Greek. In the meantime came the tumult about re-establishing the commonwealth, and the cruel deaths of Scaevola, Carbo, Antistius; the return of Cotta, Curio, Crassus,, the Lentuli, Pompey; law and judicature restored; the republic recovered; out of the number of orators, however, three perished. Pompoius, Censorinus, Murena. Then, for the first time, we began to be concerned in causes, both private and public, not to learn our business in the Forum, as many do, but that as far as possible, we might go into it ready prepared. At the same time, we studied once more under Molo, who had come s ambassador to the Senate, touching the rewards of the Rhodians. Thus it was, that our first speech in a public (or criminal) cause, that, namely, for Sextus Roscius, ⁴¹ was so highly commended, that no undertaking of the kind was thought beyond our talents; and from that time forward, we appeared in many others, in which we prepared ourselves elaborately, and even by midnight studies.

“And since it is your wish to know me, not by a few prominent marks, but by a full length portrait, I shall include some things in this account of myself, which may, perhaps, seems to be of minor importance. I was at that time remarkably spare, and feeble of body; with a long attenuated neck; and altogether, such a frame and constitution as is thought to make any extraordinary exertion of the lungs, imminently dangerous. The concern of those to whom I was dear, was so much the more increased, that I spoke always without the least remission or variety, with my voice stretched to the utmost pitch, and my whole body laboring and agitated. So that my friends and the physicians advised me to abandon all idea of the Forum, but I thought it better to encounter any peril, than renounce the pursuit of that glory which I believed to be within my reach. And thinking that by altering my manner of speaking, and modulating my voice with greater skill, I should at once avoid all danger, and improve my elocution, with a view of effecting such a change, I determined to go to Asia. ⁴² So after having been engaged in practice as an advocate for two years, and when my name was now become celebrated in the Forum, I left Rome. At Athens I staid six months, attending the praelections of Antiochus, the most renowned and able philosopher of the old Academy, and thus renewed, under the directions of a great master, the study philosophy, which I had cultivated from my earliest youth, and progressively improved myself in ever since. At the same time I used sedulously to practice speaking under Demetrius, the Syrian, an old and not undistinguished professor of the art. Afterwards, I travelled all over Asia, taking lessons of the greatest orators, with whom I exercised myself in the same way by their own invitation. Of these, the most distinguished was Menippus of Stratonice; in my opinion, the best speaker of that day in all Asia; and, if to be entirely free from affectation and impertinencies ⁴³ of all sorts, (nihil habere molestiarum nec ineptiarum) is to be Attic, none was more so than this orator. Dionysius also was continually with me; as were Aeschylus the Cnidian, and Xenocles of Adramyttium. These were then reckoned the principal speakers of Asia. But not satisfied with their assistance, I went to Rhodes, and applied myself to the same Molo whom I had heard at Rome: who, whilst he was himself distinguished in the management of causes, and a writer of eminence, was the severest of critics in detecting and censuring any fault, and very able in the business of elementary instruction. He took particular pains (I will not say with what success) to prune away my style which was redundant, and rioted in a sort of youthful luxuriance and licentiousness, and to keep it, so to express myself, within its banks. So that I returned at the end of two years, not only better disciplined and practiced, but quite changed; for I had acquired a proper control of my voice, and what may be called the effervescence of my oratory had passed off, my lungs had gathered strength, and my whole constitution, some small degree of vigour and consistency.

“There were two orators at that time pre-eminent, to excite my emulation, Cotta and Hortensins: the former, pleasant and equable, expressing himself with great propriety, and with a careless ease and freedom; the other, ornate, animated, and not as you knew him, brutus, when he was on the wane, but much more vehement both in style and delivery. I, therefore, supposed that Hortensius was to be my principal rival, both as I resembled him more by the animation of my manner, and was nearer to him in age; and besides that, in the most important causes the leading part was always conceded to him by Cotta himself; for a concourse of people, and the tumult of the Forum, require impassioned and ardent speaker with a musical voice, and an impressive and rather dramatic manner. In the course of the first year after my return from Asia, I pleaded several important causes whilst I was suing for the Quaestorship, Cotta for the Consulship, and Hortensius for the place of AEdile. The next year I passed in Sicily; Cotta, after his Consulship, went to Gaul; Hortensius was and was reputed to be first at the bar. When I came back from Sicily, my talent (whatever it was) seemed to have attained to its full maturity and perfection. I fear I am dwelling too long upon these things, especially as they concern myself; but my object in all that I have said, is not to make a boast of any genius and eloquence, which I am far from pretending to, but to shew you what my labour and industry have been. After having been employed then for five years =, in the most important causes, and among the leading advocates, I was fairly matched with Hortensius in the impeachment of Verres, just after he had been elected Consul, and I AEdile. But as this conversation, besides a bare recital of facts calls for some ideas upon the art, I will briefly state what I think was most remarkable in Hortensius. After his consulship, (probably because he had no competitor among the Consulars, and he did not care about those who had not been Consuls) he relaxed from that application and study, which had been so intense in him from his childhood, and surrounded with the good things of life, he determined to live more happily, as he reckoned it, more at his ease certainly. The first, and second, and third year, the colouring of his eloquence, like that of an old picture, began gradually to fade, so gradually however, that an unpracticed eye could not detect the change, although connoisseurs might. As he grew older, he seemed to fall off every day, as in other respects, so particularly in the command of language. While on the other hand, I did not for a moment neglect, by every sort of exercise, but especially by writing a great deal, to increase the talent, whatever it was, that I possessed in that way. Meanwhile, (to omit other things) in the election of Praetors, I stood at the head of the college ⁴⁴ by a very large majority; for not only by my industry and assiduity in the management of causes, but also by a more exquisite and an uncommon style of speaking, I had forcibly drawn the attention of men towards me. I will say nothing of myself. I shall confine myself to the rest of our public speakers, among whom there was none who seemed to have cultivated more thoroughly than other people, those literary studies, in which the fountains of eloquence are contained; none, who had made himself master of philosophy, mother both of good words and actions; none who was sufficiently versed in the civil law, a knowledge of which is so essential to an orator, especially in private causes; none who was so familiar with the Roman history, as to be able to call witnesses of high authority from the dead whenever need were; none who, when he had fairly caught his adversary in his toils, could relax the minds of the judges, and divert them for a while from the severity of their character and situation, to mirth and laughter; none who could expatiate at large, and introduce into the discussion of a particular case, general views and universal principles; none who, to amuse an audience, could digress from the subject in hand, who could inflame their minds with anger, or melt them to tears,–none, in short, who possessed that control over the human soul, which is the peculiar privilege of the orator.”—Cicero Liber de Claris Oratoribus, c. 89-93.

B.
The utility of classical studies has been much discussed within a few years. Most branches of the argument may be said to have been exhausted in the discussion, except perhaps the argument from experience. Some have supposed the moral influence of the classics to be unfavourable; the author, therefore, publishes a part of his introductory lecture on Moral Philosophy, in which he had occasion to defend the classics in this respect.

II. The claim of the Greek and Roman writers, to be made the basis of the higher education in our colleges, has been frequently and earnestly discussed; and it is believed, that there has been a vast preponderance of argument in their favour. To enter into the merits of the general question, is not consistent with my present object: but one exception has been taken to their claim, which it will be appropriate to my design to notice. It has been urged against the classic writers, by some excellent men, whose feelings and opinions are entitled to great respect, that their moral tendency is unfavourable to youth, however much they may contribute to improve their minds and cultivate their understandings. This objection, if true, would be insurmountable: for no cultivation of the intellect can compensate for the destruction of the moral principles. I shall, therefore, give it a careful consideration.

The tests which present themselves for determining this question, are;-(a) a review of the Greek and Roman classic writers, in respect to the moral sentiments which they contain, and the moral impression which they are calculated to produce: (b) an enquiry into the actual effect which has been produced by the study of these writers on classical scholars. My limits prescribe, that I should confine myself to the classic writers which are usually read at our best institutions.

(a) One of the earliest classics put into the hands of our youth, is Caesar’s Commentaries. This work is the personal narrative of the military achievements of that great commander, and is distinguished for its simple, perspicuous, and beautiful style. Its moral effect cannot be unfavourable, unless this is always the case with narratives of military adventures; a position that will scarcely be maintained. The histories of Sallust, in a neat and graphic style, convey a deep and lasting impression of the public injury and private ruin which never fail to follow in the train of private profligacy and unprincipled ambition. History has been said to be philosophy teaching by example; and what example can teach with more effect, the destructive consequences of civil dissensions, than that furnished by the History of Thucydides? Herodotus is various in his materials, mild and equitable in his observations, instructive in his details, and it is believed, has never been accused of being injurious to the morals of youth. The great Epics of Homer and Virgil, address themselves to the susceptibilities of taste, and not to the moral sense. The Idyls of Theocritus, and the Eclogues and Georgies of Virgil, were designated to recommend rural life, and to give instruction in husbandry, the most useful, the most healthful, the most moral, and the most dignified of all human employments. The Odes of Pindar and Horace contain some of the most brilliant and striking thoughts even on moral subjects, to be found in any language; and in the Satires and Epistles of Horace, a trace of the Stoic principles prevails, (Eichhorn’s Litterargeschichte, vol. i. p, 155.) and the inconsistences and less grave vices of men are chastised in a peculiar strain of pleasantry.

Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico Tangit; et admissus circum praecordia, ludit.—Pers. Sat. 1. 116.

He attacks vices chiefly by the formidable instrument of ridicule. Perhaps no writer has chastised avarice with equal spirit and effect. Satire was the only branch of literature in which the Romans were original, and in a moral point of view, their satire is peculiarly rich. Few writers can be read with more profit in this respect, than Juvenal. He portrays the moral corruption of Rome with a spirit and depth of feeling inferior only to that of St. Paul (Romans i. 18-32.) Scaliger says of him, ardet, instat, jugulat;-and the character which he has given of Lucilius, is appropriate to himself.

Euse velut strict quoties Lucilius ardens
Infremuit, rubetauditor, cni frigid mens est
Criminibus, tacita sudant praecordia culpa.—Sat. 1. 165.

No writer is more fertile in valuable sentiments, suited as materials of thought and action, to all situations and circumstances of life. Where are the terrors of a guilty conscience depicted with such power as in his 13th Satire. No other human writing, perhaps, contains so many exalted sentiments, within the same compass, as his 8th Satire. Where can we obtain better instruction on the regulation of our desires than in the 10th Satire. What can be more beautiful or more valuable than the conclusion to which he comes, after having discussed the desire of riches, of power, of fame, of beauty, and of one life;-which make up the sum of human wishes;-

Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpora sano.
Fortem posce animum, et mortis terrore carentem,
Qui spatium vitae extremum inter munera ponat
Naturae, qui ferre queat quoscunque labors,
Nesciat irasci, cupiat nihil; et potiores,
Herculis aerumnas credit, saevosqne labors,
Et venere et caenis et plumis Sardanapali.—Sat x. 1. 356-362.

The 14th Satire on the influence of example, should be studied by parents, by instructors, and by magistrates, that they may be sensible of the influence which they wield and the responsibility which they incur. The style of Persius is harsh and obscure, but he had a richness of thought, and an energy of expression peculiar to himself. It has before been said, that he was a stoic in his doctrines, and his fine summary of moral doctrines has already been quoted. Among many impressive moral passages, I cannot refrain from citing his description of the power of conscience to punish the wicked.

Mague pater Divum, saevos punier tyrannos
Haud alia ratione elis, cum dira libido
Moverit ingenium fervent tineta veneno;
Virtutem videant, intabescantque relicta.
Anne magis Siculi gemuerunt aera juvenci;
Et magis auratis pendens laquearibus ensis
Purpureas subter ervices terruit; imus,
Imus praecipites, quam si sibi dicat; et intus
Palleat infelix quod proxima nesciat uxor?—Sat iii. 35-43.

The works of the critical writers, such as Aristotle, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Quintilian, Louginus, and the rhetorical treatises of Cicero, are of a didactic nature, and have never been supposed to be unfriendly to morals. The same may be said of Lysias, Isocrates, Demosthenes, and Cicero, the principal classic orators which are studied in our colleges. History is a moral species of writing, and Tacitus and Livy are the Roman historians, which have been chiefly studied. Tacitus has ever been celebrated above all other historians, for the profound moral reflections which are found in his writings. It would be difficult to find in modern times a specimen of biography equally instructive with his life of Agricola. No where do we see the influence of high integrity, strict attention to duty, respect to superiors when in a subordinate station, and condescention to inferiors when in a superior:-in short, all those qualities which are accustomed to raise men to usefulness and distinction, more strikingly exemplified than in the conduct of Agricola. No writer, perhaps, ever possessed in an equal degree with Tacitus, the power of concentrating valuable thought. Describing the state of the times under Domitian, when the teachers of wisdom had been expelled, and their writings had been burnt in public, he says;-Scilicet illo igne vocem populi Romani et libertatem senates et conscientiam generis humani aboleri arbiratbantur, expulses insuper sapientiae professoribus, atque omni bona arte in exsilium acta, ne quid usquam honestum occurreret. (Agricola, c. 2.)

The original object of dramatic writing, was, by representation of such occurrences as might well be supposed to take place in actual life, to render deep the impression of the ultimate triumph of virtue, and the infallibly ruinous consequences of vice. Thus Horace says:

Ille bonis faveatque, et consilietur amicis,
Et regat iratos, et amet peccare timentes;
Ille dapes laudet mensae brevis: ille salubrem
Justitiam, legesque, et apertis otia portis:
Ille regat commissa; Deosque precetur et oret.,
Ut redeat miseris, abeat fortuna siperbis.—Ars Poet. 196-201.

An English poet has expressed the same views;-

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius and to mend the heart,
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o’er each scene and be what they behold;
For this the tragic muse first trod the stage.—Pope’s Prologue to Addison’s Cato, 1-5.

And although this original design of the dramatic art has signally failed, and it is matter of history, that the use of dramatic representations is so connected with their abuse to licentiousness, that it seems impossible to have the one without the accompanying curse of the other; still, the ancient dramatists are never represented on the stage, and we may, in the perusal of such writers as Sophocles, Euripides, and Terence, obtain the benefit that was originally designed. St. Paul quotes (1 Cor. xv. 33 see Rosenmullur.) FROM Euripides or Menander, the moral maxim, “evil communications corrupt good manners.” The Tabula Cebetis, or Picture of human life by Cebes, who was a Theban and a Socratic writer, is an allegorical representation of life with its diversified trials, temptations, encouragements, and vicissitudes. The great and salutary moral doctrine is maintained and beautifully illustrated, tht riches, reputation, and even life itself, are neither blessings nor curses in their nature, but become such to their possessors according to the use which they make of them. The chief works of Plato and Xenophon, which are studied in an elementary course of classical learning, are the Crito, the Phaedo, and the Apology of Socrates of the former; and the Cyropaedia, the Anabasis, and the Memoirs of Socrates, of the latter. The dialogue of Phaedo, contains the conversations of Socrates concerning the immortality of the soul, held in his prison the very day on which he drank the fatal hemlock; and the conclusion contains a minute and moving notice of his behavior at that trying period. Rousseau had this passage in mind when he wrote his parallel, or rather contrast, between the life and death of Socrates and Jesus Christ, in which he said;-if the life and death of Socrates were those of a sage, the life and death of Jesus were those of a God. (Profession de Foi du Vicaire Savoyard, Rousseau’s Emile, vol. ii. p. 239.) The Cyropaedia of Xenophon is a historical romance, (Xenophontis quae extant, Edit. Schneider Tom i. p. 663.) founded upon fact, in which the author has given his views, in much detail, of the duties and qualifications of an accomplished prince or governor. If those maxims, and that line of conduct which tend to make a nation prosperous and happy, are embraced by the term moral, this beautiful work must be entitled to our approbation as justly forming part of the studies of youth. The Anabasis contains the author’s journal of the celebrated retreat of the ten thousand Greeks from Persia, which has given him the celebrated retreat of the ten thousand Greeks from Persia, which has given him the reputation of being the greatest military commander of his time. In his memoirs of Socrates, he gives a full narrative of his moral doctrines, often conveyed, there is reason to presume, in the very terms, and with the striking illustrations which he was accustomed to use. This most valuable of all Xenophon’s works, would well repay the labour of a careful perusal, if it contained nothing more than the beautiful allegory of Prodicus of Cos, respecting the celebrated choice of Hercules. Every youth, when he comes to act for himself, is in the situation of Hercules. (p. 27) On the one side, is the way of sloth and pleasure terminating in ruin; and on the other, the way of labour and virtue leading to happiness. Happy the youth, who with Hercules chooses the path of labour and of virtue. We may judge of the deep moral impression which this story makes on those who read it, from the circumstance that it has had so many imitators. Among the ancients, it was imitated by Lecian, and among the English, is illustrated by Lord Shaftesbury in his characteristics. It is imperfectly translated in the 97th No. of the Tatler. Shenstone rendered it into English verse; and Dr. Lowth, a scholar equally celebrated in the walks of classic and sacred literature, made it the subject of a poetical paraphrase.

The philosophical writings of Cicero, however, in which he has transferred all that was most valuable in the Greek Philosophy, to his native tongue, are probably the most valuable legacy of the kind, which we have received from antiquity. Cicero may be viewed in several characters, and we are at a loss in which to admire him most. As an orator, none but Demosthenes has been placed in comparison with him; and as a statesman, Juvenal may be presumed to have expressed the settled conclusion, at which his countryman had arrived, upon a full view of his conduct.

Tatum igitur muros intra toga contulit illi
Nominis et tituli. Quantum non Lencade, quantum
Thessaliae campis Octavius abstulit u do
Caedibus assiduis gladio S d Roma parentem,
Roma patrem patriae Ciceronem libera dixit.—Sat. viii. 240-244.

As a patriot, it is difficult to form a sufficiently high estimate of him, without a familiar acquaintance with his writings. The republic and its best interests were ever present to his mind. His reputation for scholarship is founded on nothing less than an acquaintance with every branch of literature which was known at the time when he lived. As a moralist, he produced the most valuable treatise of all antiquity. (De Officiis) and without the careful study of it, even at this time, a moral education must be acknowledged to be very imperfect. It is a remarkable fact, that some of the moral views contained in this treatise, (Lib. iii. c. 12-17.) have been judged too strict by such writers as Pothier, Puffendorf, and Grotius. (Kent’s Com. On Am. Law, vol. ii. p. 387.) amid all the light which Christianity has furnished. Among other merits, it contains all the striking thoughts which are to be found in the remarks of Dr. Channing on the career of Bonaparte, and on which no inconsiderable share of his reputation is founded. The work of Panaetius, a Grecian stoic, was taken as the basis of this treatise; but the several parts of the subject were so much amplified by Cicero, so many corrections were made by him, so many modifications of the ultra doctrines of the stoics were introduced and so many and such extensive deficiencies were supplied, (Lib. iii. c. 2.) that he may justly claim the substance as his own. It is in the form of letters to his son, who was studying philosophy at Athens at the time when it was written. It has been allotted to few sons to receive letters of this description from a father.

Two things appear to have led to the suggestion, that the tendency of the classics is unfriendly to morals; to wit, the circumstance, that there are some passages in the classic writers, of an immoral description;-and that the character of the heathen deities is such as no man can approve, and therefore, may have a pernicious influence.

1. The immoral passages to which objections have justly been made, are chiefly to be found in Ovid, Horace, and Juvenal. The reading of Ovid has generally been discontinued in our schools, and his writings are not so valuable, that it is desirable to retain them. The immoral passages of Horace and Juvenal, scarcely compose a thousandth part of those authors, and are always omitted by instructors in reading them. It is not perceived, that the study of the valuable parts of a classic writer in case objectionable passages are omitted, can injure the morals of a youth; any more than that travelling through a fine country and enjoying its best society, should injure him in the same respect, when he is careful to avoid every circumstance that could contaminate him. 2. The objection arising from the character of the heathen deities, admits of an equally clear and decisive answer. It may be said, that our youth who study the classics, are taught to have no respect for the heathen divinities, and even no belief in their existence; much less are they taught to regard them as models of character and conduct. It is not reasonable to believe, that a system of which our youth have no belief, and for which they have no respect, can have a moral influence upon them either favourable or unfavourable.

(b) Nor does it appear, if we examine the practical effect which the study of the Greek and Roman classic writers has had on classical scholars, that this influence, whatever it may have been, has been injurious in its tendency. It will not be said, that our classical scholars are the most immoral men in our community; which ought to be the fact, if the influence of the classical writers is unfriendly to the morals of youth. The clergy who adorn our pulpits and who have the chief influence in giving the tone to the public morals, are generally men well versed in ancient learning. It has not been understood, that the part of our clergy, who are without classical attainments, though some of them are highly respectable and useful, have been superior to their more learned brethren, in the all-important point of moral qualifications. Are our layers and statesmen who have drunk deep at the Pierian spring, less worthy of public trust or private confidence, than others? Are those physicians who have the best acquaintance with the classic writers, the men whom we are least willing to admit to the responsible and confidential relation which they sustain to ourselves and our families? The contrary in each of these cases is unquestionably true, and our eminent classical scholars are, as a class, examples of every great and shining virtue.

But the subject is not yet exhausted. The characters contained in the classics, are a most valuable part of them, and never fail to make a deep and salutary impression. Where is the sentiment, that the excellence of a mother is to be seen in the valuable traits of character exhibited by her children, so beautifully inculcated, as in the Roman Cornelia presenting her sons to her friend, as her most valuable jewels? Where has more delicate sensibility to the slightest touch of dishonor been displayed, than in the case of Lucretia, to whom life became an intolerable burthen, the moment her honour was tarnished. Where shall we find a scene of conjugal and parental tenderness so delicate and so touching, as the interview of Hector and Andromache? What country ever had patriots superior to Cincinnatus and the Decii? Nor was this exalted spirit of patriotism confined to individuals; it was a national characteristic. It was this trait which gave the Romans the empire of the world. Examples manifesting this spirit have been drawn from the Roman history, to encourage the efforts and strengthen the energies of every succeeding nation, and by none more often than by our own statesmen. When, during the year 1776, American affairs were in their most depressed state, when the country was invaded and apparently almost overwhelmed by a numerous and well disciplined army, John Jay, in an address to his countrymen, reminded them of the noble conduct of the citizens of Rome, when placed in circumstances somewhat similar. After the armies of Rome, said he, had been repeatedly defeated by Hannibal, that imperial city was besieged by this brave and experienced general, at the head of a numerous and victorious army. But so far were her glorious citizens from being discouraged by the loss of so many battles, and of all their country; so confident of their own virtue and the protection of heaven, that the very land on which the Carthagenians were encamped, was sold at public auction, for more than the usual price. (Pitkin’s Civ. And Po. History of U. States, vol, i. p. 380.) The Roman history has ever been the great storehouse of the heroic virtues.

The enquiry has frequently been made of the author, why a boy who is not designed for a learned profession, should be required to study the Latin and Greek classics. He has frequently replied to this question, and he embraces this occasion to publish an answer to the same enquiry, contained in an address delivered within a few months, before a literary society in the University of Pennsylvania, by Hon. Joseph Hopkinson, LL. D. District Judge of the U. States for the district of Pennsylvania.

“The American parent,” says he, “does an injustice to his child which he can never repair for which no inheritance can compensate, who refuses to give him a full education, because he is not intended for a learned profession;-whatever he may intend, he cannot know to what his son may come; and, if there should be no change in this respect, will a liberal education be lost upon him because he is not a lawyer, a doctor, or a divine? Nothing can be more untrue or pernicious than this opinion. It is impossible to imagine a citizen of this commonwealth to be in any situation, in which the discipline and acquirements of a collegiate education, however various and extended, will not have their value. They will give him consideration and usefulness, which will be seen and felt in his daily intercourse of business or pleasure, they will give him weight and worth as a member of society, and be a never failing source of honourable, virtuous, and lasting enjoyment, under all circumstances, and in every station of life. They will preserve him from the delusion of dangerous errors, and the seduction of degrading and destructive vices. The gambling table will not be resorted to, to hasten the slow and listless step of time, when the library offers a surer and more attractive resource. The bottle will not be applied to, to stir the languid spirit to action and delight, when the magic of the poet is at hand to rouse the imagination, and pour its fascinating wonders on the soul. Such gifts, such acquirements, will make their possessor a truer friend, a more cherished companion, a more interesting, beloved, and loving husband, a more valuable and respected parent.”

C.
The author has translated from the French, a letter from President John Adams to the Abbe De Mably, which contains the best summary view of the sources of American history with which he is acquainted within the same compass. Considerable search has been made for the English original, but without success. The author cannot say, whether the original is existing.

To M. the Abbe De Mably, 1782.

It is with pleasure that I have learned your design of writing upon the American Revolution, because your other writings, which are much admired by the Americans contain principles of legislation, of policy, and of negotiation, which are perfectly analogous to theirs; so that you will scarcely be able to write upon this subject without producing a work which will serve for the instruction of the public, and especially for that of my fellow-citizens. But I trust you will not accuse me of presumption, of affectation, or of singularity, if I venture to express to you the opinion, that it is yet too soon to undertake a complete history of this great event, and that there is no man either in Europe or America, who, at this time, is in a situation to do it, and who has the materials requisite or necessary for its accomplishment.

In undertaking such a work, a writer ought to divide the history of America into several periods. 1. From the first establishment of the Colonies in 1600, to the beginning of their difficulties with Great Britain in 1761. 2. From this beginning, (occasioned by an order of the Board of Trade and Plantations in Great Britain, given to the officers of the customs in America, to cause the acts of trade to be executed in a more rigorous manner, and to this end, to apply to the courts of justice for writs of assistance) to the commencement of hostilities, 19th April 1775. During this period of fourteen years, war was waged only with he pen. 3. From the battle of Lexington to the signing of the treaty with France, 6th of February 1778. During this period of three years, the war was waged only between Great Britain and the United States. 4. From the treaty with France to the breaking out of hostilities first between Great Britain and France, then with Spain, afterwards to the formation (development) of the Armed Neutrality and the war against Holland. Finally, all these scenes find their conclusion in the negotiations of the peace.

Without a clear knowledge of the history of the colonies during the first period, a writer will find himself constantly embarrassed, from the beginning of his work to the end, to give an account of the events and characters which will present themselves for description at each step, as he advances towards the second, third, and fourth periods. To acquire a sufficient knowledge of the first period, all the charter granted to the colonies, and the commissions and instructions given to the Governors must be read, all the Codes of Law of the different colonies, (and thirteen folio volumes of dry and repulsive statutes which are neither perused with pleasure nor in a small space of time,) all the records of the Legislatures of the different colonies, which will be found only in manuscript and by travelling in person from New-Hampshire to Georgia; the records of the Boards of Trade and of Plantations in Great Britain, from their institution to their dissolution, as also the office-papers of some of the offices of State.

There is another branch of reading which cannot be dispensed with, when the others shall have been completed. I speak of those writings which have appeared in America from time to time; I do not pretend, however, situated as I am, at a distance from all the books and writings, to make an exact enumeration of them;-the writings of the early Governors Winthrop and Winslow, of Dr. Mather, Mr. Prince,-Neal’s History of New-England, (2 vols. 8 vo. Tr.)—Douglas’ Summary of the first settlements, the progressive improvement of the lands, and present state of the British colonies, (Douglas, Wm., Summary Historical and Political of the British settlements in N. America, 2 vols. 8 vo. Tr.)-Hutchinson’s History of Massachusetts-Bay, (3 vols. 8 vo. Tr.)-Smith’s History of New-York,–Smith’s History of New-Jersey,–the works of William Penn,–Dummer’s Defence of the New-England Charters,–the History of Virginia, and several others. ⁴⁵ All this was previous to the present dispute which began in 1761.

During the second period, the writings are more numerous and more difficult to be obtained:-works of great importance were then given to the public in the form of controversies between those who were actors in this scene, in quality of writers,–some of them deserve to be distinguished. We may reckon among them the writings of the Royal Governors Pownal, Bernard, and Hutchinson, of Lt. Gov. Oliver, of Mr. Sewall, Judge of Admiralty for Halifax,–of Dr. Jonathan Mayhew, James Otis, Oxenbridge Thatcher, Samuel Adams, Josiah Quincy, Joseph Warren;–and perhaps the following have not been less important than any of the others; to wit, the writings of Mr. Dickinson, of Mr. Wilson, and of Dr. Rush of Philadelphia, of Mr. Livingston, and Mr. Dougal of New-York, of Colonel Bland and Arthur Lee of Virginia, and of several others. The records of the city of Boston, and particularly of a Committee of Correspondence, of the Board of Commissioners of the Customs, of the House of Representatives, and of the Council, (Bureau du Conseil) of Massachusetts-Bay,–moreover, the Boston gazettes of late times, not to mention those of New-York and Philadelphia, ought to be collected and examined since the year 1760. All this is necessary to write with precision and in detail, the history of the controversies previous to the commencement of hostilities, comprising the period from the year 1761 to 19th April 1775.

During the third and fourth periods, the records, pamphlets and gazettes of the thirteen States ought to be collected, as well as the Journals of Congress, (a part of which, however, are still secret,) and the collection of New Constitutions of the different States,–the Remembrancer and the Annual Register, periodical papers published in England. The “Affaires de l’Angleterre and de l’Amerique,”—and the “Mercure de France” published at Paris, and the “Politique Hollandais” printed at Amsterdam,-the entire series of the correspondence of General Washington with the Congress from the month of July 1775, to this day, which has not been, and which will not be published until Congress shall order, or permit it to be published. And permit me to inform you, that unless this vast source be opened, it will be scarcely possible for a writer to undertake a history of the American war. There are besides, other writings of importance in the Archives of the Secret Committee, in those of the Committee of Commerce,–of the Committee of Foreign Affairs—of the Committee of the Treasury, of the naval Committee; in the War Office. (as long as it continued,)—and in the Archives of the Department of War, of Naval Affairs, of Finance, and of Foreign Affairs, since their institution. There is, also, the correspondence of the American Ministers in France, Spain, Holland, and other parts of Europe.

The greatest part of the documents and materials being still unpublished, it is a premature step to undertake a general history of the American Revolution; but too much activity and pains cannot be used in making a collection of the materials. In the meantime, there are, in fact, already two or three general histories of the American War and Revolution, published at London; and two or three others published at Paris. Those in the English language are only rude and confused materials without discrimination, and all these histories both in English and in French, are nothing more than monuments of the complete ignorance of their authors on this subject.

An entire and very long life, beginning at the age of twenty years, would be required, to collect from all nations and from all parts of the world, in which they exist, the documents requisite to form a complete history of the American War; because it is, in truth, the history of the human race during all this period. It is necessary to unite with it the history of France, of Spain, of Holland, of England, and of the Neutral Powers, as well as the history of America. The materials of it must be collected from all these nations; and the most important of all the documents, as well as the characters of the actors and the secret springs of the transactions, are still concealed in cabinets and in cipher.

Whether you, Sir, undertake to give a general history, or simply some remarks and observations similar to those which you have given upon the Greeks and Romans; you will produce a work highly interesting and instructive in regard to morals, politics and legislation, and I shall esteem it an honour and a pleasure to furnish you with all the small aid which shall be in my power, to facilitate your researches. It is impossible for me to inform you, whether the government of this country (France) would wish to see such a work profoundly written, and by an author of great celebrity, in the French language. It admits of a question, perhaps, whether such an enterprise of explaining principles of government so different from those which prevail in Europe, especially in France, would be viewed with an indifferent eye;–it is, however, a thing of which I do not consider myself a competent judge.

Permit me, Sir, to close this letter by giving you a key to all this history. There is a general analogy in the governments and characters of all the thirteen States;-but it was not until the discussions and the war began in Massachusetts, the leading Province of N. England, that the primitive institutions produced their first effect. Four of these institutions ought to be well studied and fully examined by everyone who may wish to write on this subject with a knowledge of causes; for they have produced a decisive effect, not only on the first determinations of the debates, on the public councils and the first resolutions to resist by arms, but also by the influence which they had upon the minds of the other colonies, in setting them an example, to adopt more or less the same institutions and similar measures.

The four institutions referred to, are, 1. The townships or districts. 2. The churches. 3. The schools. 4. The militia.

1. The townships are certain portions of country, or territorial districts, into which Massachusetts-Bay, Connecticut, New-Hampshire, and Rhode-Island were divided. Each township is usually six miles or two leagues square. The inhabitants who live within these limits, form by law, corporations or bodies politic, and are invested with certain powers and privileges;-as for example, with the power of repairing the highways, maintaining the poor, choosing the selectmen, constables, collectors of the taxes and other officers, and especially their representatives in the Legislature; as also with the right of assembling as often as they are notified by their selectmen, in town-meetings, in order to deliberate upon the public affairs of the township, or to give instructions to their representatives. The consequences of this institution have been, that all the inhabitants having acquired, from their infancy, a habit of discussing, deliberating and judging of public affairs, the sentiments of the people have in the first instance been formed, and their resolutions have been taken in these small townships or districts, from the commencement to the end of the discussions, and of the war.

2. The churches are religious societies which comprise the whole people. Each district contains a parish and a church. The greatest part have only one, but some have several of them. Each parish has a meeting house, and a minister supported at its own expense. The constitutions of the churches are extremely popular, and the clergy have little influence or authority, except what their piety, their virtue, and their knowledge naturally give them. They are chosen by the people of their parish, and receive their ordination from the neighbouring clergy. They are all married, have families, and live with their parishioners in perfect friendship and intimacy. They visit the sick, practice charity towards the poor, solemnize all marriages and burials, and preach twice each Sunday;-the least stain upon their moral character would cause them to lose their influence, and would injure them for life. They are wise, virtuous and pious men. Their sentiments are in general suited to those of the people, and they are jealous friends of liberty.

3. There are schools in each township; they are established by an express law of the colony; each township consisting of sixty families, is obliged, under the penalty of a fine, constantly to maintain a school and a master who teaches reading, writing, arithmetic, and the elements of the Latin and Greek languages. All the children of the inhabitants, those of the rich as well as of the poor, have the right of going to this public school. Students are prepared in them for Cambridge, N. Haven, Warwick, (Providence, Tr.) and Dartmouth Colleges; and in these colleges, masters are educated for the schools, ministers for the churches, lawyers and physicians, magistrates and officers for the government of the country.

4. The militia comprehends all the people. By the laws of the country, each male inhabitant between 16 and 60 years of age, is enrolled in a company and regiment of militia, completely furnished with all the officers. He is obliged always, to keep in his house and at his own expense, a musket in good order, a powder-horn, a pound of gunpowder, twelve flints, twenty-four leaden bullets, a cartouch-box, and a knapsack: so that the whole country is ready to march for its defense at the first signal. The companies and regiments are required to assemble at a certain time of the year, under the orders of their officers, for the inspection of their arms and ammunition, and to perform military exercises.

This, Sir, is a slight sketch of the four principal sources of that wisdom in council, of that skill and military courage, which produced the American Revolution, and which, I trust, will be sacredly preserved as the foundations of the liberty, the happiness and the prosperity of the people. If there are other particulars upon which I can give you information, you will do me a favour by letting me know it. I have the honour to be,

JOHN ADAMS.

D.
The author reprints from the columns of a newspaper, the best summary which he has seen, of the multifarious duties of the President of the United States.

“This (the Government of the United States) is a business government, and the chief magistrate, so far from being a parade officer, has much more business to do than any other officer in the Union. His business is of an arduous and complicated nature. He must be thoroughly acquainted with the laws of the country; for every question in the administration and execution of the laws, throughout the Union, which is referred to Washington, must be decided in the last resort, by him. Matters the most perplexed, are in this way constantly submitted to him, which he must personally investigate and settle. It is impossible to do this, without being familiar with the whole course of judicial decision in the Courts both of the States and the Union. All the intricacies of the public land system must be at his command. The entire series of the revenue laws, with their successive changes and present state, must be present at once to his mind; for millions of the public property depend upon his being able, in case of need, to direct their prompt application. All cases of disputed accounts, in every part of the service requiring executive sanction, are referred to and must be examined by him. The President must know the whole internal condition of the country, and the natural and economical connection of its various parts with each other, for he is daily called on to authorize expenditures of the public money, under the acts of Congress providing for surveys. Every act of Congress is presented to him for his signature. He must do what, if it were the sole business of the most industrious of our legislators, would be thought enough to occupy all their time; that is, he must read over every act of Congress, weight the reports on which it is founded and the debates of its friends and opposers, and make up his mind whether, under the solemnity of an oath, he can put his name to it. In the administration of so vast a country as this, and under a government so recent as ours, new cases, unprovided for by legislation, are of frequent occurrence in every department of the service. These must be anxiously examined and decided by the chief magistrate, according to the analogy of the constitution and laws of the country. Almost the whole province of the Indian affairs of the country, a subject difficult and embarrassing beyond belief, is left by law with the discretion of the President. A number of treaties, with different tribes of Indians, are annually to be made of the highest importance to the United States; difficulties of the most embarrassing character, in the execution of former treaties, frequently arise; and collisions between different States of the Union and the aborigines in their neighbourhood, of painful and alarming aspect, have taken place from time to time ever since the peace of 1783. All these are subjects on which the President must often come to an instant decision, involving vast amount of property, and affecting human life itself. The proceedings of court martials, naval and military, are referred to the President, and their record, often extremely voluminous, must be read by him with the greatest care, as he is to approve or disapprove the sentence. The same holds of criminal trials in the Courts of the United States. The President is obliged to administer, in the last resort, the discipline of the West-Point Academy; and in case of dismission, generally receives applications for the restoration of the cadet, requiring careful investigation of the circumstances. Then there is the entire foreign intercourse of the country, to which he must pay the closest attention. He must carefully read the voluminous correspondence of every foreign minister, charge d’affaires, and, in all cases of importance, that of the consuls and commercial agents; and he must direct the answers to be returned by the Secretary of State. With the principal powers of Europe we have negotiations pending, some of which relate to matters that have been in discussion twenty years; others to controversies as old as the constitution. The documents necessary to the understanding of these negotiations, fill a great number of printed volumes, and no doubt as many more lie unpublished in the archives of government. In addition to this, these negotiations often turn upon difficult points of foreign law, the law of nature and nations, and the import and construction of our own treaties. It will not do, when the time of decision arrives, for the President to be obliged to sit down, and begin to inquire into the subject. He cannot conscientiously leave to his Secretary of State, what his duty requires him to understand himself. All this profound and various knowledge must, therefore, be laid up in his mind, as in a vast storehouse, in orderly arrangement for immediate use. Besides the correspondence with our own ministers, the President must superintend the intercourse of the ministers of foreign powers with this government. We need only revert to the administration of Washington or the first of Madison, to understand the difficulty of this part of his duty. With all these labours pressing upon him, the President must, during one half of the year, stand ready to direct the answers to be made to the calls of the two Houses of Congress, on every imaginable subject, not merely of legislation, but of enquiry. He must find time to receive applications and recommendations for every office within his nomination; applications sometimes, it is believed, amounting to several hundreds for an office. He must receive the visits, and attend to the personal communications of every citizen of the United States, who repairs to Washington with business over which the chief magistrate has, or is supposed to have, a control. And he must go through his enormous amount of work, (more unquestionably, than devolves on any [other] officer in the world,) under the knowledge, that he is to be traversed at every step, by an active, and often unscrupulous and unprincipled opposition; that whichever way he decides or acts, some of the ablest men and most active presses in the country will be instantly in motion to prove that he ought to have done the precise contrary.” (Walsh’s National Gazette, Oct. 16th, 1828.)

E.
The celebrated letters of Lord Chatham to his nephew, Thomas Pitt, seem to the author to be much less known in this country, than they deserve to be. The great experience and distinction of Lord Chatham give them high authority. They are strongly illustrative of the views contained in this address, and the author avails himself of this occasion to place them in the hands of the ingenuous young men of the college, and to recommend them to their special notice.

The English Editor’s Preface.—The following letters were addressed by the late Lord Chatham to his nephew, Mr. Pitt, (afterwards Lord Camelford,) then at Cambridge. They are few in number, written for the private use of an individual during a short period of time, and containing only such detached observations on the extensive subjects to which they relate, as occasion might happen to suggest, in the course of familiar correspondence. Yet even these imperfect remains will undoubtedly be received by the public with no common interest, as well from their own intrinsic value, as from the picture which they display of the character of their author. The editor’s wish to do honor to the memory both of the person by whom they were written, and of him to whom they were addressed, would alone have rendered him desirous of making these papers public. But he feels a much higher motive, in the hope of promoting by such a publication the inseparable interests of learning, virtue, and religion. By the writers of that school, whose philosophy consists in the degradation of virtue, it has often been triumphantly declared, that no excellence of character can stand the test of close observation: that no man is a more amiable and dignified, is the opposite sentiment, delivered to us in the words of Plutarch, and illustrated throughout all his writings! ‘Real virtue,” says that inimitable moralist, ‘is most loved, where it is most nearly seen: and no respect which it commands from strangers, can equal the never ceasing admiration it excites in the daily intercourse of domestic life”—Plut. Vit. Periclis.

The following correspondence, imperfect as it is (and will not lament that many more such letters are not preserved?) exhibits a great orator, statesman and patriot, in one of the most interesting relations of private society. Not as in the cabinet or the senate, enforcing by a vigorous and commanding eloquence, those councils to which his country owed her pre-eminence and glory; but implanting with parental kindness into the mind of an ingenious youth, seeds of wisdom and virtue, which ripened into full maturity in the character of a most accomplished man: directing him to the acquisition of knowledge, as the best instrument of action; teaching him by the cultivation of his reason, to strengthen and establish in his heart those principles of moral rectitude which were congenial to it; and, above all, exhorting him to regulate the whole conduct of his life by the predominant influence of gratitude, and obedience to God, as the only sure groundwork of every human duty.

What parents, anxious for the character and success of a son, born to any liberal station in this great and free country, would not, in all that related to his education, gladly have resorted to the advice of such a man? What youthful spirit animated by any desire of future excellence, and looking for the gratification of that desire, in the pursuits of honourable ambition, or in the consciousness of an upright, active and useful life, would not embrace with transport any opportunity of listening on such a subject to the lessons of Lord Chatham? They are here before him. Not delivered with the authority of a preceptor, or a parent, but tempered by the affection of a friend towards a disposition and character well entitled to such regard.

On that disposition and character the editor forbears to enlarge. Their best panegyric will he found in the following pages. Lord Camelford is there described such as Lord Chatham judged him in the first dawn of his youth, and such as he continued to his latest hour. The same suavity of manners, and steadiness of principle, the same correctness of judgment, and integrity of heart, distinguished him through life; and the same affectionate attachment from those who knew him best, as followed him beyond the grave.

It will be obvious to every reader on the slightest perusal of the following letters, that they were never intended to comprise a perfect system of education, even for the short portion of time to which they relate. Many points in which they will be found deficient, were undoubtedly supplied by frequent opportunities of personal intercourse, and much was left to the general rules of study established at an English university. Still less, therefore, should the temporary advice addressed to an individual, whose previous education had labored under some disadvantage, be understood as a general dissuasive from the cultivation of Grecian literature. The sentiments of Lord Chatham were in direct opposition to any such opinion. The manner in which, even in these letters, he speaks of the first of poets, and the greatest of orators: and the stress which he lays on the benefits to be derived from their immortal works, could leave no doubt of his judgment on this important point. That judgment was afterwards most unequivocally manifested, when he was called upon to consider the question with a still higher interest, not only as a friend and guardian, but also as a father.

“I call that,” says Milton, “a complete and generous education, which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously, all the offices, both public and private, of peace and war.”

This is the purpose to which all knowledge is subordinate; the test of all intellectual and moral excellence. It is the end to which the lessons of Lord Chatham are uniformly directed. May they contribute to promote and encourage its pursuit! Recommended, as they must be, to the heart of every reader, by their warmth of sentiment and eloquence of language; deriving additional weight from the affectionate interest by which they were dictated; and most of all enforced by the influence of his own great example, and by the authority of his venerable name.

LETTER I.—My dear child;–I am extremely pleased with your translation now it is written over fair. It is very close to the sense of the original, and done in many places, with much spirit, as well as the numbers not lame or rough. However, an attention to Mr. Pope’s numbers will make you avoid some ill sounds, and hobbling of the verse, by only transposing a word or two, in many instances. I have, upon reading the Eclogue over again, altered the third, fourth, and fifth lines, in order to bring them nearer to the Latin, as well as to render some beauty which is contained in the repetition of words in tender passages. You give me great pleasure, my dear child, in the progress you have made. I will recommend to Mr. Leech to carry you quite through Virgil’s AEneid, from beginning to ending. Pray show him this letter, with my service to him, and thanks for his care of you. For English poetry, I recommend Pope’s translation of Homer, and Dryden’s Fables in particular. I am not sure, if they are not called Tales instead of AEneid quite through, and much of Horace’s Epistles. Terence’s plays I would also desire Mr. Leech to make you perfect master of. Your cousin has read them all. Go on, my dear, and you will at least equal him. You are so good that I have nothing to wish but that you may be directed to proper books; and I trust to your spirit, and desire to be praised for things that deserve praise, for the figure you will hereafter make. God bless you my dear child.

Your most affectionate uncle.

LETTER II.—Bath, Oct. 12, 1751.—My dear nephew;–As I have been moving about from place to place, your letter reached me here, at Bath, but very lately, after making a considerable circuit to find me. I should have otherwise, my dear child, returned you thanks for the very great pleasure you have given me, long before now. The very good account you give me of your studies, and that delivered in very good Latin, for your time, has filled me with the highest expectation of your future improvements: I see the foundations so well laid, that I do not make the least doubt but you will become a perfect good scholar; and have the pleasure and applause that will attend the several advantages hereafter, in the future course of your life, that you can only acquire now by your emulation and noble labours in the pursuit of learning, and of every acquirement that is to make you superior to other gentlemen. I rejoice to hear that you have begun Homer’s Iliad; and have made so great a progress in Virgil. I hope you taste and love those authors particularly. You cannot read them too much: they are not only the two greatest poets, but they contain the finest lessons for your age to imbibe: lessons of honour, courage, disinterestedness, love of truth, command of temper, gentleness of behavior, humanity, and, in one word, virtue in its true signification. Go on, my dear nephew, and drink as deep as you can of these divine springs: the pleasure of the draught is equal at least, to the prodigious advantages of it to the heart and morals. I hope you will drink them as somebody does in Virgil, of another sort of cup: Ille impiger hausit spumantem pateram. Quickly he drained the foaming bowl.”

I shall be highly pleased to hear from you, and to know what authors give you most pleasure. I desire my service to Mr. Leech; pray tell him I will write to him soon about your studies. I am with the greatest affection, my dear child, your loving uncle.

LETTER III.—Bath, Jan. 12, 1754.—My dear nephew;–Your letter from Cambridge affords me many very sensible pleasures: first, that you are at last in a proper place for study and improvement, instead of losing any more of that most precious thing, time, in London. In the next place, that you seem pleased with the particular society you are placed in, and with the gentleman to whose care and instructions you are committed; and above all, I applaud the sound, right sense, and love of virtue, which appears through your whole letter. You are already possessed of the true clue to guide you through this dangerous and perplexing part of your life’s journey, the years of education; and upon which, the complexion of all the rest of your days will infallibly depend: I say you have the true clue to guide you, in the maxim you lay down in your letter to me, namely, that the use of learning is, to render a man more wise and virtuous; not merely to make him more learned. Macte tua virtute; ‘Go on, and prosper.’ Go on, my dear boy, by this golden rule, and you cannot fail to become everything your generous heart prompts you to wish to be, and that mine most affectionately wishes for you. There is but one danger in your way; and that is, perhaps, natural enough to your age, the love of pleasure, or the fear of close application and laborious diligence. With the last there is nothing you may not conquer: and the first is sure to conquer and enslave whoever does not strenuously and generously resist the first allurements of it, lest by small indulgences, he fall under the yoke of irresistible habit. Vitanda est improba siren, desidia, ‘Avoid that ugly siren, idleness,’ I desire may be affixed to the curtains of your bed, and to the walls of your chambers. If you do not rise early, you never can make any progress, worth talking of; and another rule is, if you do not set apart your hours of reading, and never suffer yourself or anyone else to break in upon them, your days will slip through your hands, unprofitably and frivolously; unpraised by all you wish to please, and really unenjoyable to yourself. Be assured, whatever you take from pleasure, amusements, or indolence, for these first few years of your life, will repay you a hundred fold, in the pleasures, honours; and advantages of all the remainder of your days. My heart is so full of the most earnest desire that you should do well, that I find my letter has run into some length, which you will, I know, be so good as to excuse. There remains now nothing to trouble you with, but a little plan for the beginning of your studies, which I desire, in a particular manner, may be exactly followed in every tittle. You are to qualify yourself for the part in society, to which your birth and estate call you. You are to be a gentleman of such learning and qualifications as may distinguish you in the service of your country hereafter; not a pedant, who reads only to be called learned, instead of considering learning as an instrument only for action. Give me leave, therefore, my dear nephew, who have gone before you, to point out to you the dangers in your road; to guard you against such things, as I experience my own defects to arise from; and at the same time, if I have had any little successes in the world, to guide you to what I have drawn many helps from. I have not the pleasure of knowing the gentleman who is your tutor, but I dare say he is every way equal to such a charge, which I think no small one. You will communicate this letter to him, and I hope he will be so good as to concur with me, as to the course of study I desire you may begin with; and that such books, and such only, as I have pointed out, may be read. They are as follows:–Euclid; a course of Logic; a course of experimental Philosophy; Locke’s Conduct of the Understanding; his Treatise also on the Understanding; his Treatise on Government, and Letters on Toleration. I desire, for the present, no books of poetry6, but Horace and Virgil; of Horace the Gdes, but above all, the Epistles, and Ars Poetica. These parts, Nocturna versate manu, versate diurnal. Tully de Officiis, de Amicitia. De Senectute. His Catilinarian Orations and Philippies. Sallust. At leisure hours, an abridgment of the history of England to be run through, in order to settle in the mind a general chronological order and series of principal events, and succession of kings: proper books of English history, on the true principles of our happy constitution, shall be pointed out afterwards. Burnet’s History of the Reformation, abridged by himself, to be read with great care. Father Paul on beneficiary matters, in English. A French master, and only Moliere’s Plays to be read with him, or by yourself, till you have gone through them all. Spectators, especially Mr. Addison’s papers, to be read very frequently at broken times in your room. I make it my request that you will forbear drawing, totally, while you are at Cambridge; and not meddle with Greek, (see p. 41 and letter xvi.) otherwise than to know a little the etymology of words in Latin, or English, or French: nor to meddle with Italian. I hope this little course will soon be run through; I intend it as a general foundation for many things, of infinite utility, to come as soon as this is finished.

Believe me, with the truest affection, my dear nephew, ever yours,

LETTER IV.—Bath, Jan. 14, 1754.—My dear nephew;–You will hardly have read over one very long letter from me before you are troubled with a second. I intended to have written soon, but I do it the sooner on account of your letter to your aunt, which she transmitted to me here. If anything, my dear boy, could have happened, to raise you higher in my esteem, and to endear you more to me, it is the amiable abhorrence you feel for the scene of vice and folly, (and of real misery and perdition, under the false notion of pleasure and spirit,) which has opened to you at your college, and at the same time, the manly, brave, generous, and wise resolution and true spirit, with which you resisted and repulsed the first attempts upon a mind and heart, I thank God, infinitely too firm and noble, as well as too elegant and enlightened, to be in any danger of yielding to such contemptible and wretched corruptions. You charm me with the description of Mr. Wheler, and while you say you could adore him, I could adore you for the natural, genuine love of virtue, which speaks in all you feel, say, or do. As to your companions, let this be your rule. Cultivate the acquaintance with Mr. Wheler which you have so fortunately begun: and, in general, be sure to associate with men much older than yourself: scholars whenever you can; but always with men of decent and honourable lives. As their age and learning, superior both to your own, must necessarily, in good sense, and in the view of acquiring knowledge from them, entitle them to all deference, and submission of your own lights to theirs, you will particularly practice that first and greatest rule for pleasing in conversation, as well as for drawing instruction and improvement from the company of one’s superior in age and knowledge, namely, to be a patient, attentive, and well bred hearer, and to answer with modesty; to deliver your own opinions sparingly and with proper diffidence; and if you are forced to desire farther information or explanation upon a point, to do it with proper apologies for the trouble you give: or if obliged to differ, to do it with all possible candour, and an unprejudiced desire to find and ascertain truth, with an entire indifference to the side on which that truth is to be found. There is likewise a particular attention required to contradict with good manners; such as, begging pardon, begging leave to doubt, and such like phrases. Pythagoras enjoined his scholars an absolute silence for a long noviciate. I am far from approving such a taciturnity; but I highly recommend the end and intent of Pythagoras’ injunction; which is to dedicate the first parts of life more to hear and learn, in order to collect materials, out of which to form opinions founded on proper lights, and well examined sound principles, than to be presuming, prompt, and flippant in hazarding one’s own slight crude notions of things; and thereby exposing the nakedness and emptiness of the mind, like a house opened to company before it is fitted either with necessaries, or any ornaments for temerity and presumption, but a more serious danger is sure to ensue, that is, the embracing errors for truths, prejudices for principles; and when that is once done, (no matter how vainly and weakly,) the adhering perhaps to false and dangerous notions, only because one has declared for them, and submitting, for life, the understanding and conscience to a yoke of base and servile prejudices, vainly taken up and obstinately retained. This will never be your danger; but I thought it no amiss to offer these reflections to your thoughts. As to your manner of behaving towards these unhappy young gentlemen you describe, let it e manly and easy; decline their parties with civility; retort their raillery with raillery, always tempered with good breeding; if they banter your regularity, order, decency, and love of study, banter in return their neglect of them; and venture to own frankly, that you came to Cambridge to learn what you can, not to follow what they are pleased to call pleasure. In short, let your external behavior to them be as full of politeness and ease as your inward estimation of them is full of pity, mixed with contempt. I come now to the part of the advice I have to offer to you, which most nearly concerns your welfare, and upon which every good and honourable purpose of your life will assuredly turn; I mean the keeping up in your heart the true sentiments of religion. If you are not right towards God, you can never be so towards man; the noblest sentiment of the human breast is here brought to the test. Is gratitude in the number of a man’s virtues? If it be, the highest benefactor demands the warmest returns of gratitude, love, and praise: Ingratum qui dixerit, omnia dixit. ‘When you have spoken ingratitude, you have spoken everything.’ If a man wants this virtue, where there are infinite obligations to excite and quicken it, he will be likely to want all others towards his fellow creatures, whose utmost gifts are poor compared to those he daily receives at the hands of his never failing Almighty friend. Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, is big with the deepest wisdom; the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; and, an upright heart, that is understanding. This is eternally true, whether the wits and rakes of Cambridge allow it or not: nay, I must add of this religious wisdom. Her ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace, whatever your young gentlemen of pleasure may think of a tainted health and battered constitution. Hold fast therefore by this sheet-anchor of happiness, religion; you will often want it in the times of most danger; the storms and tempests of life. Cherish true religion as precisely as you will fly with abhorrence and contempt superstition and enthusiasm. The first is the perfection and glory of the human nature; the two last, the depravation and disgrace of it. Remember the essence of religion is, a heart void of offence towards God and man; not subtle, speculative opinions, but an active vital principle of faith. The words of a heathen were so fine that I must give them to you: Compositum jus, fasque animi, sanctosque recessus mentis, et incoctum generoso pectus honesto. ‘What is just and right within the soul, and the sacred recesses of the mind, and a breast imbued with generous honesty.”

Go on, my dear child, in the admirable dispositions you have towards all that is right and good, and make yourself the love and admiration of the world! I have neither paper nor words to tell you how tenderly I am yours.

LETTER V.—Bath. Jan. 24, 1754.—I will lost not a moment before I return my most tender and warm thanks to the most amiable, valuable, and noble minded of youths, for the infinite pleasure his letter gives me. My dear nephew, what a beautiful thing is genuine goodness, and how lovely does the human mind appear, in its native purity, (in a nature as happy as yours,) before the taints of a corrupted world have touched it! To guard you from the fatal effects of all the dangers that surround and beset youth, (and many there are,) I thank God, is become my pleasing and very important charge; your own choice, and our nearness in blood, and still more, a dearer and nearer relation of hearts, which I feel between us, all concur to make it so. I shall seek then every occasion, my dear young friend, of being useful to you, by offering you those lights, which one must have lived some year in the world to see the full force and extent of, and which the best mind and clearest understanding will suggest imperfectly, in any case, and in the most difficult, delicate, and essential points perhaps not at all, till experience, that dear bought instructor, comes to our assistance. What I shall therefore make my task, (a happy, delightful task, if I prove a safeguard to so much opening virtue,) is to be for some years , what you cannot be to yourself, your experience; experience anticipated, and ready digested for your use. Thus we will endeavour, my dear child, to join the two best seasons of life, to establish your virtue and your happiness upon solid foundations. So much in general. I will now, my dear nephew, say a few things to you upon a matter where you have surprisingly little to learn, considering you have seen nothing but Bocounock; I mean behavior. Behaviour is of infinite advantage or prejudice to a man, as he happens to have formed it to a graceful, noble, engaging, and proper manner, or to a vulgar, coarse, ill-bred, or awkward, and ungenteel one. Behaviour, though an external thing which seems rather to belong to the body than to the mind, is certainly founded in considerable virtues: though I have known instances of good men, with something very revolting and offensive in their manner of behavior, especially when they have the misfortune to be naturally very awkward and ungenteel; and which their mistaken friends have helped to confirm them in, by telling them, they were above such trifles as being genteel, dancing, fencing, riding, and doing all manly exercises, with grace and vigour. As if the body, because inferior, were not a part of the composition of man; and the proper, easy, ready, and graceful use of himself, both in mind and limb, did not go to make up the character of an accomplished man. You are in no danger of falling into this preposterous error; and I had a great pleasure in finding you, when I first saw you in London, so well disposed by nature, and so properly attentive to make yourself genteel in person, and well bred in behavior. I am very glad you have taken a fencing master; that exercise will give you some manly, firm, and graceful attitudes: open your chest, place your head upright, and plant you well upon your legs. As to the use of the sword, it is well to know it; but remember, my dearest nephew, it is a science of defense; and that a sword can never be employed by the hand of a man of virtue, in any other cause. As to the carriage of your person, be particularly careful, as you are tall and thin, not to get a habit of stooping; nothing has so poor a look; above all things, avoid contracting any peculiar gesticulations of the body, or movements of the muscles of the face. It is rare to see in any one a graceful laughter; it is generally better to smile than to laugh out, especially to contract a habit of laughing at small or no jokes. Sometimes it would be affectation, or worse, mere moroseness, not to laugh heartily, when the truly ridiculous circumstances of an incident, or the true pleasantry and wit of a thing, call for and justify it; but the trick of laughing frivolously is by all means to be avoided: Risu inepto, res ineptior nulla est. ‘Nothing is so silly as a silly laugh.’ Now as to politeness; many have attempted definitions of it; I believe it is best to be known by description; definition not being able to comprise it. I would however, venture to call it, benevolence in trifles, or the preference of others to ourselves in little daily, hourly occurrences in the commerce of life. A better place, a more commodious seat, priority in being helped at table, &c. what is it but sacrificing ourselves in such trifles to the convenience and pleasure of others? And this constitutes true politeness. It is a perpetual attention, (by habit it grows easy and natural to us,) to the little wants of those we are with, by which we either prevent, or remove them. Bowing, ceremonious, formal compliments, stiff civilities, will never be politeness: that must be easy, natural, unstudied, manly, noble. And what will give this but a mind benevolent and perpetually attentive to exert that amiable disposition in trifles towards all you converse and live with? Benevolence in greater matters takes a higher name, and is the queen of virtues. Nothing is so incompatible with politeness as any trick of absence of mind. I would trouble you with a word or two more upon some branches of behavior, which have a more serious moral obligation in them, than those of mere politeness; which are equally important in the eye of the world. I mean a proper behavior, adapted to the respective relations we stand in towards the different ranks of superiors, equals, and inferiors. Let your behavior towards superiors, in dignity, age, learning, or any distinguished excellence, be full of respect, deference, and modesty. Towards equals, nothing becomes a man so well as well bred ease, polite freedom, generous frankness, manly spirit, always tempered with gentleness and sweetness of manner, noble sincerity, candour, and openness of heart, qualified and restrained within the bounds of discretion and prudence, and ever limited by a sacred regard to secrecy, in all things entrusted to it, and an inviolable attachment to your word. To inferiors, gentleness, condescension, and affability, is the only dignity. Towards servants, never accustom yourself to rough and passionate language. When they are good, we should consider them as humiles amici, as fellow Christians, ut conserve; and when they are bad, pity, admonish, and part with them if incorrigible. On all occasions beware, my dear child, of anger, that demon, that destroyer of our peace. Ira furor brevis est, animum rege qui nisi paret imperat, hunc fraenis, hune tu compesce catenis. ‘Anger is temporary madness,–unless it obey, it will rule the mind like a tyrant, restrain it with curbs and chains.’

Write soon and tell me of your studies. Your ever affectionate.

LETTER VI.—Bath, Feb. 3, 1754.—Nothing can or ought to give me a higher satisfaction, than the obliging manner in which my dear nephew receives my most sincere and affectionate endeavours to be of use to him. You much overrate the obligation, whatever it be, which youth has to those who have trod the paths of the world before them, for their friendly advice how to avoid the inconveniences, dangers, and evils, which they themselves may have run upon for want of such timely warnings, and to seize, cultivate, and carry forward towards perfection, those advantages, graces, virtues, and felicities, which they may have totally missed, or stopped short in the generous pursuit. To lend this helping hand to those who are beginning to tread the slippery way, seems, at best but an office of common humanity to all; but to withhold it from one we truly love, and whose heart and mind bear every genuine mark of the very soil proper for all the amiable, manly, and generous virtues to take root, and bear their heavenly fruit; inward, conscious peace, fame amongst men, public love, temporal and eternal happiness; to withhold it, I say, in such an instance, would deserve the worst of names. I am greatly pleased, my dear young friend, that you do me the justice to believe I do not mean to impose any yoke of authority upon your understanding and conviction. I wish to warn, admonish, instruct, enlighten, and convince your reason; and so determine your judgment to right things, when you shall be made to see that they are right; not to overbear and impel you to adopt anything before you perceive it to be right or wrong, by the force of authority. I hear with great pleasure, that Locke lay before you when you last wrote to me; and I like the observation that you make from him, that we must use our own reason, not that of another, if we would deal fairly by ourselves, and hope to enjoy a peaceful and contented conscience. This precept is truly worthy of the dignity of rational natures. But here, my dear child, let me offer one distinction to you, and it is of much moment: it is this: Mr. Locke’s precept is applicable only to such opinions as regard moral or religious obligations, and which as such, our own consciences alone can judge and determine for ourselves: matters of mere expediency, that affect neither honour, morality, or religion, were not in that great and wise man’s view: such are the usages, forms, manners, modes, proprieties, decorums, and all those numberless ornamental little acquirements, and genteel well-bred attentions, which constitute a proper, graceful, amiable, and noble behavior. In matter of this kind, I am sure, your own reason, to which I shall always refer you, will at once tell you, that you must, at first, make use of the experience of others; in effect, see with their eyes, or not be able to see at all; for the ways of the world, as to its usages and exterior manners, as well as to all things of expediency and prudential considerations, a moments reflection will convince a mind as right as yours, must necessarily be to inexperienced youth, with ever so fine natural parts, a terra incognita. As you would not, therefore, attempt to form notions of China or Persia, but from those who have travelled those countries, and the fidelity and sagacity of whose relations you can trust; so will you as little, I trust, prematurely form notions of your own concerning that usage of the world (as it is called) into which you have not yet travelled, and which must be long studied and practiced before it can be tolerably well known. I can repeat nothing to you of so infinite consequence to your future welfare, as to conjure you not to be hasty in taking up notions and opinions: guard your honest and ingenuous mind against this main danger of youth: with regard to all things that appear not to your reason, after due examination, evident duties of honour, morality, or religion, (and in all such as do, let your conscience and reason determine your notions and conduct) in all other matters, I say, be slow to form opinions, keep your mind in a candid state of suspense, and open to full conviction when you shall procure it, using in the mean time the experience of a friend you can trust, the sincerity of whose advice you will try and prove by your own experience hereafter, when more years shall have given it to you. I have been longer upon this head than I hope there was any occasion for: but the great importance of the matter, and my warm wishes for your welfare, figure, and happiness, have drawn it from me. I wish to know if you have a good French master: I must recommend the study of the French language, to speak and write it correctly, as to grammar and orthography, as a matter of the utmost and indispensable use to you, if you would make any figure in the great world. I need say no more to enforce this recommendation: when I get to London, I will send you the best French dictionary. Have you been taught geography and the use of the globes by Mr. Leech? If not, pray take a geography master and learn the use of the globes; it is soon known. I recommend to you to acquire a clear and thorough notion of what is called the solar system; together with the doctrine of comets. I wanted as much or more to hear of your private reading at home as of public lectures, which I hope, however, you will frequent for examples sake. Pardon this long letter, and keep it by you if you do not hate it. Believe me, my dear nephew, ever affectionately yours.

LETTER VII.—Bath, March 30, 1754.—My dear nephew;–I am much obliged to you for your kind remembrance and wishes for my health. It is much recovered by the regular fit of gout, of which I am still lame in both feet, and I may hope for better health hereafter in consequence. I have thought it long since we conversed: I waited to be able to give you a better account of my health, and in part to leave you time to make advances in your plan of study, of which I am very desirous to hear an account. I desire you will be so good as to let me know particularly, if you have gone through the abridgment of Burnet’s History of the Reformation, and the treatise of Father Paul on Benefices; also how much of Locke you have read. I beg you not to mix any other English reading with what I recommended to you. I propose to save you much time and trouble by pointing out to you such books, in succession, as will carry you the shortest way to the things you must know to fit yourself for the business of the world, and give you the clearer knowledge of them, by keeping them unmixed with superfluous, vain, empty trash. Let me hear, my dear child, of your French also; as well as of those studies which are more properly university studies. I cannot tell you better how truly and tenderly I love you, than by telling you I am most solicitously bent on your doing everything that is right, and laying the foundations of your future happiness and figure in the world, in such a course of improvement, as will not fail to make you a better man, while it makes you a more knowing one. Do you rise early? I hope you have already made to yourself the habit of doing it; if not, let me conjure you to acquire it. Remember your friend Horace. Etni posces ante diem librum cum lumine, si non intendes animum studiis, et rebus honesties, invidia vel amore miser torquebere. “If you do not go with a lamp before day light to your books,–if you do not bend your mind to study and virtuous employment, jealousy or love will soon make you miserable.” Adieu. Your ever affectionate uncle.

LETTER VIII.—Astrop Wells, Sept. 5, 1754.—My dear nephew;–I have been a long time without conversing with you, and thanking you for the pleasure of your last letter. You may possibly be about to return to the seat of learning on the banks of the Cam; but I will not defer discoursing to you on literary matters till you leave Cornwall, not doubting but you are mindful of the muses amidst the very savage rocks and moors, and yet more savage natives, of the ancient and respectable dutchy. First, with regard to the opinion you desire concerning a common-place book; in general, I much disapprove the use of it, it is chiefly intended for persons who mean to be authors, and tends to impair the memory, and to deprive you of a ready, extempore use of your reading, by accustoming the mind to discharge itself of its reading on paper, instead of relying on its natural power of retention, aided and fortified by frequent revisions of its ideas and materials. Some things must be common-placed in order to be of any use; dates, chronological order, and the like; for instance, Nathaniel Bacon ⁴⁶ ought to be extracted in the best method you can: but in general my advice to you is, not to common-place upon paper, but, as an equivalent to it, to endeavour to range and methodize in your head what you read, and by so doing frequently and habitually to fix matter in the memory. If you have not read Burnet’s History of his own Times, I beg you will. I hope your father is well. My love to the girls. Your ever affectionate.

LETTER IX.—Pay Office, April 9, 1755.—My dear nephew;–I rejoice extremely to hear that your father and the girls are not unentertained in their travels. In the meantime your travels through the paths of literature, arts, and sciences, (a road sometimes set with flowers, and sometimes difficult, laborious, and arduous,) are not only infinitely more profitable in future, but at present, upon the whole, infinitely more delightful. My own travels at present are none of the pleasantest: I am going through a fit of the gout; with much proper pain and what proper patience I may. Avis au lecteur, my sweet boy; remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. Let no excesses lay the foundations of gout and the rest of Pandora’s box; nor any immoralities, or vicious courses, sow the seeds of a too late and painful repentance. Here ends my sermon, which I rust, you are not fine gentleman enough, or in plain English silly fellow enough to laugh at. Lady Hester is much yours. Let me hear some account of your intercourse with the muses. And believe me ever, your truly most affectionate.

LETTER X.—Pay Office, April 15, 1755.—A thousand thanks to my dear boy for a very pretty letter. I like extremely the account you give of your literary life; the reflections you make upon some West Saxon actors in the times you are reading, are natural, manly, and sensible, and flow from a heart that will make you far superior to any of them. I am content you should be interrupted (provided the interruption be not long) in the course of your reading, by declaiming in defence of the thesis you have so wisely chosen to maintain. It is true indeed that the affirmative maxim, Omne solum forti patria est, “Every soil is his country to the brave,” has supported some great and good men under the persecutions of faction and party injustice, and taught them to prefer an hospitable retreat in a foreign land to an unnatural mother country. Some few such may be found in ancient times: in our own country also some; such was Algernon Sidney, Ludlow, and others. But how dangerous is it to trust frail, corrupt man, with such an aphorism! What fatal casuistry is it big with! How many a villain might, and has, masked himself in the sayings of ancient illustrious exiles, while he was, in fact, dissolving all the nearest and dearest ties that hold societies together, and spurning at all laws divine and aphorisms! If all soils are alike to the brave and virtuous, so may all churches and modes of worship; that is, all will be equally neglected and violated. Instead of every soil being his country, he will have no one for his country; he will be the forlorn outcast of mankind. Such was the late Bolingbroke of impious memory. Let me know when your declamation is over.

LETTER XI.—Pay Office, May 20, 1755.—My dear nephew;–I am extremely concerned to hear that you have been ill, especially as your account of an illness, you speak of as past, implies such remains of disorder as I beg you will give all proper attention to. By the medicine your physician has ordered, I conceive he considers your case in some degree nervous. If that be so, advise with him whether a little change of air and of the scene, together with some weeks’ course of steel waters, might not be highly proper for you, I am to go the day after to-morrow to Sunning Hill, in Windsor Forest, where I propose to drink those waters for about a month. Lady Hester and I shall be happy in your company, if your doctor shall be of opinion that such waters may be of service to you; which, I hope, will be his opinion. Besides health recovered, the muses shall not be quite forgot; we will ride, read, walk, and philosophise, extremely at our ease, and you may return to Cambridge with new ardour, or at least with strength repaired, when we leave Sunning Hill. If you come, the sooner the better on all accounts. We propose to go into Buckinghamshire in about a month. I rejoice that your declamation is over, and that you have begun, my dearest nephew, to open your mouth in public. I wish I had heard you perform: the only way I ever shall hear your praises from your own mouth. My gout prevented my so much intended and wished for journey to Cambridge: and now my plan of drinking waters renders it impossible. Come, then, my dear boy, to us; and so Mahomet and the mountain may meet, no matter which moves to the other. Adieu. Your ever affectionate.

LETTER XII.—July 13, 1755.—My dear nephew;–I have delayed writing to you in expectation of hearing farther from you upon the subject of your stay at college. No news is the best news, and I will hope now that all your difficulties upon that head are at an end. I represent you to myself deep in study, and drinking large draughts of intellectual nectar; a very delicious state to a mind happy enough, and elevated enough, to thirst after knowledge and true honest fame, even as the hart panteth after the water brooks. When I name knowledge, I ever intend learning as the weapon and instrument only of manly, honourable, and virtuous action, upon the stage of the world, both in private and public life; as a gentleman, and as a member of the commonwealth, who is to answer for all he does to the laws of his country, to his own breast and conscience, and at the tribunal of honour and good fame. You, my dear boy, will not only be acquitted, but applauded and dignified at all these respectable and awful bars. So, go on and prosper in your glorious and happy career; not forgetting to walk an hour briskly, every morning and evening, to fortify the nerves. I wish to hear, in some little time, of the progress you shall have made in the course of reading chalked out. Adieu. Your ever affectionate uncle. Lady Hester desires her best compliments to you.

LETTER XIII.—Stowe, July 24, 1755.—My dear nephew:–I am just leaving this place to go to Wotton; but I will not lose the post, though I have time but for one line. I am extremely happy that you can stay at your college, and pursue the prudent and glorious resolution of employing your present moments with a view to the future. May your noble and generous love of virtue pay you with the sweet rewards of a self-approving heart and an applauding country! And may I enjoy the true satisfaction of seeing your fame and happiness, and of thinking that I may have been fortunate enough to have contributed, in any small degree, to do common justice to kind nature by a suitable education! I am no very good judge of the question concerning the books; I believe they are your own in the same sense that your wearing apparel is. I would retain them and leave the candid and equitable Mr.—to plan with the honest Mr.—schemes of perpetual vexation. As to the persons just mentioned, I trust that you bear about you, a mind and heart much superior to such malice; and that you are as little capable of resenting it, with any sensations but those of cool, decent contempt, as you are of fearing the consequences of such low efforts. As to the caution money, I think you have done well. The case of the chambers, I conceive, you likewise apprehend rightly. Let me know in your next what these two articles require you to pay down, and how far your present cash is exhausted, and I will direct Mr. Campbell to give you credit accordingly. Believe me, my dear nephew, truly happy to be of use to you. Your ever affectionate.

LETTER XIV.—Bath, Sept. 25, 1755.—I have not conversed with my dear nephew a long time: I have been much in a post-chaise, living a wandering Scythian life, and he has been more usefully employed than in reading or writing letters; travelling through the various, instructing, and entertaining road of history. I have a particular pleasure in hearing now and then a word from you in your journey, just while you are changing horses, if I may so call it, and getting from one author to another. I suppose you are going through the biographers, from Edward the Fourth downwards, not intending to stop till you reach to the continuator of honest Rapin. * * * * I have met with a scheme of chronology by Blair, showing all cotemporary, historical characters, through all ages: it is of great use to consult frequently, in order to fix periods, and throw collateral light upon any particular branch you are reading. Let me know, when I have the pleasure of a letter from you, how far you are advanced in English history. You may probably not have heard authentically of Governor Lyttleton’s captivity and release. He is safe and well in England, after being taken and detained in France some days. Sir Richard and he met, unexpectedly enough, at Brussels, and came together to England. I propose returning to London in about a week, where I hope to find Lady Hester as well as I left her. We are both much indebted for your kind and affectionate wishes. In publica commode peccem si longo sermon morer, “I would sin against the public weal were I to detain with a long discourse,” one bent on so honourable and virtuous a journey as you are.

LETTER XV.—Pay Office, Dec. 6, 1755.—Of all the various satisfactions of mind I have felt upon some late events, none has affected me with more sensibility and delight than the reading my dear nephew’s letter. The matter of it is worthy of a better age than that we live in; worthy of your own noble, untainted mind; and the manner and expression of it is such, as, I trust, will one day make you a powerful instrument towards mending the present degeneracy. Examples are unnecessary to happy natures; and it is well for your future glory and happiness that this is the case; for to copy any now existing, might cramp genius and check the native spirit of the piece, rather than contribute to the perfection of it. I learn from Sir Richard Lyttleton, that we may have the pleasure of meeting soon, as he has already, or intends to offer you a bed at his house. It is on this, as on all occasions, little necessary to preach prudence, or to intimate a wish that your studies at Cambridge might not be broken by a long interruption of them. I know the rightness of your sound mind, and leave you to all the generous and animating motives you find there, for pursuing improvements in literature and useful knowledge, as much better counselors than your ever most affectionate uncle. Lady Hester desires her compliments. The little cousin is well.

LETTER XVI.—Horse Guards, Jan 31, 1756.—My dear nephew;–Let me thank you a thousand times for your remembering me, and giving me the pleasure of hearing that you was well, and had laid by the ideas of London and its dissipations, to resume the sober train of thoughts that downs, square caps, quadrangles, and matin-bells, naturally draw after them. I hope the air of Oambridge has brought no disorder upon you, and that you will compound with the muses so as to dedicate some hours, not less than two, of the day to exercise. The earlier you rise, the better your nerves will bear study.The earlier you rise, the better your nerves will bear study. When you next do me the pleasure to write to me, I beg a copy of your elegy on your mother’s picture: it is such admirable poetry, that I beg you to plunge deep into prose and severer studies, and not indulge your genius with verse for the present.Substitute Tully and Demosthenes in the place of Homer and Virgil; and arm yourself with all the variety of manner, copiousness, and beauty of diction, nobleness and magnificence of ideas of the Roman consul; and render the powers of eloquence complete by the irresistible torrent of vehement argumentation, the close and forcible reasoning, and the depth and fortitude of mind of the Grecian statesman. This I mean at leisure intervals, and to relieve the course of those studies, which you intend to make your principal object. The book relating to the empire of Germany, which I could not recollect, is Vitriaris’s Jus Publicum, an admirable book in its kind, and esteemed of the best authority in matters much controverted. We are all well: Sir Richard is upon his legs and abroad again. Your ever affectionate uncle.

LETTER XVII.—Hayes, near Bromley, May 11, 1756.—My dear nephew’s obliging letter was every way most pleasing, as I had more than begun to think it long since I had the satisfaction of hearing he was well. As the season of humidity and relaxation is now almost over, I trust that the muses are in no danger of nervous complaints, and that whatever pains they have to tell are out of the reach of Esculapius, and not dangerous, though epidemical to youth at this soft month—

“When lavish nature in her best attire,Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire.”

To be serious, I hope my dearest nephew is perfectly free from all returns of his former complaint, and enabled by an unailing body, and an ardent elevated mind, to follow, Quo te coelestis sapientia duceret, “Wherever divine wisdom shall lead thee.” My holidays are now arpproaching, and I long to hear something of your labours, which, I doubt not, will prove in their consequence more profitable to your country a few years hence than your uncle’s. Be so good as to let me know what progress you have made in our historical and constitutional journey, that I may suggest to you some farther reading. Yours most affectionately.

Endnotes

1 The basis of this paragraph is a noble passage contained in the Edinburgh Review, (vol. xxiii. P. 320) which, by abridging and otherwise altering, the author has converted the purpose of his argument.
2 See this opinion discussed and illustrated at great length in President Edwards’ “History of Redemption,” (Works, vol. iii. N. Y. edition, 1830.) a work in many respects profound and instructive.—See also London Quarterly Review for May 1830, p. 194. 195.
3 Nothing can be more accurate than the views of the ancients in regard to the relation subsisting between tutor and pupil. Quintilian says, “discipulos id unum monee ut praeceptores suos non minus, quam ipsa studia ament, et parentes esse, non quidem corporum, sed mentium credant.” Lib. ii. c. 9. Juvenal speaks of it thus:–Dii, majorum umbris tenuem et sine pondere terram, Spirantesque crocos, et in urna perpetuum ver,
Qui praeceptorem sancti voluere parentis
Esse loco.—Sat. vii. 1. 207-210.
4 See Note A.
5 St. Luke, vi. 44.
6 Letter to Master Samuel Hartlib on Education.
7 Juvenal. Sat. viii. 236-244. Cicero De Officiis, lib. e. c. 22. 24. Lib. ii. c. 13.
8 See Note B.
9 See Note C.
10 Oratio pro Archia, c. vi.
11 Chap. xxii. V. 29.
12 Franklin’s Works, vol. i. p. 85.
13 Franklin’s Works, voi. L. p. 323.
14 See Note. D.
15 The entire passage stands thus in the report:– ‘With respect to the question of the recess, he had no fears, whatever might be the impatience of one or two well-meaning but over-anxious individuals, that the people would do full justice to the motives of the government, in the time which they might propose. But, good God! when they talked of a prorogation for a week, did they know the state of exhaustion to which incessant labour had reduced some members of the Government? The two noble Lords (Althorp and Russell) could not, he was satisfied, go on without some repose; and as for himself, although he did not complain, it was exactly twelve months last Friday, since he had been at work, with the exception of three days at Christmas, and two days at Easter, (chiefly spent, by the by, in travelling) from six or seven in the morning till twelve or one at night. If any man was so unreasonable as to say they should go on, he was confident at least that the great body of the reasoning classes of his countrymen would think differently; and that if they threw themselves on them, they could have no fear of obtaining a verdict.”—Walsh’s National Gazette, for December 15th, 1831.
16 The greatest part of this paragraph is abridged from Lib. of Eut. Knowledge, vol. viii. Part 1, p. 12.
17 Oratio pro Archia, c. i.
18 1 Milman’s History of the Jews, 135.
19 Quoted by Sir J. Mackintosh, Discourse on the Law of Nature and Nations. p. 78.
20 Mercuriale, xiii.
21 As we are accustomed to call them.
22 See p. 4.
23 See p. 3.
24 See Edinburgh Review, vol. xxiii. P. 321.
25 Sat. x. 365.—Again Sat. xiv. 315.
26 Proverbs, Ch. Iii. 5-7.—Ch. iv. 7-9.
27 See Note E.
28 Speech of Mr. A. H. Everett, in the Senate of Massachusetts, 1833.
29 Consolations in travel, or the last days of a philosopher, by Sir H. Davy, pp. 23. 206.
30 Beattie’s Minstrel, B. 1.
31 Am. Quar. Register, vol. iv. p. 187. 188.
32 The author cannot hesitate to re-print in a note, some striking remarks on the necessity of restraint, made by Mr. Wirt in his speech on the trial of Judge Peck before the U.S. Senate;-see p. 481 of the report. This speech, in all the highest qualities of Forensic eloquence, does not appear to the author inferior to any one of the orations of Cicero or Demosthenes.
“There is no good,” says he, “that does exist or can exist, unless guarded by restraint. The best things that we enjoy, the noblest qualities that we possess, become vicious by excess. Mercy degenerates into weakness, generosity into waste, economy into penury’ justice into cruelty, ambition into crime. The principle of restraint has the sanction of Almighty wisdom itself, for it is impressed on every part of the physical as well as the moral world. The planets are kept in their orbits by the restraint of attraction;-but for this law, the whole system would rush into inextricable confusion and ruin. Does it detract from the simplicity, the beauty, the grandeur of this system, to say, that one of the laws which uphold it, is the law of restraint? Is it not to the restrained position of the earth, that we owe the revolution of the seasons with all their appropriate and successive enjoyments; and to its restrained revolution towards the sun, that we owe the relief of day and night, the seasons of labour and repose? What hinders the vine from wasting its juices in wild and fruitless luxuriance, but the restraint of the pruning-hook, and the discipline of the training hand? What hinders the produce of that vine from becoming a universal curse, but the restraint of temperance? What gives to civilized society its finest charm, but the restraints of decorum, of mutual respect, of honor, confidence, kindness, hospitality? Look where you will then, above you, around you, below you, you see that the great conservative principle is restraint;-tht same restraint which holds human society itself together.”
33 Proverbs, xxii. 13.—xxvi. 13.
34 Proverbs, xxiii. 30.
35 Proverbs, ii. 16-18.-ix. 18.—vii. 26. 27.
36 No person can be a member of the House of Representatives of the United States, until he has attained the age of twenty-five. A Senator must be thirty, and the President of the United States must be thirty-five years of age. A considerable number of the State constitutions have similar provisions, but the requisite age is usually not so high. A roman Senator was required to have attained the term of thirty years.
37 De Officiis, lib. i. c. 6.
38 See Note B.
39 Letter on Education, quoted p. 7.
40 Speech of John C. Calhoun in U. S. Senate, 15th Feb. 1833.
41 It appears from Aul. Gellius, that Cicero was twenty-seven years of age when he defended Roscius. Noct. Attic. 1 xv. c. 28. Nepos had erroneously made him less.
42 Why go to Asia, not to Athens? Cicero answers this question in another place. Athenis jam diu doctrina ipsorum Atheniensium interit; domicilium tantum in illa urbe remanet studiorum, quibus vacantcives, peregrine fruuntur et tamen eruditissimos bomines Asiaticos quivis Atheniensis indoctus, non verbis, sed sono vocis, nec tam bene quam suaviter loquendo, facile superabit.—De Orat. 1.iii.c.ii.
43 We use the term in its largest sense, in which it is precisely equivalent to ineptiae, quasi inaptiae.
44 Cic. De Officiis 1, iii. c. 26.
45 The enumeration in this paragraph is very imperfect for the reason assigned above; the translator, therefore, thinks it useful to add some further particulars and to subjoin the titles of some other historical works of the same class, including several of more modern date. Mather’s Magnalia Christi Americana, Winthrop’s History of New-England from 1630 to 1649, edited by James Savage, Priace’s Chron. Hist. of N. England, N. England’s Memorial by N. Morton, edited by John Davis, Minot’s History of Massachusetts-Bay from 1748 to 1765, Bradford’s History of Massachusetts from 1764 to 1820, Baylies’ History of Plymouth, Williams History of Vermont, Belknap’s History of New Hampshire, Williamson’s History of Maine, Trumbull’s History of Connecticut, Moulton’s History of New York, Gordon’s History of Pennsylvania, McMahon’s History of Maryland, Smith’s (John) History of Virginia, Stith’s History of Virginia, Beverly’s History of Virginia, Burk’s History of Virginia, Williamson’s History of North-Carolina, Hewatt’s History of South-Carolina and Georgia, Ramsay’s History of South-Carolina, M’Call’s History of Georgia, M. Marbois’ History of Louisiana, Martin’s History of Louisiana, Chalmer’s Political Annals, Marshall’s History of Kentucky, Peirce’s History of Harvard University to 1769, Massachusetts Historical Collections, New Hampshire Historical Collections, Maine Historical Collections, New-York Historical Collections, Hazard’s Historical Collections, Holmes’ American Anals. This catalogue is select and valuable, and might have been increased tenfold. Completeness has not been aimed at.
46 Author of a work on the History of England.

William Bourn Oliver Peabody (1799-1847) graduated from Harvard in 1816. He was a teacher at Exeter Academy (1817). Peabody was pastor of the Unitarian Church in Springfield, MA, a position he held throughout his life.

A SERMON.

Delivered January 22, 1832.

BY WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY,
Minister of the Third Society in Springfield.

This Sermon, suggested by a time of unusual anxiety and sorrow in this place, is respectfully dedicated to those who have suffered and those who are apprehending the loss of their children.

This was said by a Hebrew mother, whose child had but just before expired in her arms. It was taken away suddenly and without warning: but she bore it, as became one who was acquainted with Divine Providence, and knew that He who gave, had a right to take away. She was not acquainted with the disclosures of Christianity which have thrown such brightness into the far regions of death: so that in her, this God, to whom this feeling was expressed, rewarded it divinely—by restoring the child living to her arms.

There are many who are looking upon the opening promise of their children, with a joy, which none but a parent understands: and they ought never to forget, that the young human being is delicate as the flower, whose whole history is embraced in the words “the wind passeth over it, and it is gone.” It would seem as if in the ordinary course of life, this was taught them by sufficient warnings. But there are times, when the air of death breathes widely and fatally from the dark cloud: when many wither at once, as the storm is passing by: there are times when the most thoughtless parents begin to tremble, and feel as if they heard the rushing of the death-angel’s wing. It is well that they should keep before their minds, the consolations which they may need sooner than they suppose: they know not where his withering touch may fall next—but wherever if falls, the mourner will need all the comfort, which the kind Providence of God has given.

When the first born of Egypt were slain, the Hebrew children were secure with death all around them;—but there is no mark of God upon your doors. Since you may be called to mourn, come and meditate on the grave: it is the place where you may lay your treasure down to-morrow; come, and meditate on the grave: it is the place where you may lay your treasure down to-morrow; come, and meditate upon it now—not in sorrow—not in dismay—but in the preparation of the gospel of peace. Those who are familiar with death, see him without his terrors: if they lose what they love, they can say “it is well,” the Lord gave and the Lord taketh away.

It may seem to the world—the thoughtless world, as if little consolation were required in preparation for the loss of children: if they are called away, they say, they will leave no vacancy in society—there will be no loss to the world. They will say this, because they cannot look down into a parent’s heart and measure the depth of her affections: they can no more understand the anguish which she feels when her infant’s heart is cold, then they can understand the looks of unutterable delight with which she gazed upon its living features, studying their first dawnings of expression: or the intense interest with which she hung over its fainting head in its sickness, trembling every moment lest she should see the seal of death upon its brow: they cannot imagine what warm affections are broken—what towering hopes are struck down on the quenching even of the fatal spark of life in an infant’s breast:—they know not therefore the energy of submission which is required, for the parent to say, Father, thy will be done.

But they will wonder less at the sorrow—or I may rather say, they will believe in the sorrow, which such events occasion, if they will remember this—the parent loses not only all it was, but all she hoped it would have been. It was to her a subject of constant and affectionate interest: she saw in it what others could not see: she saw the revelations of mind, and the play of the affections upon its features: she felt that young as it was, it had a heart—a living heart, which beat in answer to her own. She loses this: and then her hopes! She hoped that it would be in its childhood among the beautiful and happy: she had already imagined a glorious path in which it was to travel up to life: she foresaw no disappointment—no downfall in all her visions of its future welfare: and when all this is suddenly destroyed, no wonder that for the time, the whole heart is a wild and desolate ruin.

That it is well with children when they die, we know: we will then inquire what are the designs of Providence in calling children away from their parents’ arms.

I think that you cannot possibly imagine more than two reasons why children are thus called away. The first is, to save them from the evils of the world. Far be it from me to represent this life as a vale of tears—or as a place where the miserable out-number the happy: I know that it is not so, and that the great proportion of the earth’s inhabitants want not the power but the disposition to be happy. Still, time and chance happen to them all: and if you look upon those who started together in life, with high hopes and bounding steps, you find some who are soon bent down with suffering, while others keep on successfully to the last. You find some, who midway in life, are wasted with disease, which breaks off all the purposes of life and sinks them slowly and heavily to the grave: you find some, who, without any fault of their own, are thrown into a condition in life, in which they have everything to endure, with no hope of any thing better in this world: you see the man with the crown of rejoicing taken from his head: you see the aged moving alone, unsupported and uncared for to the tomb. Such destinies in life there are: and such might have been the portion of the child who perished yesterday, to-day, or the one that shall die to-morrow: if so, the parent should thank God, who hides it from the evil, even though He hides it in the grave.

But these which I have named, are not the worst evils of life. This is a world of sin. They who come forward to bear a part in it, meet a thousand various temptations: and there are too many who yield to them and fall. The generous and high-minded youth sometimes becomes a cold, selfish and unfeeling man: the man who used to look the world in the face, becomes base and dishonorable, and either frowns in savage defiance or looks down with shame: they who were loved for their kind hearts, become slaves to their vices which make them a burden and sorrow to their friends: and very often, those whom the world accuses of no vices, are yet entirely destitute of moral principles and religious affections. If it might have been the fate of your child, to sink in any one of these snares—if there were the least danger of his becoming an alien from heaven, and self outcast from his God, what parent would not rejoice to have this child taken to a better world before it becomes deeply stained with the corruption of this? You should bless the hand that throws open a door of the grave.

No parent feels as if her child could ever have become a slave to corruption—but God knows—and if it is not to save them from the evils of life, that they are taken away, it must be for the second reason:—to place them in a condition more favorable to their improvement than this world affords.

I fear that the future life is so imperfectly realized, that this consolation loses most of its power. Why will men persist in thinking of heaven as a place of unmeaning rest?—of indolent happiness,—where the soul finds nothing but still and deep repose? They ought to reflect, that repose is not happiness to the mind—and that the enjoyment they dream of, is rather stagnation than repose—it is a state wholly unsuited to the nature of man. They ought to think of heaven, as a place where every power of every mind shall be steadily, successfully, and therefore happily exerted: where every affection of every heart shall be deeply interested, and therefore fully blessed. What the employment of that state will be, we know so far as this—it must be the employment of mind, in such researches as give the highest happiness—in discovering the manifestations of the glory and goodness of God. To think of heaven as we do, affords no comfort, no attraction;—it is like the long yellow line of a desart, seen by mariners who are looking for green hills and vallies as they draw near the shore: when, would they imagine it, as a place, where all are active, interested and happy, they would feel that when their child is gone to that world, there are some there, who will watch the flower, as it unfolds the beauty of its promise, and spreads out to the Sun of Righteousness, its leaves from which the dew of youth will never dry.

Think thus of heaven, and it will be something real and substantial to offer to the mourning heart. It is evidently a region more favorable to the growth of the immortal nature than this world: for, though in this world, there are trials and hardships, which serve to discipline some spirits and in this way to form them for heaven; there are other spirits perhaps, which are comparatively pure, and do not need them;—which are gentle, and could not bear them; which could not endure the rough climate of this world, but can grow and flourish divinely in the milder air of heaven. Such spirits, it is but reasonable to suppose, are translated, because heaven is better for them than earth—and God in his mercy, places every soul in the state, whatever it may be, which is most favorable to its growth in excellence: in our Father’s house there are many mansions—and all are open to the innocent as well as the just.

This accounts for the fact which has been so often observed, that many children of the brightest promise are removed from this world. A fact I have no doubt it is: though parents naturally esteem their own children too highly, and the lost are often the most loved, without being the best—still, it has been remarked from the earliest ages, that early death is given to the favorites of heaven. And why should it not be so? If there I a better world, for which they are better fitted than for this, why should we wish to detain them here? Why should we lament when the heavenly spirit ascends to its home in the skies? The parents should be ready to give up their child to a father, who has more right to its presence and affection than they—and, assured that “of such is the kingdom of heaven,” they should feel, that the hour cannot be untimely, which numbers it with the cherubim and all the radiant spirits round the throne.

I have mentioned the only reasons that I can imagine why children should be removed so early from the world—one is to save them from evils in the world—the other to place them in a state more favorable to improvement than this. And now we may humbly inquire why it is that parents are thus afflicted: there are reasons, which the kindness of God has graciously permitted us to know.

But first let me say, that it is not sent as a judgment, let the blow fall where it may: there is a language in use among some Christians, which ought never to be heard in the Christian world; which ascribes the misfortunes of life to divine displeasure. Can any thing be more opposed to our Saviour’s teaching? His words are almost indignant when he says to the narrow-minded Jews—What! Think ye that the murdered men were sinners above all the Galileans, because they suffered such things? I tell you no! I do not fear that you will point out mourners as subjects of divine displeasure; but I do fear lest some who have heard this language in their youth, should retain so much of their early impressions as to feel, if they are called to suffer, that the mercy of God is for a season withdrawn—I fear lest they should forget that whatever he does, is done in kindness, and should be less ready, than in better days, to bend the knee in submission to his will.—If the least vestige of such delusion exists in any of your hearts, let me entreat you to cast it away. God seeks your welfare as much—yes, more than you seek it yourself; he knows what is for your welfare, and you do not; therefore he sometimes conducts you to happiness in a way which you find it hard to tread. But if that path conducts you to heaven where you may fold your lost resume to your heart again; there you will see that what men called judgments, were often the best blessings ever sent from above; and you will praise God with all your hearts, that, in those days of earthly sorrow when you half doubted his kindness, His will and not yours, was done.

But I may ask you to consider these as chastening—for we need chastening, and it is kind to give them; we do lean with wondrous confidence upon the world; we do cherish even the frailest of our blessings as if we could not lose them; and since a trust like this must fail us; since it may induce us to fix the hopes here, that should anchor to heaven, He warns us in the mildest way, that we are preparing for disappointment—that we are giving far too much to the world—that we are expecting from it a permanent happiness, which it cannot give and was never meant to give.—When we embark on the voyage of life in vessels which cannot live in the open sea—when the waves are only sleeping for an hour, and the storm is already gathered in the cloud, is it not a kind providence, which induces us to turn back and make better preparation? Would we wish it to allow us to keep blindly on till we dash upon the rock? Oh no! the chastening may be hard to bear—but it may save us from what is of all things the most dreadful—from shipwreck of the soul. But I may embrace all in one: children are taken for the parents’ sake, in order that the parents may have their thoughts carried gently, but irresistibly upward to the heaven of the blessed; the place where they who perish in their innocence, and they whose labor of life I well done, shall be happy forever. Where their treasure is, there their heart will be also: the child is the parents’ treasure, and it is lifted up, that their hearts may follow to its home in the skies. And follow it they will. Other warnings might be disregarded; they cannot be insensible to this! Other blessings might be lightly resigned; they cannot find it in their hearts to surrender this! And since there is a way in which they may make it their own again; since there is no need of giving it up forever; since they may at once arise and move forward in that way, which leads to the heavenly rest, they will feel an inspiration, to go on and secure the lost treasure in another world, if they can enjoy it no more in this. They will feel like the disciples when their Master ascended; they stood with him on their favorite hill—rejoicing that the grave had given up its dead, and he was once more with his own. He talked with them for the last time of what lay near all their hearts, and before the sound had died away upon their ears, he rose calmly to the skies and was lost in the depths of heaven.—Long did they stand gazing upward; and parents, when their child ascends, often feel an attraction to which they were strangers before, and which leads their thoughts upward as rapidly and surely, as the star led the eastern travelers to our Saviour’s feet.

You will understand the reason why I have directed your thoughts to this subject to-day: it is because the air of death is around us: because they who are just beginning to live, are marked out to die: because some have already suffered, and there is too much reason to fear that others, who little apprehend it now, must become acquainted with grief. If it must be so, do not let it come without preparation, for I do assure you, prepare for it as you may, you will find it hard to bear; to see the child in its morning beauty changed into that on which even affection dreads to look; to feel the current of life in its bosom wearing away; to see its eyes turned upon you as if you were a God—with a plaintive, beseeching expression, which seems to say to you as the sufferer did to our Saviour, ‘I know, that if thou wilt, thou canst heal me;’ to feel that you can do nothing to relieve it, and after many a change of anxiety and hope, to see the shadow of death pass over it and its features grow fixed and cold as if graven from the marble of the tombs,—this requires preparation—all the preparation which the gospel of peace can give. Do not hope to prepare when the sorrow is already come: it will then be too late—unless you prepare now—in the present—the only accepted time, the day of sorrow will not be a day of salvation to you. Let it not be so with you. If the next visitation of death shall come to you—if they shall ask of you as of the Hebrew mother, Is the child well? May you be able like her to say It is well—for it is gone to be happy with its God!

Modern Emigrant;

Or,

Lover of Liberty:

Being

A DISCOURSE,

Delivered in the city of New-York,

By The

Rev. J. M. Horner,

Author of ‘Immersion the only scriptural mode of Baptizing;’ of ‘Modern Persecution A Poem;’ and of ‘Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Collected, arranged, and composed for the use of the Union Baptists.’

O let me take my eagle flight,
Where Liberty is known and felt;
Where no despotic power can reign,
Over the souls or minds of men.
May I but scale the mountain top,
Or dwell within some humble cot,
Where I may freely write or speak,
Those thoughts which reason generate.

Introduction.

My Christian Friends, — When I was invited to address you in the character of a Minister of Jesus Christ, I thought it would not be amiss to submit to your notice my reasons for leaving the land of my nativity, my beloved relations, and my pastoral charge. If I do this, I must not only advert to the state of religion in England, but to the laws and politics of that country. I know that many professors, and some of the best Christians, are opposed to the idea of ministers introducing politics in their discourses.

I am one of those who think that Ministers should not give themselves to politics, so as to unfit them for the discharge of their more important duties. But that they should watch the proceedings of the government under which they live, make themselves acquainted with the politics of their own country, and recommend to the people of their charge good and wholesome laws, must be evident to every impartial mind.

If a Minister should see the people of his charge laden with an unjust taxation, imposed upon by a heavy tithe system and laboring under disabilities because of their religious and Christian creed, without speaking, writing or exercising his influence for their emancipation, in my opinion he would be cruel to an extreme enthusiastic beyond measure, or destitute of the common feelings of humanity. To say that the professors of religion should not concern themselves about the laws of their country, and the politics which surround them, is to say that the Dissenters of England should endure their religious disabilities, their cruel tithe system their oppressive government without speaking about them or writing on the subject or even petitioning their Legislature for their liberty and support. Were I called upon for a further justification for glancing at temporal governments in my discourses, I would do it by observing, that the prophets in their predictions, and the apostles in preaching, often noticed the governments under which they lived, and the politics which surrounded them.

A DISCOURSE.

“Then Philip went down to the city of Samaria and preached Christ unto them.” -Acts, 8,5.

SAMARIA in the original, שמרוך. The root of which is שמר and signifies to keep, watch, guard. Observe in שמרוך or Samaria, the Lord’s people were kept.

1. From the oppression of their enemies, and many of the troubles which the wars among them occasioned.

2. In that city the Lord’s chosen people had to “watch and “guard” against the encroachments of idolatry, and the influence of error.

This city stood about twenty miles north of Jerusalem, being twelve miles south of Dothan. This was a city of the Ephramites, the capital of the ten tribes of Israel : it was once wholly given up to idolatry. At that time, the Jews being afflicted with wars, fled to Samaria for shelter, and introduced their holy religion among its inhabitants.

When Philip went to preach the gospel of Christ to the Samaritans, he found them in possession of copies of the laws of Moses, which were corrupted with sundry mistakes. Not merely those which arose from the transcribers making on Hebrew letter for another, but because they were mixed with tenets in favor of idolatry.

Those two circumstances, namely, that of the Jews fleeing to Samaria from the storm of persecution, and that of Philip to preach the gospel to the Samaritans, reminds me of our venerable English forefathers, who, when the rod of oppression was shook over the English nation, and its Monarch descended from the throne of justice to exercise an undue authority, by inflicting pains and penalties, and confiscating the goods of those who dared to think for themselves in matters relative to their souls and their God, fled from the land which gave their birth, and to which they were attached by many reciprocal ties. But where did they flee? Not to any of the European nations. For by so doing they would not have bettered their condition; — not to any of the nations professedly Christian, for even there I blush to add, an intolerant spirit reigned. They fled to this country, now called the United States of America, and where they, like the Jews, or like Philip introduced their holy religion wherever they went.

Although the spirit of intolerance is in a measure subsided, and freedom of thought and the exercise of private judgment allowed yet a spirit of emigration prevails in every part of England, for her inhabitants are flocking to this country by hundreds and by thousands. It is true that these modern emigrants may not have the same reasons for leaving their native land as their forefathers, nevertheless they may have had powerful motives for taking up their abode in this country. Whether this be true or not with regard to many, it is true with regard to myself; for I can assure you that I have not given up my cottage of superfluity, my home of comforts, my house of temporal and spiritual mercies, my dearest relations, who were tied to me by the remembrance of their fostering care, my pastoral charge, who lived in my heart and partook of my homely, but I hope the spiritual productions of my study; — my native country, the inhabitants of which are as brave and famous as any in the world, who are repository of arts and sciences, and a library of intellectual wealth; — I say I have not given up all these without power inducement and reasons for taking such an important step . If I were called upon to give those reasons, I would cheerfully do so, among which the following would have a place:

1. Because of the influence of a bad Government.

You know that the inhabitants of any country are in a great measure influenced by the Government which exists among them.

You may know from history, and I know by experience, that an aristocratical government is generally, if not always, tyrannical in its enactments, oppressive in its measures and covetous in its demands. This I know to be the case with the English Government, for while it is desirous of exceeding every other country in its national splendor and ornamental palaces, it robs, plunders, and deprives the Lancashire weavers, the farmers’ laborers, and the parish paupers of the common necessities of life, by its enormous salaries and oppressive taxation., For there are taxes on the man of God, who bestows his gratuitous and theological lectures on the villagers; taxes on the widow, who consecrates her mud-walled cot to the worship of Jehovah; taxes on the house of God, which has been raised by the voluntary subscription of the poor. And what is worse than all is, that if the aged and infirm invite their minister to preach in their parlor, and if the conscience of the man of God dictates to him his exclusive allegiance to his Supreme in matters of religion, and he banishes from his creed the idea of asking man whether or not he may do his duty to his God; and should he comply with the request of those who entertain the same views and thus deliver his gospel sermon to twenty-two or more aged infirm, and worn-out pilgrims, the one must be liable to the penalty of ten pounds and the other to the penalty of forty pounds. (George III. cap. 155.)

Besides these fines and penalties on things pertaining to God, there are taxes on every article which enters the mouth or covers the back, or is placed under the foot. Taxes upon everything which is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, and taste; taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion; taxes on every thing on earth, and the waters under the earth; on every thing from abroad, or that Is grown at home; taxes on the raw material; taxes on every value that is added to it by the industry of man; taxes on the sauce which pampers man’s appetite, and the drug which restores him to health; taxes on the ermine which decorates the judge, the rope which hangs the criminal, and the brass nails of the coffin; taxes on the ribands of the bride; at bed or at board, couchant or levant, they must pay. The schoolboy whips his taxed top, the beardless youth manages his taxed horse with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road; and the dying Englishman pouring his medicine, which has paid 7 per cent. into a spoon which has paid 15 per cent., throws himself back upon his chintz bed which has paid 22 per cent., makes his will on an eight-pound stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary, ¹ who has paid one hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole property is then taxed from two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble, and he is then gathered to his fathers to be taxed no more.

Now when we are thus oppressed with something like Egyptian bondage, and surrounded with fallen cheeks, the impoverished circumstances, and the cries of the poor, it cannot but affect the feelings of humanity. And like a swallow, which from the laws of nature predicts the near approach of an inclement season, takes her anticipating flight to some distant region, where she may enjoy her liberty, and a full supply of the calls of nature, so humanity, affected by the heart-rending scenes of poverty, and exorbitant demands of usurpers, cannot but desire to take her flight to some distant shore, where she may not be so much annoyed. The means, too, by which that Government is formed, the materials of which it is composed, are also appalling to the reflecting mind. Here I do not allude to the majority of the House of Parliament, nor to those illustrious characters — characters to whom minds reason has dictated sound and political ideas — who are the ornaments of their country, the political lights of the world, and the Washington’s of their day, — but to those characters and that hereditary system, which makes the throne of England groan with the weight of novices, and crowds the Upper House with characters, whom nature never formed for an important office, and for whom reason never demanded enormous salaries. I cannot stay to be more explicit on these particulars; suffice it to say, that I believe the English Government to be a mixture of Heathenism, Popery, and Protestantism. Such is its nature, that I believe the present day would blush to give it birth, and that none but the dark ages of Popery could have sent it into existence.

2. Because of the state of the Church in that country.

I admit that in every corner of that country, the gospel is preached, and the number of gospel ministers is abundant, many of whom evince extra ordinary talents; but, alas! the church is afflicted with skepticism, with imbecility of faith, with a deadness of soul in spiritual matters, with divisions and subdivisions, contentions and strife. There are but a few ministers who are satisfied with them. Should a minister step out of the common formal path he is looked upon as a speckled bird, and set up as a mark to be shot at. Such a state of Christianity is sufficient to induce us to say, from such “Good Lord deliver us.” Here I would observe, that I have desired to enjoy a more pure religious atmosphere, and the friendly company of those who are more zealous in matters pertaining to God, and the salvation of men; and since American Christians have been represented to me to be such like characters, I have ventured to come home and witness their zeal for the Lord of Hosts.

3. Because of Acquaintances and Christian Friends.

Many of these have emigrated to this country, whose talents will command respect, whose pious demeanor will make them ornaments to America and whose heavenly graces will enable them to adorn their Christian profession. Do not say that this is a small inducement; for the desire to enjoy the company of pious intimate and long-tried friends, induced a Hobab and a Jacob to leave the land of their nativity. I pity the soul that is destitute of natural affection, for it betrays a littleness of mind; but I more especially pity the soul that is destitute of love, for it displays a want of that grace which is the most essential virtue to the Christian.

4. Because of the reputed and reviving state of Christianity in this country.

The revivals of religion in America, form a very general topic of conversation in England; and many a time when I have read of them, my heart has burned with sacred desire to be among them. The revival of Christianity, the political views of the people, and the constitution of the united states, have been topics of close study and deep interest to me for seven years past; and such were my views, that I consider I should have been remiss in my duty, and I pierced my heart through with many sorrows, had I not visited America.

I have now submitted to your consideration, my reasons for the important step I have taken and therefore I shall proceed to notice —

I. The time to which the text refers us.

That was a time of violent persecution to the church – a time when the political atmosphere in which they breathed, the Mosaical partialities, and the deep-rooted prejudices of the Jews, appeared to form a dark cloud, which threatened the annihilation of the church; — a time when the Sun of righteousness appeared to be sunk in his orbit, and the light of the gospel to withdraw its shining; — a time, when the powers of darkness appeared to be let loose, and to seize with a salacious and insatiable desire upon the innocent lambs of the fold of Christ; — a time, when the hope of preserving Christianity to evangelize the earth must have been faint, and when the combined circumstances, the united powers and wickedness of men, appeared to predict the downfall of the Christian empire, and the giving up of the world to heathenish superstition., But, O my friends, “be not faithless, but believing; rejoice, and be exceedingly glad;” for although this was a time of thundering Jehovah was behind the cloud, and laughed at impossibilities; and as he has loved his church with an “everlasting love,” and has promised the “gates of hell shall never prevail against it,” so will he subvert the powers of darkness, frustrate the wicked designs of the ungodly, and cause the wrath of man to praise him. Yea, God did over-rule that persecution and caused it to disperse the Apostles to disseminate the gospel, and build up his church. Through that persecution, the gospel was sent to Samaria, to the Gentiles, to Rome, to Spain, to France, and to England; and when the violent hand of persecution was raised in England against the Non-Conformists, they fled to this country, and brought with them the mild truths, the enlightening truths, the all-glorious and soul-reviving truths of the Gospel of Christ.

II. We have here a particular account of what Philip did; and, therefore, let us notice —

1. The place he chose.

It was Samaria, which, in the New Testament, signifies the territory between Judea and Galilee, and where the tribes of Ephraim, Manasseh, and Issachar, had dwelt. We might have supposed that Samaria was the last place that Philip would have visited, and that there was the least probability of introducing the gospel there, because of the deep-rooted prejudices of its inhabitants against the Jews, so much so, that they even refused civil dealings with them. (John, iv. 9) And we all know that prejudice, which is invariably connected with ignorance, forms a mighty barrier to the introduction of any doctrine, however scriptural that doctrine may be, therefore we see, that if we are desirous of being informed how necessary it is that our minds possess “Charity, — Charity, which doth not behave herself unseemly;” which deliberately meditates on every new idea which strikes the mind; — Charity, which will not allow herself to be influenced by sectarianism, nor confined within the precincts of a party spirits; Charity which always listens to the voice of Reason, and with calmness and deliberation attends to logical productions.

2. The means Philip used to gain success.

Those were not the artificial show of heathenism, nor the theatrical or priestly splendor of the Papists, which merely work upon the senses without carrying conviction to the heart; neither did he act like Mahomet, who enforced his doctrines, and imposed his dogmas by sword and bloodshed, by fines and penalties; but he gave plain statements of divine truths, accompanied with the working of miracles, which spoke volumes to every reflecting mind, and carried with them a conviction of the holy truths he preached.

See what the Gospel Word can do,
When Plainly stated, and set forth;
What mighty changes it achieves,
When’er it is received by Faith.

3. The success which attended Philip’s labors.

We may here observe that his success was very great, for the Holy Ghost has stated, “That when the people saw the miracles which Philip wrought, and heard him preach the things concerning the kingdom of God, and the name of Jesus Christ they were baptized, both men and women,” which circumstance occasioned great and general joy in that city we may also consider that this great work of conversion was not confined to the metropolis of that country, but that it spread into all the suburbs and villages of the Samaritans. Thus we see that the word ran among them like fire among dry stubble, which I consider amply shows that the work was of God; so that we perceive when the gospel is preached in its purity, it is powerful and highly calculated to bring men to themselves to religion, and to God.

The Gospel is a mighty sword,
Which slays the selfishness of men;
It brings their souls to know the Lord,
And shows them how a heaven to gain.

III. There are two or three considerations, which, if noticed, will tend to show that Philips success was extraordinary; and those were

1. We may consider that many centuries prior to that time, and even down to the moment that Philip began preaching among them, they had been given up to idolatry, and that the idolaters were always prejudiced against Christianity.

2. That the minds of the Samaritans were embittered against Jerusalem in particular, and the Jews in general.

3. That at that time Simon the Sorcerer gave out that he was a great character, who mightily deluded the people by his wickedness and magic art; for him they had regard, yea he had long ascended the throne of their minds, and ruled with a mighty influence over their sentiments and conduct. Now, when we consider that those great obstacles which stood in the way to an introduction of the gospel among the Samaritans were overcome by the preaching of Philip, it will be evident that his success was extraordinary.

IV. The work in which Philip employed himself when at the city of Samaria. “He preached Christ into them;” that is, he preached the Savior unto them as an all-sufficient sacrifice to be offered to justice for the sins of his people; and, in order to do this, he must have preached —

1. Their incapacity to atone for themselves;

For they would not accept of a sacrifice on their behalf, except they were first convinced of their need of one. They would not receive such a conviction, without being shown their fallen state as sinners, their weakness and infirmity.

2. Philip must have preached Christ’s mysterious union with Deity.

If he showed them their utter incapability to atone for themselves, he must likewise have presented to their consideration a superior character, who possessed a capability to obey the Mosaical law, and who by his death could satisfy the demands of Divine Justice : therefore he preached Christ unto them as a mighty god come in the flesh to destroy the works of the Devil; as a Savior most eminently fitted; who could restore their lapsed powers, and implant in them heavenly tempers; – whose mysterious incarnation could endear them to God; – whose natural birth could procure their spiritual regeneration; — and whose unspotted life could restore them to a blissful immortality. Methinks that he would preach him as the joy of mourners, the glory of the infamous, and the salvation of the lost.

Yea, he would preach Christ as being wonderful in his prophetic, priestly, and kingly offices: — as one who had gained a triumphant conquest over death, hell, and all his inveterate enemies : as one whose doctrines would trample upon the arguments of the subtle, the power of princes, the blindness of zeal, the forced of custom, the pleasures of sin, and all the attempts of the wicked. It is easy to imagine that his extensive mind, his ardent soul, his honest heart, were all impressed with the greatness of his work, the importance of his character, and the glory of his Master.

3. Philip must have preached the manner of Christ’s crucifixion and death.

He showed them the analogy of the Predictions of the Prophets, with Christ’s life, miracles, and death; and, being near the very spot which was the stage and not the corner on which these things were transacted, he would be enabled to produce incontestable evidence of the fulfilment of those predictions.

4. Philip must have preached the triumphant resurrection of Christ;

And, to convince them of the truth of that essential doctrine, he would not have to resort to any garbled argument, nor any “cunningly-devised fable;” no, now yet to the pages of ancient or modern history, but to clear and evident facts, which transpired on the public platform of their own neighborhood, and which must have been so clear and evident to them, as to put to silence the skeptical characters, and convince the gainsayers.

5. Philip preached Christ as a King having a kingdom, and mildly swaying his scepter over the same; and, therefore, he preached

1.Christ’s capability and manner, by which he would overcome all his enemies; and here I imagine he would not need to make elaborate discourses, in order to convince them that Christ’s enemies were numerous, formidable in their strength, and terrific in their stately combinations; for they were at that time eye-witnesses of the superstitions of the Heathens, the spite of Pagans, and the malice of the Jews, all of which combined to oppose Christianity. The very first thought that impressed their minds, the first moments of reflection they devoted to the subject they would feel irresistibly convinced that Christ’s opponents were more numerous than any other principality or kingdom had to contend with. Philip, of course would take this opportunity of exhibiting the glory of Christ, by showing them how he would overcome his innumerable, combined and stately enemies; and, in doing this, he did not pretend to show them that Christ would assume any worldly grandeur to work upon the senses of his antagonists, or that he would wield a powerful sword to subdue their inveterate opposition, or command a warlike army of thousands to establish his kingdom in the world; but he would show them how that Christ had commissioned his disciples, men of no name, without any pretensions to worldly pomp and grandeur, without sword in their hand, or armies to command, should go forth and make a simple statement of facts, and preach the gospel of the kingdom of God; and that the gospel which was so generally despised, should subdue kingdoms, set men right, and convert them to its glorious truths.

O let thy kingdom come, great God
Subdue the nations round;
May the whole earth thy Gospel own,
And listen to its sound!

May kingdoms which in darkness lie,
Be brought beneath its light,
Lay down their weapons, and no more
Presume with thee to fight.

May Pagan tribes and Indian castes,
Be broken and subdued;
Give them to feel thy sovereign grace,
Constrain them by the Word.

2. Philip preached Christ unto them as a King, who had enacted laws for the government of his kingdom and also described the nature of them; and while exhibiting the goodness of those laws, he would know that they were decreed by him who had all power and that they were signed and sealed by him who had spoken, and would most assuredly bring it to pass. He would endeavor to convince them, that Christ had enacted laws for the government of nations, cities, families, masters and servants; and, that as far as they were governed by them, so should they have peace in this life, as well as an hope of that which is to come.

3. Philip preached Christ the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, and therefore the best qualified to remunerate his heroes, his warriors, and all who enlisted in the glorious cause of subduing kingdoms. Promoting righteousness and evangelizing the earths. The truth of these sentiments may be shown by consulting those words, Col. 2, 9, where it is said that Christ possesses all fullness; that is, a fullness of repentance for sin, a fullness of justification for the soul, and a fullness of glorification at the right hand of the Majesty on high. When Christ spoke of his people, and the remuneration with which he will bless them, he spoke of them in the following manner: “I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” John, 10, 28.

Now unto Him who is able to enlist you in his cause, to help you to fight manfully the battle of the Lord, and to crown you with laurels that will never fade, and with glory which will never fall from your heads, be ascribed all honor, might, majesty, and dominion, now and forever. Amen.

Endnotes

1 No druggist or doctor in England can sell medicine or practice physic, without first paying one hundred pounds to Government.

ADVERTISEMENT.

Harris Bell was executed at Honesdale, PA., Sept. 29, a.d. 1848, for the murder of Mrs. Williams wife of Rev. Gershom Williams, of Scot Township.  This discourse was prepared and preached at the request of the murderer, on the Sabbath evening succeeding the day of his execution; and on the succeeding Sabbath evening, it was repeated by request in the Methodist Chapel.  Some have earnestly solicited that it should be given to the press, believing that its publication will do good.  It is therefore submitted to the public, as an off-hand production, the subject of which is of local interest to many who reside in this vicinity, and who are acquainted with the circumstances.

Honesdale, Oct. 10, A.D. 1848.

SERMON.

Proverbs xiii.15.

THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS IS HARD.

When we see a gallows erected, and a fellow-creature upon it struggling in the agonies of death, the thought instantly occurs to us, that “the way of transgressors is hard.”  When we visit a prison where there are numbers of our fellow-men condemned to seclusion from the world, buried alive, as it were, and forever severed from the kind endearments of home and friendship, the same thought again suggests itself.  So also when we look abroad upon society, and see one after another of our fellow-men, who are impeached of no crime of which the law takes cognizance, but who, in consequence of their vicious and abandoned life, have reduced themselves and their families to penury, and are suffering in their own physical frames the consequences of unrestrained lust, or the delirium occasioned by intemperance, do we again accord with the testimony of the Bible, that “the way of transgressors is hard.”

Go, visit the hospitals of the insane, and you will discover a large proportion of their inmates who have reduced themselves to the pitiable condition of lunatics, and some even to a state of idiocy, in consequence of their own evil practices.  The bright and active lad, who gave promise of future success in life, and has advanced from youth to manhood the object of envy perhaps to many who seemed far inferior to him in mental capacity, has begun to droop – his mind unsteady, his bodily health impaired; and he has sunk to lunacy, and finally to idiocy, in consequence of the unnatural indulgence of his passions.  So also has many a female, who might have been an ornament in society, thus brought on herself premature disease, and found in the cells of an insane hospital, or in an early grave, the certain result of a disregard of God’s commands.  If you will examine the report of any institution established for the benefit of the insane, you will discover that almost a third of its inmates have brought themselves into their unhappy condition in this way; and these, it is generally conceded, are cases the most hopeless of relief.

Or, if summoned to the room of one who, by intemperance, has brought on himself delirium, you will need nothing more to convince you that “the way of transgressors is hard.”  The unhappy man, once kind to his family and a worthy member of society, respected in the circle in which he moved, has long persevered in a course, of the result of which he was forewarned, and which he had every reason to know would bring on himself swift destruction.  Perhaps this course may have been concealed: his most intimate friends, and the partner of his bosom even, may not have known the extent of his self-indulgence, till, in an evil hour, the nervous restlessness occasioned by the disease is on him.  The wild, rolling eye, the hideous look, excited by visions and fancies which he deems realities, exhibit the power of that terrible disease.

Sometimes, in this state, he becomes apparently religious, and calls for mercy on that God whom he has scorned; sometimes he shrieks in terror at the visions of his own fancy; sometimes he seems to feel that he is the sport of fiends, and is already shut up in the prison of the lost, and rushes with fury away from his keepers, and dashes himself from his chamber-window to the ground, unsatisfied till life has paid the forfeit of his transgression.  Did you never, as I have done, visit a family whose head had become the subject of such delirium?  It was once a peaceful and a pleasant home.  Little did the wife suspect the husband of her love of such a course.  But, in an instant, the transgression of a long life is developed.  The wife and mother is oppressed with the extent of the calamity which has befallen them.  Tears flow, but they cannot remove the load of sorrow which she bears.  Could she have seen her husband die, and followed him weeping to the grave, it would have been an evil far less to be deplored.

Herself and family would have avoided the disgrace which now attaches itself to a drunken husband and father, and she would have had some hope that death in his case would prove a happy exchange of the sorrows of earth for heaven.    But now, all hope is extinct, and she must go down broken-hearted to the grave.  It is dreadful for one to die by the halter, and the fate of such an one awakens emotions of deep sympathy in the breast of every beholder; but, oh! It is far more dreadful to die in the delirium of intemperance.  And no one can view such an end, and not say, in the language of the text that “the way of transgressors is hard.”

Often is there exhibited to view instances of suffering in life not inferior to those which have been noticed.  We see one who has long been reputed a man of integrity, who has occupied a station of trust, and enjoyed the confidence of the community, suddenly detected in some criminal act, some embezzlement of funds, or some out-breaking sin, which casts him from his elevation, and bears down with him his innocent family to the degradation and misery attendant on such crimes.  Investigation will often show that long before, in an evil moment, this individual was tempted to depart from the path of virtue.  At first it was done with trembling, and the attempt at concealment was successful.  Again and again has this temptation ensued, and as often with success concealed; till at length, emboldened by impunity, he makes a false move, and all is discovered.  And then ensue the degradation and woe consequent on such crimes.  The unhappy man becomes the scorn of the society in which he was once an ornament.  A star has fallen; and the sufferings which ensue are not un-aptly compared to those of the fallen angels in their wretched abode.  Surely, it cannot be denied that “the way of transgressors is hard.”

But this truth is still further illustrated in the case of the unhappy man who has just now paid the forfeit of his life for the crime which he has committed.  This individual was naturally possessed of a capacity sufficient, had it been properly educated, to have enabled him to fulfill the duties of life in a creditable and becoming manner.  But he was the child of vicious parents, and from his childhood had been cast out upon society to lead a wandering life and to become a vagabond.  He was neither taught to read, nor was he the subject of any moral or religious instruction.  His parents, and brothers and sisters, he said, were as vicious and abandoned as himself.  In early years he yielded himself up to the power of lust, and to the practice of that solitary vice which has wrought such havoc on the intellect and morals of the world.

This, said he, has ruined me.  It was this, he said, that inflamed his passions, and was the means of bringing him to an untimely grave.  He had no parent to warn him of his danger, nor friend to reclaim him from his pernicious and wicked course.  As he advanced in years, the natural consequences of this vice began to exhibit themselves.  His mind became impaired; and in proportion as self-control was weakened in him, his passions became excited, and began to assume the mastery.  Twice was he convicted of an attempt to commit the species of crime for which he has suffered, and years of imprisonment did he endure in consequence.  He thus became, by his own vicious courses, the creature of passion; and so strongly did it rage within him, as to become at times almost irresistible.  This is but the natural result of self-indulgence.

The miser and drunkard both, from long indulgence, come under the influence of such passions, that  it seems to them impossible to resist them.  So also does the slave of lust.  It was the case with the wretched man who has suffered the penalty of his crime.  In the fits of passion which came upon him, he lost all self-control, and acted without regard to the consequences.  Thus ensued the tragedy of crime for which he died.  The particulars of that scene I need not here relate.  It is sufficient to state, that meeting an unprotected female in the wood, where he had purposely gone with that design, as he knew that someone would likely pass that way, he seized her for a brutal purpose, and in the struggle which ensued deprived her of life.  No man could be more sorry than he was, he says, after the deed was done.  But the evil could not be repaired.  He was taken, confined in prison, tried, and condemned to lose his life as the penalty of his transgression.

The defense set up was, weakness of mind verging on idiocy.  But this was unavailing, because it was proved that he sought to conceal the evidences of his guilt; indicating that the force of conscience was not extinct, and that in this instance he knew right from wrong, both of which are sure evidences of moral responsibility.

Sympathy has been awakened I his behalf from the developments of mental weakness in him; and yet no one can doubt, from the evidence exhibited on trial, and from his own confession, that he was justly convicted.  His appearance in prison justifies a belief in the accuracy of this view of his case. His conversation was marked by not a little shrewdness, accompanied with much that was the opposite.  The characteristic qualities of his mind, in the judgment of men who had made the study of disease the business of life, indicated with unerring certainty what had been the course of his former years; and this view of his case was fully confirmed by his own frank acknowledgments the day before he was executed.  He had just that amount of mind left, and those qualities of mind which would naturally exist in one who had been the subject of vicious practices.

Such effects are discoverable in every community, and their final development is generally in the hospital of the insane.  Instances have fallen under my own observation, of a painful character, one of which I will bring to your notice.  I had a classmate in College, who was of a retiring and modest demeanor – a young man of property and character, who maintained a reputable standing, and who graduated without a blot on his fame.  Some twelve years had passed since we had separated, when, on a visit to the establishment for the insane at Bloomingdale, in the vicinity of New York, I discovered among several hundred patients, one whose lineaments I recognized.  He was this classmate.  He was pacing up and down the apartment, and wore that demented look common in such cases.  In fact he was a perfect idiot.  He remembered nothing of the college scenes through which we had passed, nor could I awaken any recognition of them in his mind; it was a blank; and it had become so, not from disease, not from any sudden stroke which bereft him of reason, but it had sunk, by slow degrees, under the influence of that solitary vice which ruins thousands, before they have a suspicion of their danger.

These are but the natural consequences of that course of life, which the criminal, who suffered upon the gallows, followed.  In his case, the evil had not advanced so far.  His animal frame had more power to resist it, that that of more cultivated, and of more mind.  And yet his shrewd cunning, and silly laugh at trifles, together with his whole appearance, and his confession, place it beyond a doubt that he brought himself into the condition in which he was, by the practice of vice.  And yet reason was not so far dethroned as to render him irresponsible.  His memory, in some respects, was good; his sense could not be denied, and he had the full consciousness of wrong doing in the commission of crime.  An idiot has no conscience: but a more accurate description of the power of conscience and its effects, I never heard, than was given from his lips.  And in the dark hours of night, while in his cell in the prison, the cries and screams of his murdered victim, and her appearance when de3ad, presented themselves to him with such power as almost to render him frantic with terror.  His discovered, when too late, that “the way of transgressors is hard.”

Some there are, who object to capital punishment as the relic of a barbarous age, and wrong, and who have therefore cherished a sympathy with the individual who suffered, as being the victim of a sanguinary law.  So far as it respects this case, my own feelings would have been gratified to have had his sentence commuted to imprisonment for life.  And yet I have no hesitancy to avow my full belief in the justice and expediency of that law which requires the crime of the murderer to be expiated by his blood.  I regard it of such unspeakable importance to protect human life, that the highest penalty in the power of man to inflict should be incurred for taking that life away.  The object of the penalty in such a case is not vindictive, but for the protection and safety of the community; and no man can doubt in this age, that individual life is, in some cases at least, to be held subject to the general good.  Some there are, who, with marked inconsistency, will urge on a sanguinary war, in which thousands of lives are offered on the altar of public ambition, who yet clamor against the justice of that law which sends the murderer to the scaffold.

It is time that such inconsistencies were abandoned.  Let the principle be assumed, either that the State has no right to require the sacrifice of life in its own defense; or that equally for its defense, but in another way, it has a right to require this sacrifice.  Who will deny that it is as important that society be protected from the dagger of the assassin as from the guns of an invading enemy?  And if it is just to demand our fellow-citizens to enroll themselves to meet an invading foe, it is equally just to demand that the murderer die upon the scaffold.  As a question of justice, therefore, or of strict rectitude, no reasonable doubt can be entertained.

The whole inquiry, as it seems to me, turns on the expediency of the one or the other course, as best adapted to protect society from crime.  And on this point my mind is equally at rest.  There is no other punishment proposed, which is of equal force to deter from crime.  Who will pretend that a life of captivity and of imprisonment, even supposing this penalty in all cases to be inflicted, is comparable in terror to the penalty of death?  The common sense of the community, expressed by law, has long ago decided this point, by making imprisonment for life a secondary penalty.  And since, even with death in view, men do commit murder, we have reason to think that this crime would be less regarded, and more common, in proportion to any relaxation of the penalty.  It belongs, therefore, to those who would remove the penalty of death from the statute book, to show that imprisonment for life is a greater and more fearful penalty than death, and would prove more efficacious in the prevention of crime, which no one can be made to believe, if he regard the future world as a state of reward and punishment, or respect his own consciousness of what he would himself prefer were he convicted.  We need not go to the Bible to settle the question of the right to take the life of the murderer in such a case; for it is a right agreeable to the law of nature; and unless directly prohibited in the word of God, exists in all its strength.  It belongs to the right of self-protection, which every community enjoys, to use, for this purpose, the wisest and most effectual means.

Another subject of inquiry introduced in this connection is, what is the comparative guilt of that crime which introduced the murderer to the scaffold, considered as an offense against law?  Law is of two kinds, as it constitutes the rule of duty enjoined by God, or that which is enacted by men for the regulation of human conduct in society.  The great law of moral duty is that which God has prescribed in the ten commandments.  This, in its different precepts, is one law, all of these several commands constituting one code, which is of universal authority and obligation.  The moral duties enjoined by this law, human legislation cannot change; and no law is of any force which is contradictory to them.

But in addition to the law of God, are those framed by human wisdom for mutual protection and safety, and to promote the ends of government.  Those laws affix different penalties to crime in proportion to the injury which that crime is thought to do to the community.  Thus, in the case of murder, every man’s life is protected by the law which requires that the blood of the murderer shall be shed; and there is every degree of penalty inflicted for various offenses, according to their estimated guilt.

In making an estimate of guilt in any crime, it is common to consider the degree of penalty which attaches itself to its commission, and whether it be a mere nominal fine, imprisonment in the penitentiary, or death upon the scaffold.  In the common estimation of mankind, a man who commits a murder and dies upon the gallows, is a monster of iniquity; and one who perjures himself and becomes an inmate of the penitentiary, is cast out of society with loathing and contempt.  This is right.  The penalty which they suffer, is just that which they invoke by their conduct, and which society properly inflicts.  But is human law the only and true standard of morality?  By no means: for this law differs with the customs of every nation.  There is but one true standard of morality in the universe, and that is God’s unerring law.

Blackstone allows, and it is affirmed by the wisest expounders of law, that all that is just and right, and conducive to happiness in human legislation on moral subjects, is based in the ten commandments of the divine law.  It is according to this, that all questions of morals, are finally to be solved.  Men may have opinions on this subject, and may give them the force of law; but all their opinions are finally to be adjudicated and settled in the grand chancery of heaven, and by that law which Jehovah has prescribed for our guidance.  When settled by this test, how does the morality of that act which has brought a wretched man to the scaffold, differ from the morality of a thousand other acts committed by other men in the daily walks of life, and which are attended by no such immediately ruinous consequences?  We do not ask how they differ in the eye of man, but of God.

Man, we know, makes a great difference between the two immoralities of the profane swearer and the murderer.  Does God know any difference between them?  Both are the express violation of his law; and who shall decide, that to blaspheme the name of God, and bring his person and government into contempt before men, is a less criminal act in his sight than to take the life of a fellow man?  The immediate effects on society differ: and for these, the law makes provision by inflicting a heavier penalty on the murderer; for human law pretends not to take cognizance of offenses committed against God.  But who shall say that God himself does not attach a heavier guilt to the conduct of the profane swearer, than to that of the murderer?  By the one offense, a fellow being is deprived of life; by the other, a whole community may be perverted, in their hearts steeled against God, and their immortal welfare jeopardized.

You look with horror on the poor wretch who has expiated his offense against human law with his life, while you glory perhaps in your own goodness, as being a more excellent man, even while you lift up your voice in blasphemy toward the God who made you, and who would lead all around, by your example, to unite in blaspheming his holy name.  But when the murderer shall have expiated his offense by death, and you have paid your fine, and both expiated your violation of human law, and come to stand side by side before God your judge, whose offense, think you, will appear greatest?  He has violated the second table of the law, you the first.  He has injured man, you have injured God.  He has defaced the image of his Maker exhibited in man; you have defied the great God himself, and openly insulted and abused him; and were a jury of sinless beings to decide your comparative guilt, you would not be bought in second in wickedness.  If there be any difference, it would be against you.  In respect to the morality of your conduct, when judged by the true standard, you would stand, at least, on an equal footing with the murderer, for each and every offense you have committed.  He has committed one murder; you have taken God’s name in vain every day, and perhaps every hour.

It is important to view this subject in its true light.  Let us then reason it still further.  God has commanded you to remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.  This precept belongs essentially to that moral code which affects our relations to God and the worship and reverence with which he should be treated.  No views of man can alter or change this great law, the substance of which is, that one seventh part of our time is to be devoted exclusively to the worship of our Creator.  But according to human law, the forger is sent to the penitentiary and the Sabbath-breaker punished by fine.  This difference in penalty has no respect to the different degrees of criminality in the two cases, but merely to the influence of these offenses on society considered with reference to this life only.  But, as estimated by God, how do they differ?  The one offender robs man of a portion of his property, the other robs God of that respect and reverence which are his due.  And when both shall have expiated their offences against human law, the one has endured his time in the penitentiary, and the other paid his fine, and shall come to stand before God in judgment, which will be esteemed the most immoral?  The one has done an injury to man, the other robbed God; the one has appropriated to himself another’s property, the other has withheld from the Sovereign of the universe, his creator, preserver, and benefactor, that which he had a right to demand, and treated him with utter contempt and scorn.  You may think this to be a new view of these subjects.  It may be new to you, because your opinions have been formed in accordance with the estimate of crime made by man.  But do you not perceive how partial and defective this standard is?

We may go still further and ask, which is worse in point of morals; the man who commits a single act of disobedience of the law and puts a fellow creature to death, or the man whose example, influence, and occupation, directly tend to make his associates profane, Sabbath-breakers, gamblers and drunkards?  In some of our large cities, there are places not inaptly called Hells.  One characteristic of these dens of infamy is, that they keep and expose for sale intoxicating drinks.  In connection with this, there is a billiard room, and secret rooms for gambling and other vile purposes.  Into this place young men are enticed to procure various articles of food, common to such establishments.  Drinking is there resorted to, and this forms an introduction to the secret chambers and into the very heart of vice.  Now it diminishes nothing from the character of those places that the wines and brandies are kept concealed, or that they are set up in bottles beautifully labeled on the shelves, and that an air of neatness and gentility pervades the place.  This but enhances the mischief.

And here many a son of a widowed mother takes his first step in the downward road to infamy; and many a parent’s heart bleeds and is broken, and many a child of promise and of hope is ruined for this life and for that which is to come, by the enticements offered.  Can you compare the man who keeps such a hell, in point of morality, with the victim of the law who has died upon the scaffold?  Horrible as was his crime, and dreadful as was his punishment, yet, when before God my judge, if any choice were admissible, I would prefer the lot of the degraded and miserable Bell, to that of any rum-seller on earth; much more to that of the keeper of an infamous hell, where drinking, and gambling, and Sabbath-breaking, and profanity, go hand in hand; and where vice is created by wholesale to ruin for this life, and to damn for eternity the hopeless victims of such enticements.  I speak it boldly and in the fear of God, that in point of morality, and as estimated by the eternal rule of rectitude, the man who panders to vice, that he may extract gold from the groans, the sighs, and the miseries of his fellow men, is as much inferior in point of morality to that wretched murderer, as he was inferior, in the estimation of mankind, to the thousands who pass their lives free from the reproach of such an out-breaking sin.

It is not to justify and defend the murderer that I thus speak, but to waken your attention to that which is sometimes overlooked and forgotten.  There is many a man dressed in fine apparel and in high station, and many a woman too, who, when they shall come to stand before God in judgment, will sink in the scale of morality, as estimated by Gold’s righteous law, far below the man on whose character and fate we look with such pity and horror.  Amid greater light and favored with higher opportunities, they have treated God and his law with more injury and contempt than this poor, ignorant, and vicious man.  Elevated in point of privilege far above him,  they may at last discover, that in guilt and infamy, as God estimates character, they are far below.  For it is a rule of rectitude which the just Sovereign of the universe will assuredly regard, that of those to whom much is given, much will be required; and that it shall be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the judgment day, than for those who have known their duty better, but have continued to live in its habitual neglect.

But we turn from pursuing these inquiries, to consider the fate of that man whose character we have partially noticed.  When first imprisoned, I called on him; but having been informed after his trial that he had invited a clergyman of this borough to be his spiritual instructor, I did not call again till requested by him with the view of attending him in a few days to the place of execution.  Though prompted by my natural feelings to refuse this request, yet how could I decline to regard the wishes of this poor man at such an hour?  I accordingly visited him in prison, and had repeated opportunities to converse with him.  He seemed very much the same as when I before visited him, excepting that the consciousness that his lamp of life had almost expired, rendered him more serious and concerned.  He told me much of his early history so far as he could remember it; that he was from his youth initiated into vice; that his parents, and brothers and sisters, were of the same stamp with himself; that having been cast forth upon the world, he was led to practice feigning himself deaf and dumb, to inspire sympathy in others and obtain food, and that he practiced this way for a year or two; that he has wandered about all his days; that when he asked people for food, people said, go to work, and when he asked for work, they would give him none; then, said he, “I pretended to be a cripple to obtain food from the sympathies of the people, for I could not starve.”  Alluding to the practice of vice in which he had lived, he said to me, with considerable emotion, “it was that which ruined me;” and he repeated again, “it was that which has brought me to this wretched state.”

In respect to the foolish speeches he had made, he felt self-condemned, for he introduced the subject of his own accord, and said, “I have made a great many foolish speeches; but people came in here to see me out of mere curiosity and ask me questions, and I answered them anyhow, I did not care how;” but, said he, “I did not feel as I talked.”  He evidently wished to impress me with the fact that he was sensible of the impropriety of many things he had said, and that it was mere talk to amuse the by-standers, and to make them laugh; but that his real feelings were at heart very different.  Of this I have no doubt; for not infrequently has he been discovered weeping, and has evinced more feeling than he has generally had credit for possessing.  He never talked foolish things to me, for I always addressed him kindly and seriously; and I very much doubt if many who have tried to laugh and jest with this poor weak-minded man in view of his awful fate, will reflect with pleasure on the course which they have pursued.

In respect to his future prospects, he said that he hoped to be saved through the cleansing blood of Jesus Christ.  I asked if he thought He could save such a wicked man as himself, and his reply was, he did save the thief on the cross, and he had no doubt he could save him.  He said that he repented, sincerely repented of all his sins, and received Christ by faith as his Savior; and that it was the voice of conscience in him which told him how wicked he was, and led him not to deny but confess his sins.  I questioned him before others and alone, to ascertain the extent of his knowledge and the sincerity of his feelings.  And now, when all is over, it appears to me, on reflection, that no fault can be found with the views and feelings expressed; and how far he was truly penitent, or what were his relations to God his Savior, can be known only in the final day.

When taken from his cell, and clothed with his scaffold robes, and the rope was put on his neck preparatory to being led forth to the gallows, his countenance was solemn and expressive.  When he trembled, and was asked by a by-stander “Are you cold, Bell?” he replied, “No, it is fear!”  This was not the response of an idiot.  That changed and solemn look was not the countenance of an idiot.  Those answers which he gave, and views presented of a religious nature in his cell, were not the language of an idiot.  His whole appearance, and his brief address and prayer on the scaffold, had nothing of the aspect of idiocy.  No, he was far from being such a person.  He was an ignorant, vicious, and weak-minded man; and may we not hope, amid all his foibles, that he was truly penitent?  On the scaffold, he publicly thanked the sheriff and his family, and those who had befriended him, for their kindness – expressed his hope in the pardoning mercy of God, and that death would be a happy exchange for him; and at the close of the concluding prayer offered in his behalf the drop fell, and he was gone from this world forever!

Poor, unhappy Bell!  My heart pitied your untimely fate.  Without knowledge, without education, without any religious culture, without a friend on earth to care for you – who never knew even a virtuous mother’s love, and who drew in vice from the breast of her who gave you being – when you shall stand before the judgment seat of Christ in the last great day, and we shall be assembled there, may you not appeal to God, you judge, in the sincerity of your heart, and say, “No man cared for my soul?”  Poor Bell!  Let the man who would look upon you as the basest and most wicked of mankind, ask himself if he has never violated that precept of God’s holy law which says, “Thou shall not commit adultery.”  Let those who stand well with the world, and with the Church of Christ, ask who has made them to differ, and whether they are living as they ought to do, in view of their superior education, and their higher privileges.  Yea, were the blessed Savior present in this assembly, and should say, as he once did to those who criminated one who was brought before him, “Let him that is without sin cast the first stone,” whose hand would be uplifted against this murderer?  Who would dare to cast him down and take his place, as innocent of all transgression, before that God who searches the heart, and who will judge the world in righteousness, in the last great day?

Go, you who take God’s holy name in vain; you who desecrate the Sabbath; you who pander to the vices of men to win their gold; you who seek in the private walks of life to allure the virtuous into the paths of infamy for the gratification of your beastly passions; you who do, in the darkness of the night, deeds which, if exposed, would mantle your cheek with shame – go, boast of your virtue, pride yourself before your fellow-men on that moral excellence which you do not possess, and treat with utter loathing and contempt the poor wretch whose life has been forfeited, justly forfeited, to the law; but know that the eye of God is upon you; the judgment seat of Christ is full in view before you, and how – O! how will you appear, when you shall stand before that awful tribunal?
In view of this subject, we may perceive,

1.  How necessary it is for the young to guard themselves against every vicious tendency.

It was the earnest desire of Bell, that the young should be warned against that vicious course of life which may ruin them, as completely as it did him.  Many a young man starts fair, and makes fair promises; he means to be virtuous, but is not prepared to resist at the outset the various enticements which are thrown in his way.  Allured by thoughtless companions, he enters with them the portals of sin, and Oh! How often is it never to return!

Do not, we entreat you, think that you are exposed to no danger.  The danger is on every side.  Oh! Shun it, as you would the gates of hell, did they stand open before you.  Allow no dalliance to sin, no, not for a moment; but turn with all your heart unto wisdom’s way; for it is the way of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.

2.  We learn what a curse in the community those men are, whose occupation it is to corrupt and lead into vice those whom they are able to entice, and who pander to vice, and make a gain of that which ruins men.  Not only do they do nothing to make the world better than it is, and to increase the sum of human happiness, but their influence is adverse to these great ends.  Let their character and influence be appreciated at what they are worth, and their means to do injury to others will be proportionately impaired.  When it is so difficult to reform mankind of their vices, and so easy, in consequence of the depraved inclinations of the heart, to lead them astray, how fatal must be the course which some pursue to the happiness of thousands!  Oh that those who give their influence for the gain it brings them, to the promotion of vice, would repent of their wicked conduct!  Let them observe the counsels of wisdom, lest in the final day he who has died for the murder of one victim, shall rise against them and condemn them as worthy of being beaten with more stripes, because when they knew they were doing wrong they still persisted in their course, and not only became the murderer of the bodies, but of the souls of men.

3.  The evil tendencies of sin are here portrayed in vivid colors, and the miseries which sin occasions.  It necessarily destroys peace of mind, troubles the conscience, and induces shame and remorse.  And they who live in sin, will assuredly become sensible of this by their own experience.  For the day is coming when the secrets of every heart shall be revealed and a guilty  world shall stand trembling before God.

4.  We learn the value of the Gospel, as containing a system of forgiveness with God, and of mercy to the repentant.  No man can die happy, whether upon the scaffold, or on his bed, without an assurance felt of pardoned sin, and of forgiveness through the blood of Jesus.  And with this assurance, he may die in tranquility and in peace; yea, he may feel in a dying hour joys which he cannot express.

It is the Gospel which offers this mercy to all who humbly seek it.  The thief on the cross was as freely forgiven, as the most noble of the earth who repent; and I think I never felt the force of many of the kind expressions of the Gospel to sinners as I felt then, when I stood by the side of the murderer on the scaffold, who professed penitence with tears, and openly professed Christ as his only hope of acceptance into paradise.  “It is a faithful saying, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners.”  He “came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance,”  He “came to seek and to save them that are lost; for God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son, that whoso believeth on him should not perish.”  “Wherefore he is able to save unto the  uttermost, all who come unto God by him.”  Precious, precious Gospel!  It brings its offers of cleansing and saving mercy down, not only to the ignorant, but to the vicious, yea, to the chief of sinners, who may stand trembling upon the trap of the scaffold which is about to fall.

This Gospel, sinner, offers salvation to you, and if offers it on the same terms.  It calls on you and on all men everywhere to repent.  O listen to its voice of mercy – listen now; “for if he who despised Moses’ law died without mercy under two or three witnesses, of how much sorer punishment, suppose ye, shall he be thought worthy, who has trodden underfoot the Son of God, and counted the blood of the covenant wherewith he was cleansed an unholy thing, and has done despite unto the Spirit of grace.”

We are all advancing to the last of earth, and to the tribunal of the great God our Maker, before which we must soon appear.  The few brief years, or hours, perhaps, which intervene between this moment and that, are swiftly passing away.  The river rushes from its mountain springs, not swifter or more certainly to the ocean, than are we borne on the rapid stream of time to meet our doom.  Tell us not of plans for rising to ambitious honors, for amassing wealth, and mere worldly enjoyment, for these may be dashed in pieces in a moment.  Like the ship amid the ocean waves which is struck with a tempest, founders, and is lost, so may be your hopes.  No mortal vision can see what is before you, or how near you have come to death and to the judgment.  “You have five minutes yet to live,” said the kind-hearted sheriff to the trembling Bell.  How solemn the annunciation! And yet you may advance to the very moment of death and breathe your last, while cherishing the expectation of many years to come, and that you will repent before you die.

But whatever may be the circumstances of your departure from the world, know, that you cannot escape the judgment.  You cannot elude the vision, or avoid the glance of that august Being who sits upon the throne.  And since you must stand before his Judgment Seat; since, whether sooner or later, death will introduce you to that standard of morality which he has set up, or to the consequences of being found there impenitent and un-forgiven, let me implore you to reflect upon your future prospects, on the sins which you have committed against a holy and just God, on the mercy which is offered you in the Gospel, and on the value of the present opportunity to obtain forgiveness, and the assurance of eternal life through Jesus Christ.  I feel that the admonitions suggested by that awful scene which has recently transpired, are of infinite value, and that they ought not to be trifled with or scorned.  It is not I, but the Eternal God who addresses you.  He adjures you by the miseries which follow sin; by the tears and sorrows of the prisoner in his gloomy cell; by his agonizing cries to God for mercy, as he stood trembling on the scaffold; by his own precious love which is offered you through his Son, to turn from the path of the destroyer, and to give no rest to your soul, till repentance has sealed your forgiveness, and you can truly say, that God is yours.

You may slight these admonitions because it is the purpose of your mind the rather to give heed to the pleasures of the world than seek them; but remember, that it is not God’s happiness, but yours, that is in jeopardy.  You assume all the responsibility respecting it.  If you would be happy; happy in this world, happy throughout the endless ages which are to come, the door to this happiness stands open before you; but if not, there is the world and all that it can offer you; and there, at the termination of these pleasures, the dark portals of hell are thrown wide open.  Enshrouded with gloom, and over its massive gates, it is inscribed in letters of fire: “The way of transgressors is hard.”  There read and learn the end of the wicked.  There, the smoke of their torment ascends up forever and ever.  Behold hat black and awful cloud as it rises, while groans and sighs, and cries of agony reach your ears!  It is the smoke of the torments of the wicked.  And see upon it, written as if with the pencil of the Almighty, which had been dipped in the burning lake below, “The way of transgressors is hard.”

END.

Rev. Mellish Irving Motte (1801-1881) was originally from Charleston, South Carolina. He obtained a Bachelors of Arts from Harvard in 1821 and became pastor of the South Congregational Church in Boston on May 21, 1828.

In this 1840 sermon, Rev. Motte encourages Christians to fully engage the culture, especially in the political arena. He decries politicians acting out of self-interest and greed rather than making decisions based upon what is morally right and wrong. Motte insists that religious morality is the very first manifestation of true patriotism and “Public virtue is the strongest spirit of national vitality.” He reminds his listeners that nations must be judged in the present since they do not exist in eternity and national ruin awaits national unrighteousness. Rev. Motte states that America’s Fathers founded the country on Christian principles and intended for the United States to be a Christian nation. According to Motte, the realization of this goal is to be found in individual piety and allegiance to righteousness over any political party.

The Christian Patriot
A
Sermon
Delivered at the
South Congregational Church,
Boston, July 5, 1840

By M. I. Motte

Psalm 144:15
Happy is that people, whose God is the Lord

One of the most common of mistaken and false forms, into which religion is apt to run, is an isolated piety, and abstract and independent devotion; religion separated from the business of life, instead of being woven up, conscientiously, with all its concerns. For convenience’ sake, we have a particular day, and place, and order of men, and class of exercises, especially devoted to the consideration of the great topic; but it is that its influence may be made to run through all days and places, all intercourse, every subject and employment. Yet the church has every been prone, even more than it conscious of, to sever itself from the world, instead of leavening it to its own spirit; and the same man, in his church relations, is a Christian, or would grieve not to be considered and to consider himself so, who, in some of his worldly interests and pursuits, is absolutely an atheist, living without God in his thoughts.

On no subject us thus more obvious, than on the one, from which it is most unfortunate in our country religion should be driven off, seeing it is that which agitates more people here than any other, viz. the whole business of politics. Religion and politics are spoken of as opposite poles, the positive and the negative as the acknowledgment of God is concerned. We hear it said, politics are of no particular religion; and it is too often true, in a more absolute sense than is intended. It would seem, at first, as if both subject were so important, so exciting, that the human hear is hardly large enough for both. (3) When we speak of a man as a politician preeminently, one enthusiastically absorbed in the affairs of the nation, or more probably of a party, we do not expect to find him in a church. And when a zealot for churches is invited to the polls, he seems to answer to the purpose, when he replies, “My Master’s kingdom is not of this world.” If he is a clergyman, the professional response expected from him is, “I have nothing to do with politics;” and only those object to this, who suppose, if he voted at all, he would vote with them; to all others he seems to have made the natural and legitimate reply. Both of these men are wrong, but they both point the direction in which public prejudice blows.

Our festivals, again, are either political or religious; not both together. There would seem to be something incompatible and profane, or absurd, in making them both. Such an anniversary as yesterday is not strikingly a religious day; as tomorrow’s published list of its outrages and truculent mishaps in all our cities will attest. Early in the morning, trains may be seen leaving the city by every outlet, anxious to escape the celebration of the National Independence. And, when the day of the month falls upon the first day of the week, its celebration is postponed till Monday; as if confessedly impossible to bring its spirit to into harmony with the Christian Sabbath.

All this shows, not the politics and religion are necessarily inconsistent, – for the former, I suppose, is a duty as really as the latter, and all duties should be performed in the fear of God, – but it shows, that the spirit of politics which prevails is not the right one. The good of our country should be provided for, as in the sight of God, and in sacred love to our fellow-men; and then it is a holy service, and need not be dissevered from the solemnest ministrations of devotions. It is one of the modes of worship with which the Universal Father is well pleased; one of the forms of his appointed ceremonial of religion pure and undefiled, which consists in going about doing good for his sake. But, if it is only a selfish, headlong, intemperate scramble for preeminence, if it is mercenary, not moral, in its spirit, a question of interest, not of right, the Sabbath is too good a day for it, and so is every other day.

Interest is to be regarded as well as right; but do not all political parties appeal too exclusively to the former? A reverence for right is not held high enough, as the guiding polar star for the opinions of the people. The people think, morality is a matter of home and neighborly intercourse, not involved in the vote they cast, and the opinions they express, on the acts of government, encouraging or condemning. How seldom is the guilt of upholding iniquitous public measures reflected on, as good men reflect on private violations of the ten Commandments. They may do infinitely more mischief than an individual’s misdemeanor, and yet many deem it a little thing. Men seem to think they may hold what opinions, and belong to what parties they please, without regard to their truth or effects, except as affecting themselves; as if politics were a lawless region, always out of Christendom, and from which even conscious was excluded by general consent. Look through the community and the world, and see how, on almost every question, you may draw a line between parties, accurately coinciding with the line between their interests. You need not ask, on which side a man’s convictions lie, if you only know on which side his wishes lie. The coincidence is certainly remarkable; and melancholy it is to reflect on the wide heartlessness it indicates. Here we see men fair-minded in every other concern, men of severe religious sanctity, of nice honor, of scrupulous integrity in their personal transactions, where the welfare of a few immediate connections or acquaintances is at stake; but, when millions lose though the prevalence of an opinion, the first and only thought that seems to occur to them is, How will it affect us, and I our lowest interests? And, if it promise to be lucrative, forthwith they adopt that opinion, and if their soul’s salvation hung upon it.

They adopt that opinion, I said; But can it be possible, that men always do really believe as if for their interests? Can they be conscientious, in such innumerable cases, arriving, through the careful and dispassionate examination, at precisely the result that happens to favor the views and wishes? I allow a great deal for the blinding power of self-interest; but this uniform concurrence of hope and belief is astonishing still. These same people will reason as clearly as daylight on any argument which comes within the tenth of an inch of their own concerns without touching it; but, the moment it touches, their light is darkened, their logical acumen is blunted, their perceptions evince a certain unfortunate obliquity, which is sure to twist their notions in one invariable direction. Can this be right? Can it be honest? We know, or we might know, if we chose, that truth and justice cannot always, and on every accidental question and measure, be in our favor. We are bound, at any rate, not to take it for granted. Let us inquire. Let us make up our minds to lose so many dollars, relinquish a few prejudices, and partialities, and expectations, rather than lose probity, the approbation that speaks within, all generosity of soul, and the smiles of God. Let us not be satisfied to be guilty, because the guilt is shared with a multitude. Away with injustice and ungenerosity, though only in thought, however popular, however fashionable. So shall we do our part to bring into currency a more elevated and uncompromising tone of political honor and conscience; and the whole regions of politics be no longer but as the Barbary States of moral geography, outlawed lands and piratical seas, from which are excluded all faith and virtue, all laws of God and man.

Politics should be but one form of that charity which is the end of the divine law. One more of benevolence, one of the ministrations of philanthropy; and “Holiness to the Lord” be inscribed over the portals of its halls of state and the chambers of its social festivals, as over the church door. Especially with us should this be aimed at on triple grounds. For, if political parties with us cannot be Christian parties, then are we a godless nation; there can be few Christians throughout the length and breadth of the land; since he, who is no politician under our institutions, is a solitary rarity.

Then, if they believe their own declamations, puffing up so unweariedly the national vanity, we are the most favored people on which the sun shines, at least, as regards all that God has done for us; and the Giver of all good should, least of all, be ungratefully overlooked by us. All the flights of rhetoric, that yesterday glittered over this continent, all the floods of panegyric that were sounded forth upon ourselves and our institutions and advantages, should they not all reecho, at least in and undertone whisper in reason’s ear, as if saying, To whom much is given, of them much will be required?

And, then, to make all that is given to us safe for us, and to expect a blessing continuance, we must remember God, and insist on a religious morality as the very first manifestation of a true patriotism. Ay, patriotism, that most abused words. Alas! That it is every vaunted and bravadoed by the scoffer and the profligate, not knowing, that blessed is that people, and that alone, whose God is the Lord. Without him they may speak great swelling words of vanity; but bombastic professions and oratorical displays are not the disinterested self-denial and sober toils of a virtuous citizen, who fears God and honors government, and serves and saves the state without boasting. He alone is a patriot. By such alone the country stands.

The Ruler of nations hath uttered the decree. From beginning of time his world has illustrating it. As surely as he is just and the King of nations as of individuals; as surely as there is truth taught by experience, and the unvarying certainty of the same effects from the same causes, according to the natural constitution he has impressed on his universe, the past, in all quarters of the globe, bids us look well to it. You may be the traitor within the garrison, though treason to the country be furthest from your thoughts. You may invoke ruin upon it when you are shouting, louder than any, the glory of its institutions. You may be the deadly enemy, though you shed your blood for it. Look into the nature of things. When hath a righteous nation perished? Where is there one doing justice and judgment, and it is not well with it? Public virtue is the strongest spirit of national vitality; and private virtue is the life-blood, coursing through every artery and vein, large and small, of the public institutions.

On the other hand, is it not undeniable from reason, scripture, and experience, that predominance of selfish principles and corrupt morals is the unfailing cause of calamities, perplexities, and ruin in a country? Reason tells us, that the character of the Judge of all the earth is the pledged to have it so. Vice, in the individual, may not always meet its retribution, nor virtue its reward, in this world, because there is to be another, of more perfect retribution for individuals. But nations exist here alone. Unlike the soul, they are annihilated at their temporal dissolution. Therefore, if their fortunes and fate be subject of the Divine Providence, to their present existence, which is the only one, must be applied the principle of its moral rule.

The scriptures confirm this rule, and do not restrict it to the theocracy of Israel. They say; “O Israel, thou hast fallen by thine iniquity; your iniquities have turned away good things and withheld them from you.” But it is not of Israel alone, (of whom it might be said, God was, in a peculiar way, a Governor by temporal sanctions,) that he announces this principle of legislation. His declarations are general. “At what instant I shall speak concerning a nation and concerning a kingdom, to build up and to plant it; if it do evil in my sight, that it obey not my voice, then I will repent of the good wherewith I said I would benefit them. In the hand of the Lord, there is a cup, and the wine is red. It is full mixed, and he poureth out of the same. As for the dregs thereof, all the ungodly of the earth shall drink them.”

And the experience of mankind puts the impressive truth beyond dispute. What is history but, on this account, like the Prophet’s, a scroll written, within and without, with lamentation, and mourning, and woe. Pity weeps as she unrolls its venerable annals. Its oldest records present the Cities of the Plain set forth for an example of the national ruin, that full surely awaits national unrighteousness. “Ten righteous men could not be found in them,” and they perished. Even to an earlier page the genius of history points, and sighs over the ravages of the flood. “All flesh had corrupted their ways before the Flood.” And we stand aghast at the sweeping catastrophe. Turn over a few pages onward, and direct your attention to the chosen people. See them, at one time, visited with pestilence, famine, conflagration, tempest; at another, falling under the sword, or languishing in captivity, feeling before the scourge of war, or terrified with awful phenomena of nature, and all these proclaimed the retributory angels of the Lord, the ministers of his justice for their sins. The wisdom of their wise men was taken away, and the understanding of their prudent men hid; and it was moral debasement that did it. Their cities, the places of their fathers’ sepulchers, were laid waste, and the gates thereof consumed with fire; and, in all the seasons of their affliction, mark the moral shade running though the history in proportioned intenseness; mark idolatry and its bitter fruit, general profligacy, tempting them to forget their God.

Read of a later day, travel among the scenes of profane chronicles, if you would see, that national vice is national suicide. Stand upon the moldering ruins of a thousand cities, once great and fair, and seek, – you will seek in vain, – for trace or even site of many others; and ask where are they, and why have they vanished from the earth? Roam through the desolated territories of empires, once splendid and mighty, and, as you brood over the gloomy vestiges of their decay, cannot find an inhabitant for many a mile, where throngs were loud and busy once, ask yourself, if integrity, industry, humanity, temperance, piety, and purity were rife there, when the besom of destruction came to sweep a tomb under those wide-spread ruins.

Thus history or travel will conduct you over the globe, and everywhere teach the same salutary lesson. They will point to empire after empire, and dynasty after dynasty, shriveling and shrinking with the imbecility of moral corruption; and it is not more sure, that the palaces of their pride, and the monuments of their perverted might, are crumbling into dust, than that other empires and other dynasties, now treading in their steps, will follow them to decay and desolation. O that our beloved land may be wise from the lesson! And the lesson is more pertinent under our republican polity, than under any other. If righteousness exalteth a nation, and sin is a reproach and ruin to any people, most speedily of all must it prove so to a people without the restraints of a strong government. Liberty and licentiousness roll trippingly off the tongue together; they flow, unseparated, from the lips of many, with easy alliteration and commonplace proverbialness, as if they were almost the same thing, or one inevitably followed the other. But, if it does, it is as commonplace a maxim of history, that it will follow it speedily to ruin. Liberty licentiousness, – it is the tritest of proverbs, – cannot coexist lastingly. The free people is the last that can afford to be vicious. The slave may throw off the restraints of virtue, and yet be kept in order by the restraints of despotism. But, when a freeman does not govern himself, he is ungoverned, so to speak, and careering to perdition; like the uncurbed wild ass of the desert, rushing to the precipice he tosses his head too high to see.

Therefore, every immoral republican is a traitor and conspirator against his government, as much as if, being the subject of a king, he pointed a dagger against his life. He is spreading stratagems and snares for the feet of his sovereign; for public virtue is his sovereign. He is seeking to blind, and deafen, and lame, and cripple, and make wholly inefficient, and worse than inefficient, he is seeking to corrupt, into tyrannical wantonness and cruelty, the most beneficent monarch that ever sat upon a throne.

So that you see, my brethren, in addition to every other motive for being good Christians, patriotism should be one. After we have turned away from the voice of God; after we have steeled our hearts to the claims of him who died upon Calvary, the just for the unjust, the he might bring us to God; after we have besotted our minds to act the fool’s part of blindness to our own interest; there is yet one appeal which may not be lost upon our generosity, one consideration that should be sufficient; public spirit, the love of our country. Its welfare is resting on our individual virtue. For as drops of water make up the ocean, and grains of sand constitute vast continents, so the personal character of the humblest individual among us adds something, for weal or for woe, to that national character, by which the land of our love, the government which has cherished us, will stand or fall. Our native soil, the scene of our happy childhood, the land of our fathers, the land where we have enjoyed so much, where we expect so much, and from which the world expects so much, shall it realize these expectations? Shall it become, as has been so fondly anticipated, the glory of the nations, has the perfection of beauty, the joy of the whole earth, showing what man can do with unshackled energies and faculties ripely developed in the wholesome air of liberty? Or shall it be one more byword and mockery of the aspirations and pretensions of freedom.

Think of this, when tempted to any wicked or base act. Above all, think of it when tempted to into any of the peculiar and besetting snares, and betraying exaggerations and caricatures of liberty; to vicious license, to lawlessness and recklessness of restraint, to inebriate zeal, party prejudice, bigoted factiousness, mob-rioting, passionate reviling of the powers that be, or the powers that are to be, and all bitter or mercenary partisanship. Remember, when tempted to any of these, you are tempted then to disappoint so many noble souls, the lovers of their kind, in every quarter of the globe, the enthusiasts for the advancement of the human race to a pitch of excellence and enjoyment yet unrealized, but the guaranty for which they look for in the great experience of self-government now trying on these shores.

The old world may be said to be leaning, with feverish anxiety, over the ocean to catch every symptom of the success or failure of his experiment. Have pity on the last hopes on man. Let is not be said again, as it was by the dying Brutus, after he had sacrificed all to realize a patriot’s dream; “O virtue, I have worshipped thee as a reality, and found thee but a shadow.” Let it not be said, again, as it was by the noble-hearted Madame Roland, as, on her way to the guillotine to lose her head for continuing a virtuous enthusiast for freedom amidst the herd of vicious, she passed under the statue of Liberty; “O Liberty, how they have played thee! What crimes have been committed in the name!” Ay, how it has been played in the world, historionized, juggled! What crimes have been committed, what crimes have not been committed, in its sacred name? It is assuredly the cloak of boundless evil, when not guarded with most scrupulous probity; for the best things, corrupted, always become the worst. The precious diamond may be blackened into a worthless coal. The sweet name of liberty has become a sound of ill omen and nauseous associations to many of the readers of history, from want of virtue in its votaries. Patriotism has been characterized as the last resource of a villain. Revolutions, said Napoleon, are not made with rosewater; but it were well if blood, and seas of it, were the dearest price paid. Moral corruption is what renders revolutions worse than vain.

Our fathers have made one more trial, knowing that past failures were from want of Christian principle, and that they had settled these shores expressly in obedience to Christian principle, and therefore they might hope. In faith and prayer they struggled; for they felt, that with God all things are possible in the cause of righteousness, and they hoped their children would feel this too. From the first, they set out with the idea of making this community that happy people, whose God is the Lord, – a Christian nation, – what the world had never yet seen, but what all its experience concurred in testifying it must seem or it would never see the amount of prosperity man is capable of attaining on earth. A Christian people! Not merely a sober, industrious people, without religion, if such could be expected, but distinctively a Christian people. Bright and glorious idea, far-seeing wisdom, true friends, and see its kingdoms prospering at this time just in proportion as they come near realizing this idea, other elements of their greatness being the same. Begin from the effete East, and come to the infant West. The nominally Christian are more thriving than the Pagan Mahometan; the Protestant than the Catholic; the praying and Bible-reading, than the ceremonial and formalist; and, so long hypocrisy could be kept out, that people would prosper most, who should require, as the settlers of these New England colonies did, that none but members of the church should be rulers in the state. Such a regulation is a bait for hypocrites, a trap for the consciences of the ambitious, and, therefore, it is not to be enforced after the primitive virtues of the settlement have been corrupted. But, is there were not fear of hypocrisy, verily and indeed happy would be that people, with whom God was effectively their Lord through the strict observances of such a rule. Then might we see such a phenomenon as a Christian people.

As it is, let us, – and it seems more incumbent on us than on any nation that lives in the sun’s more expressive, than as a mere geographical term. When we are called a Christian nation, let us allow more the meant, than that we are not savages or barbarians, or only semi-civilized, as all those nations are in which Christianity is unknown. Christian should be more than European or American, as distinguished from Asiatic or African. It should be more than latitude and longitude; more than eastern or western, northern or southern; more than tropics and zones, equator and ecliptic, arctic or antarctic.

And how can we make a Christian nation? To become so, must be an individual, not a collective act. Legislation cannot do it, if legislation would. Resolves of majorities, in caucus or in Congress, in towns or by states, or even unanimous votes, is not the way to affect it. The simple and sole process is for each person privately to resolve, for his single part, no influence in legislative deliberations, no political name or fame whatever, – nay, the shrinking woman and child, whose deliberations look not beyond the homestead, or who can legislate only over their own hearts, – these can add a stone, as truly as the mightiest statesman or the loudest demagogue, to build up the national temple to the Lord. Public opinion is the life-breath of our own government, and therefore to Christianize that, we have but to Christianize ourselves. O what it is ye may achieve! No such power as this is possessed by the subjects of any government but yours. They cannot regenerate their sovereign. They cannot even pray for his conversion with hope, the assurance, of the prayer being granted if sincere, which may warm your breasts.

And is there a consideration of earth or heaven, that is not present and potent to move us to this prayer? Pour it out to God, if righteousness would have but the promise of the life that now is. If a majority of the citizens were sincere followers of Jesus Christ, is it not evident, the councils of this nation would be wiser and mightier, its progress more glorious, its dominion even more potent than any the world has ever seen? The day when it shall be resolved, that the same evangelical principles shall govern states that govern churches and gospel professors in their private relations, would be the true jubilee of freedom. That will be the mind’s and the soul’s declaration of independence. That will be breaking every yoke at length from body, and heart, and spirit. Thenceforth slavery, in any form, would be but a tradition and a name; whereas now it is the commonest of conditions, and to the mass liberty is but a name; for he that serveth any sin is the slave of sin. That day will come, when the people choose.

Choose it, resolve it, O my brethren, as the first of civil duties. Whatever your party predilections, sacrifice them all for the party of righteous men. Support no administration, and oppose none, but one the ground of moral principle. Go with them as far as Jesus Christ would go, and no further. Read the constitution by the light of the Gospel. The Savior be your paramount leader.

And now I see his communion table before me this day, and I fear all that has been said will seem out of keeping with its solemn associations; so desecrating, as I began with intimating, seems any allusion to the politician’s trade. But let me hope I have not spoken all in vain. Follow it in the spirit in which you come here to the house of the Lord himself. You are performing a solemn act of worship then, if you feel it aright. You should enter upon office, you should deposit your vote for office, with a religious sense of accountableness, like that which makes you so serious when you handle the emblems of the Savior’s body and blood.

Approach his table because you would be good citizens, among the other reasons of the act; because you love, and you serve and save, your country; because you would have it long free; because you would be truly free yourselves. Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. If his Son shall make your free, ye shall be free indeed. Where he is not the deliverer, men may clamor, and boast, and carouse, and with bacchanalian revelry call themselves free but they are the bondmen of corruption, the thralls of Satan. O be ye, unlike them, the freedmen of the Lord, whose service is perfect freedom.

This sermon was preached by Rev. William M. Rogers in 1840 after the loss of the ships Harold and Lexington.

SERMON

OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS

OF THE

HAROLD AND THE LEXINGTON,

DELIVERED AT THE ODEON,

January 26, 1840.

By WILLIAM M. ROGERS,
PASTOR OF THE FRANKLIN STREET CHURCH.

Rev. William M. Rogers,

Dear Sir,

We were so much interested in the Discourse, delivered by you yesterday, in regard to the destruction of the ‘Lexington,’ and the dreadful loss of life on that occasion, that we are anxious to have it published. We hope that our belief, that good may be done thereby, will be a sufficient reason for you to comply with this request.

With sincere regard and respect,

Your friends,

JOHN C. PROCTOR,
THOMAS A. DAVIS,
DANIEL NOYES,
HENRY EDWARDS,
JOHN R. ADAN,
WM. J. HUBBARD.

Boston, Jan. 27, 1840.

GENTLEMEN,

Agreeably to your request, I submit the manuscript to your disposal. With many thanks for your favorable judgment on my labors,

I remain, yours in the Gospel,

WM. M. ROGERS.

To Messrs. John C. Proctor,
Thomas A. Davis,
Daniel Noyes,
Henry Edwards,
John R. Adan,
Wm. J. Hubbard.

HAMATH IS CONFOUNDED, AND ARPAD: FOR THEY HAVE HEARD EVIL TIDINGS: THEY ARE FAINT-HEARTED; THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA; IT CANNOT BE QUIET.

God only is unchangeable. All else is mutable. Amidst the vicissitudes of things he sits upon the throne of his eternity, inaccessible to change and unapproached of death, the same yesterday, to-day and for ever. Pervading nature by his universal presence, and unmoved amidst all fluctuations, He controls every event, and turns every change to the accomplishment of his own sovereign purposes. There are no accidents in the government of God, no calamities which come unforeseen, unanticipated. But all is known, and predetermined, and for purposes good to man and worthy God. When calamity overtakes us, it is difficult to discern his hand in events which bring with them only unmingled sorrow. Faith is overborne, the heart is over-tasked, and the defences and refuges of piety are prostrated by the first rush of affliction. But when the soul has had time to regain her balance, it becomes her to know, that God is good in sorrow as in joy, in these fearful events which crush our hopes, as in his providential bounty and care, as in the mercies of the cross and the joys of an eternal heaven.

What then is the voice of God in this calamity? What the lesson of his mercy, taught us in blasted hopes, in the hearts broken, in homes desolate and empty? What is the teaching of God, when he makes the dead—our friends, brothers, sisters, children, fathers, to utter his truth? From the graves God hath opened for them embosomed in the waters, let the dead speak to-day, and let us hear their voice a the voice of the eternal God our Father.

There is sorrow on the sea; there are evil tidings on the land. Why is it?

I. There is sorrow on the sea.

Separation from home, parting from friends, coarsness of fare, daily toils and exposure to the diseases of other climates, with sudden death upon the deep; these are the life, not the sorrows of those who go down to the sea. Their sorrows are of a deeper cast. Who has not seen the good ship swing from her moorings, and lift her canvass to the breeze, while the pier-head was thronged with eager friends cheering her parting and waving their last kind wishes for a happy return. The flag of her country waved above her—the emblem of her power and protection, far as the wind may bear, the billows foam. But, ah, she goes where the might of a nation is powerless—among the wonders of God in the sea. How often does the sailor mark the gathering storm, and brace him to meet it with the resources of seamanship. He has seen the sea tumultuous, he has felt the blast of the tempest before, and he walks the deck, strong, in his own resources. The thunders utter their voice, the lightnings flash, deep calleth unto deep, and lift their waves like arms to embrace and engulf the ship. She bends to the tempest, and braces her yards to its blast, or flies before it with resistless speed. But how little can man do. Her canvass is rent to shreds, a rope parts, spar after spar goes by the board, the ship does not answer her helm and she is overborne by the storm, or lies upon the waters, unmanageable, the plaything of its tumultuous waves. How often are the horrors of fire or the leak accompaniments and accessories of the storm, until the good ship goes down with all her rich freight, and the waters gather over her, as if she had never been. Truly God walks the sea in fearful majesty. It may be the sturdy men that walked her deck betake them to their boats, with hope of rescue and of home yet warm about their hearts. But how often is it a living death. The night brings no rest, the sun no cheering. They look for land, and see it not; they discern a sail, and it turns to cloud. An hungered, athirst, starved to the very bone, the kindliness of nature is overpowered, and they glare upon one another with hungry and cannibal eyes. They live in their coffins and their graves are beneath them.

There is sorrow on the sea. Even within the protection of our bays and harbors, where clustering vessels had sought a refuge from the storm, God hath broken the ships of Tarshish with an East wind, and while the shores were blackened with the many who sought their rescue, ready to peril life for life, within sight of their danger, within hearing of their agony, the storm has overmastered them and given back their mutilated corpses to the land again.

There is sorrow on the sea. We have spoken of familiar and recorded sorrow. But who can measure the griefs unwritten save in the book of God; who can catch and utter again the voice of human agonies amid the waste of waters unheard but by the ever present One? Who can describe the bitterness of their death, who went down to the grave struggling hopelessly, with no eye but His upon them? There are none of you familiar with the seas, who have not often passed in mid ocean a spar, a timber, rounded with the ceaseless wash and wear of waters, barnacled and tasseled with weeds, once doubtless a portion of some noble ship. But what was she, and whence? Where are the men that peopled her? She went forth and came not again. Her history is brief. She left her port and was never heard of more. The merchant, who has freighted her deep with the abundance of his warehouse, pores over the registers of arrivals and departures—but her name and her fate are hidden. The mother, whose boy has wandered from his home to the deep, looks for his coming—but he does not come; and often she asks, are there tidings—but tidings there are none. There is unknown sorrow on the sea.

But these are the common and expected casualties of the sea. They are the history of every day and the burden of every print. We meet them without surprise and leave them without abiding impression. Indeed it has come to be accounted a natural death for the seaman to perish by the waters; and when he dies, he dies often unknown, unvalued, with but a passing sensation upon the public mind. Sometimes, indeed, one we have known, and loved, leaving a family circle bound up in his life, finds his grave in the sea, and even then the teachings of that sorrow are too much limited to the firesides which shall know him no more for ever. In such casual and insulated calamities, the public mind is moved too much as the sea, when it open to embosom the sinking ship. There is a wave, a ripple, and it flows on as before. It is moved to sympathy, but passes on uninstructed. The voice of God is hushed amid the thronging cares of life. It is under such circumstances, that our God has often broken the common order of his providences by signal and general calamities. There always has been sorrow on the sea, but now there are evil tidings on the land. It comes to every church, to every congregation, to the families and firesides of our city, and our Commonwealth. It is not the nameless and homeless sailor who has fallen; it is the known, the loved, the honored, the pride and joy of many hearts. Truly God hath spoken with fearful distinctness, and to us all.

II. There are evil tidings on the land.

The facilities of communication between distant points introduced by steam, have been accompanied with a corresponding increase in travel itself. They who seldom travelled before, except under the pressure of circumstances, now mingle in the throng crowding our great routes. The men of business are there oftener than ever, and with them the man of science, the minister of the gospel on some errand of mercy, the father, the mother with helpless infancy, drawn by the ease of transfer from a quiet home to meet and bless once more the absent and the loved. A calamity here, touches society on the nerve. The dismal history of the Home, the Pulaski, the Lexington, shows a long, sad list of the honored and loved, filling every position in human society, and touching each a thousand hearts in his fall; and so will it be in the future. The community may expect, that whenever calamities occur upon our great routes, it will not be the nameless alone who will perish, but with them, the best life society can furnish.

Who did not feel this when the evil tidings of the Lexington came upon us, and the fearful list of dead became distinct and legible? Who but shrunk from the perusal; who but denied to himself the first overwhelming tidings, and disbelieved in spite of evidence, for hope overmastered fear. And when confirmation strong blasted all hopes, with what deep horror did men look upon one another. It was felt to be and it is a public calamity. Its pressure falls heavily on many firesides, but its shadow is over all.

There are evil tidings for us, for who were there? The men of business, whose foresight and energy pushed enterprise to its utmost; they who were the authors and centres of plans branching and extending until they girdled the globe; they whose activity gave bread to hundreds, they were there. And with them the minister of the gospel, one who had found a home in a land strange to his infancy, and whose integrity, learning and worth had won a place for him in many hearts, and a position honorable amongst men, he was there. And with them, one who had crossed many seas and looked upon death right often, and whose protracted absence had given rise to sad forebodings of his fate, when the glad news of his safe arrival filled many hearts with joy, he was there, and he came to crown the hopes of years, and to meet her who was to be his bride. ¹ He hastened to his bridal, but it was with death; and she who was to be a wife was more than a widow. And they too were there who reverently took up their dead, that they might bear it to the family tomb, to rise together in the last day, and together God buried them. And helpless infancy enfolded in a mother’s arms, now first no protection, and veiled and enshrouded, the last sad office of a mother’s love, it was there. The eager crowds that thronged that boat were fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, friends, and with life vigorous at their hearts, and hope bright before them, they rushed, they knew it not, to their own graves. But could the private history of the individuals on board that boat be known, could we follow the tidings of death to each desolate home, and broken heart, there would be more of anguish in the circles of friends who live to suffer, than in the horrors of that night.

But among them never can we forget one, a brother of this church, with whom we have taken sweet counsel, and walked to the house of God in company, with whom we have broken the bread, and lifted the cup, the emblems of a Saviour’s sacrifice, with whom our prayers have gone up to God, and our labors been joined on earth;—possessed of a sweetness of temper, touched lightly by the cares and vexations of life, with a religious character ripening and maturing with great promise; loved as a son and as a brother, and loved in relations more tender than either, life was worth to him all it could be worth to any man. He entered that boat, committing himself, and the record yet remains to us, to his covenant keeping God, and his God in covenant hath taken him to join the sister and the brother, “not lost, but gone before.” And there with his God in covenant let us leave him, assured that redeeming love is a portion richer for the soul than any earthly good. ²

III. There is sorrow on the sea, and evil tidings on the land, and why is it?

In a government administered by infinite wisdom and goodness, nothing can transpire except in consistency with mercy. Sorrows come not forth of the dust; they spring not out of the ground. They have their purpose, and it is one worth the gaining, even at the price of life, and of such life. If we shrink sensitively, and who does not, from the horrors of that night, let us remember that the purpose of their death in the government of God, is as glorious as they were dreadful. In the heavens, one world calls to another to praise God, and in all their glorious circles, day to night, and night to day, proclaim him Creator. That is the voice of his majesty challenging the reverence of man. But here the dead speak to us, and from the enfolding depths where God hath them sure against the resurrection, I seem to hear them admonish us. This is the voice of his mercy—and it tells us to be ready to die at any time and in any way.

It is most solemn truth, that God has pledged himself to no man, how or when he will bring him to his grave. He has cast the shadows of futurity about it and bidden us be always ready. He will not give us this knowledge, to calculate how long we may live in sin, and when it is indispensable to become Christians. He will not sanction our being aliens while we may, and children when we must; but everywhere, in every open grave, in the common course of his providence, in unusual and marked calamities, in the warning of his word and the voice of all experience, he bids us be ready for any death at any time, for there is no safety to the Christless. This is the voice of God’s mercy to the living, coming up from those waters lit up by the fires of death. There never was a calamity so fatal, which to the eye of man seemed so needless, and so improbable; never one where the means of relief from within themselves or rescue from without so promising; and yet every hope was blasted, every expedient fruitless, and death closed the harrowing scene. It is often the case, that God leaves man to the sympathies of home, and the soothing kindnesses of affection; but often as here, he visits him in the midst of his strength, with all the appurtenances of safety about him, yes, in the very midst of his triumphs over nature, where he has imprisoned the fire, and made the air and the water, and the rugged iron toil for him like bondmen, in the very supremacy of his dominion over the elements, the hand of God is upon him and he dies. No miracle attests the present God. The fire and the waters and the air retain their nature, and, acting each in conformity with unvarying laws, they accomplish the purposes of God, and man finds his wisdom foolishness, and his strength helplessness. There is no safety to life in human devices.

And when the outcry rang through that ill-fated boat, that death threatened them in a form most appalling to humanity, how soon were the distinctions of society annulled. Poverty stood side by side with wealth, knowledge with ignorance, strength with feebleness, all were upon a common level. Of what avail was wealth? The coined silver and gold were not worth their bulk in water to quench the burning boat, but were emptied out and trodden under foot as worthless, with the life in peril. Here let the eager and the greedy for gain measure the value of their gettings. Here let them learn that gold will not save the life, though it may ruin the soul. Here let the proud take the guage and dimensions of their distinctions; they never have barred the pathway of death. Here let the vigorous, full of life, and trusting to see many years, acknowledge a mightier strength, before which theirs is but imbecility.

Oh, that was a scene of many and crowding thoughts. Home, and the hearts bound up with them in the issues of life, wives, husbands, parents, children, brothers, sisters, all were present to their thoughts. All that made life worth the having, concentred in the hour; but all that made life desirable could not make the cup to pass from them, which wrung the life from out their hearts.

That was a place of prayers. If men ever pray in earnest, it is at sea, when the help of man utterly fails, and God only can rescue. Doubtless men prayed who never prayed before. God grant their prayers were heard. And there were Christians there to test their piety, and cast themselves upon God, “for he who trusts in Jesus is safe, even amid the dangers of the sea.” But even prayer coming up amid voices of agony, and dying men, was heard unanswered, and they died. Does not God teach us to rely for life neither on human skill or strength, upon wealth or the ties that bind to life, nor even upon the piety of the Christian, for God hath richer blessings for him than life, stored up in heaven. There is assurance of existence no where. God warns us then to be ever ready to die in any way, for he has pledged himself to no man how or when he will bring him to his grave.

There is a duty which yet remains to me in closing this discourse. I address myself to those who never have professed to be Christians, and ask them,

Are you ready to die? Had your soul been in their souls’ stead, what would be now your condition? It is by the mercy of God that you are spared, and spared to the service of this day, to hear the solemn truth of this discourse, that God has not pledged himself to you, how or when he will bring you to the grave. Within the year, three members of the congregation and one of the church have found a sudden death on the sea, while a father of a member of the church has shared the same fate. Of the members of the congregation one was a child of the church, baptized and nurtured for God; the other in the vigor of manhood, generous, energetic, kind and affectionate, found his death by the burning of the Harold in mid ocean. The third in the vigor and promise of life was lost in the Lexington. These events which have filled the house with mourners, and touch every heart, are enforced and deepened by the sorrows of many bereaved by the recent calamity, teaching the same lesson in God’s providence. Be ready to die in any way, at any time. Are you ready? Men have died to teach you the lesson. Many hearts have been wrung with anguish to impress it. And while the weeds of wo are before your eyes, let the voice of the dead come to you as the voice of God, “Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.” Be in earnest in the care of your soul. Put off from you this listlessness and indifference which is stamping death upon your immortality, and robbing you of heaven. Strip yourselves of that foolish and wicked pride which fears the world more than God, and shrinks from personal and earnest thought and action in religion. You have chosen a pastor as your guide to Heaven. Make him so frankly, openly, disclosing your hopes, your fears, your doubts and difficulties, never shrinking from a manly avowal of your estate, or from the use of opportunities to know yourself and God. And above all, go to your God, for you have a soul to be saved, and he alone can save it through Christ. So shall your end be peace, and the very grave, which hath enlarged herself to enclose the coming, shall yield to you the fruits of eternal life.

Brethren of the church: A brother has gone, for God has taken him. He mingles his voice in these services no more. He will break bread with us never again on earth. It would seem more natural for the eye to rest upon him in the vigor and bloom of health, worshipping among us, than to speak of his death. But such is the inscrutable purpose of God. We yet remain, but how long? He who hath taken him alone knoweth. And are we ready? Is our work done? Could we leave the earth in peace, feeling that nothing remained for us to do? Oh, it is not so. How much is yet undone! How brief a space to finish it! As we think of the dead, let us cherish no fears for him. We may exultingly take hold upon the promise of Christ, “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” There is enough of sureness and blessedness in the promise to cheer and sustain us in this bereavement. But let us think of the living, of our duties to our own souls, to those who are without hope in the world, and to God himself. Put away the fatal sloth and inaction, which preys upon the piety of a church, like a canker. Awake to righteousness and sin not. Let us humble ourselves before God for our negligence and remissness in his work, our coldness and unbelief, and implore the aids of his Spirit in humble dependence. Let us do these things, for death cometh and afterwards the judgment.

To the bereaved of this church and congregation, we extend our sympathies in their sorrows, and implore in our prayers the blessings of the Almighty Father upon them. But look to richer consolations than are found in any human hearts. Remember that your sorrows, keen as they may be, proceed from one who has tasted death, and known its bitterness, deepened a thousand fold by the accumulated sins of a world. He who hung upon the cross, and tasted death for every man, He it is who hath permitted these bereavements to come upon you, and for the self same end for which he died. They are means to the renewal of the heart or the sanctification of the soul. They are intended to prepare for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Let not affliction fail of its end. Let it not be needful, that sorrow come again. Go then to the Saviour, who has smitten in tenderness, not in wrath, and learn to read this life in the light of heaven—and to hear the voice of God from the graves of your dead, bidding you be holy, trust in Christ, and be happy forever.

Endnotes

1. Capt. Carver, of Plymouth. After a passage so long as to excite serious apprehensions for his safety, he reached his port, and, by his request, every preparation had been made to consummate his marriage immediately on his arrival home. He entered the Lexington in that expectation, and was lost.

2. ‘Among the passengers who perished, was Mr. James G. Brown, of Boston, a young gentleman of devoted religious character, and greatly endeared to all who knew him. On the morning of the fatal 13th, he took, leave of his friends in Newark, where he had recently formed a most tender connection. Among his baggage, since found on the beach, and restored to his friends, is his pocket Bible, and a little volume called “Daily Food,” consisting of texts of Scripture for every month and day in the year. The texts for January 13th, (the fatal day) were, with singular appropriateness, these—“He that endureth to the end shall be saved.” “Watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.” These passages were marked by his own hand by a turned down leaf, and from his known habits had doubtless been the theme of his meditation just before the melancholy catastrophe. The portion of Scripture marked as recently read is the 23d psalm, embracing the triumphant exclamation of David, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”’ Newark, N. J. Advertiser.

* Originally posted: December 24, 2016.

Samuel Kirkland Lothrop (1804-1886) graduated from Harvard in 1825 and from the Harvard divinity school in 1828. He was a minister at the Unitarian Church in Dover, NH (1829-1834) and at the Brattle Square Church in Boston (1834-1876). Lothrop was a delegate to the Massachusetts state constitutional convention (1853), and served on the Boston school committee for 30 years. This sermon was preached by Lothrop after the steamship Lexington caught on fire and sunk.

A

SERMON,

PREACHED AT

THE CHURCH IN BRATTLE SQUARE,

ON SUNDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19, 1840,

ON THE

DESTRUCTION OF THE LEXINGTON BY FIRE,

January 13th.

By. S. K. LOTHROP,
Pastor of the Church.

SERMON.

JOB 1, 19.

I only am escaped alone to tell thee.

I feel confident, my friends, that I shall be meeting the state of your minds, as well as obeying the dictate of my own feelings, if I take my subject this morning from real life, and gather my sermon, not so much from some passage of scripture, as from that sad and appalling calamity, the news of which a few days since filled all hearts with sorrow.

During the last few weeks or months, our community has borne a melancholy resemblance to the scenes connected with the text. As messenger after messenger came unto Job, bringing him tale after tale of loss and disaster, of the swift destruction of his property, and the death, violent and sudden, of those in whom his affections were bound up, even so has been fraught with some sad intelligence. Scarcely have our minds recovered from the shock of one, ere another story comes, borne on the wings of the wind, and to rend our hearts, by the fearful images of suffering and sorrow it calls up. A city in the southern section of the republic, far off in its location, yet near to us in many social and commercial relations, is visited by pestilence and fire. Even as in Egypt of old, the voice of lamentation, mourning and woe goes up from every dwelling, for in almost every dwelling is one dead; and while disease is making these dwellings desolate, a conflagration buries them in ruins. Night after night, a fire sweeps through large quarters of the city, spreading terror and dismay before it, leaving ruined hopes, and prostrate fortunes, and wide spread suffering behind it. While we are expressing our sympathy, and in the midst of our efforts to relieve and comfort, a fearful tempest sweeps over our own borders. Traces of its ravages are left in various quarters of our city, at our wharves and in our streets. But they are slight and insignificant. We think not of ourselves. Comfortably housed and guarded, we feel not the cutting blast. But as we hear, amid the watches of the night, the wild wailing of the tempest without, the rush of the angry wind, mighty and irresistible, our thoughts instinctively turn to those, who have gone down to do business on the great deep, and a fervent, earnest prayer goes up from our hearts to that God, who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand, that he would guard and preserve them. We look on the morrow for the record of disaster. We know that in that fearful war of the elements, some must have been overwhelmed. But the truth is far beyond even our worst fears. We thought that perchance some solitary bark might have been driven upon the rocks, we heard in fancy,

The solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.”

But our thoughts and our fears are but faint images of the reality. Not one or two ships, but a fleet is wrecked,—not here and there has a solitary individual perished, but multitudes. In some places, the shore is literally strewn with the bodies of the dead, the mangled, frozen, wave-tossed forms, that but a few hours before were instinct with life and health and strength, whose hearts beat warm with affection, and high with hope, and whose thoughts were dreaming of home, of wife and children, and all the kindly charities of life.

Familiar with the shore of the north-eastern coast of our Bay, I have often tried to picture to my imagination the fearful scene in and about that spot, where so many sought a harbor, but found a grave. But I cannot,—I cannot take it all in at once, and survey, as a whole, that wild scene of destruction and death. My eye involuntary turns and rests upon a single point; I see a single vessel going to pieces upon the rocks, some rods from the shore. The waves are dashing and breaking over it,—one after another is swept off, till two stand there almost alone. Of these, one is a father, far passed the meridian of life, the other a son, in all the vigor and strength of early manhood. Who shall tell the communing of that moment,—the thoughts, feelings, and memories that rushed through the mind of each? Suddenly a sound comes to us on the breath of the tempest, “Father you shall not perish if I can save you,”—and the young man redeemed the pledge. He fastens a rope safe and sure to the body of his father, and lashing the other end to himself, with one strong embrace, one fervent prayer, a blessing craved and a blessing given, he springs from the wreck. Is he not instantly overwhelmed by the waves? Can it be that man can buffet with those angry surges? There is something in his heart mightier even than the elements. It was a fearful struggle,—again and again he seems overborne, and about to resign himself in despair to a watery grave. But the image of his father,—the father that had nurtured and guarded his infancy, is in his mind, the image of his mother, left solitary in her far off dwelling, rises up before him, the filial love of a noble heart is strong within him, and through this he perseveres and triumphs. He is borne unharmed through the surf, he stands secure upon the firm earth,—the signal is given, and in a few moments, by means of the rope, the old man is brought safely to the shore, to be locked in the embrace of his deliverer and his child.

This is no fancy sketch. I have been told, my hearers, that this thing occurred; and we should find many others like it probably in effect, if not in success, did we know all the incidents of that scene of peril and disaster. Out of this full fountain of woe and suffering, therefore, we can gather at least this measure of good,—the evidence of the noble disinterestedness, the deep, enduring sympathy, that dwells in the heart of man.

But scarcely have we ceased to think and to speak of this calamity, ere another is brought to our knowledge, unexpected and unlooked for, not so general, in its nature, yet appealing to and touching the deep sympathies of all. The sky is fair, the atmosphere serene, the wind, though cold and wintry, is light and gentle, and an unclouded sun sheds over nature all the beauty and gladness than can ever dwell in a winter’s landscape. A mother’s heart is beginning to beat with joy. Her countenance, which had worn the anxiety of “hope deferred,” is lighted up with a smile, for she feels that under such a sky, even a wintry approach to our coast is safe, and that the ship, richly freighted with her maternal affections, will soon arrive. It may come tomorrow;—alas! Tomorrow dawns only to bring death to her hopes and her dwelling,—to bring us all a sad and mournful tale, how that in the wildest track of wild sea, the fire-spirit overtook that ship and the majestic bark, “that had bounded over the waters like a conqueror, became a mighty pillar of fire in the vast desert of the ocean,” and how, while some escaped, her son and others of our fellow citizens, around whom gathered the affections of fond hearts, were lost. There is, there must be, it seems to me, for I cannot speak from experience, there must be “a fearfulness in the solitude of the ocean, which every one must feel, under whatever circumstances he traverses its mighty depths. Night, with its storms and tempests, may add to the sensation; but there is in the very vastness of the waters, in the awful uniformity of their murmurs, and in their unchanging aspect, a loneliness so deep and perfect that the human heart has no passion of hope or fear, which it does not deepen or overcome. The moonlight of a desert solitude, the gloom of evening or midnight in a ruined city may carry the traveller’s thoughts through years of bygone happiness; but it is in his passage across the deep, in the hush and loneliness of the ocean that the visions and bodings of his own spirit become palpable and real.” This it is, that causes the misfortunes that happen in the heart of the seas, to awaken in our breasts the deepest sympathy with the sufferers. There complete, absolute separation from the rest of mankind, makes us feel for them, as if they had been the inmates of our own dwellings. And if they have actually been known to us, if they have lived in our neighborhood, if our hands have ever exchanged with them the warm grasp of friendship and affection, if they have mingled in our social or domestic joys, our hearts yearn in pity and tenderness, as we think of their fate. No tomb shall plead to their remembrance. No human power can redeem their forms. The white foam of the waves was their winding sheet, the winds of the ocean shall be their eternal dirge.

The news of the burning of the Harold therefore, touched the sympathies of all of us, even of those who did not personally know the sufferers. Men talked of it at the corners of the streets, and expressed to each other their sorrow and regret. In every circle, gathered around the fire-side of every dwelling in the city, it was spoken of, and trembling prayers went up from all those, who had a son, a husband, a brother, traversing the vast deep.

A few days pass, and our thoughts are yet wandering to that far off spot on the lonely ocean, where

“The death Angel flapped his broad wing o’er the wave,”

When they are suddenly called back, and called home, by a calamity which appalls and almost benumbs sensation, by its fearful nature and a magnitude not yet ascertained in its full extent. I need not name it. I need not describe it. It cannot be described. The circumstances attending it are few, but terrible. Imagination can hardly paint a scene, in its immediate aspect, or its ultimate and swiftly approaching issues, more full of horrors, to distract the calmest mind, to unnerve the stoutest heart,—“horrors which must have appeared to start up from the wild caverns of the deep itself.” No warning was given to prepare the thoughts, no omen of peril had been noticed. The tempest and the whirlwind give signals of their approach, but no signal is here to tell of coming danger. In an instant almost, that unfortunate company found themselves assailed by an enemy against which they could make no defence, and from which they soon lost all means of escape. And three “only have escaped. And three “only have escaped alone to tell” the tale, to give the brief outline of the beginning of that scene of terror and dismay. How it ended, and the details of its progress, what were the movements, the efforts and sufferings of the multitudes gathered upon that burning deck, none can tell.

The physical suffering endured in those brief hours, must have been severe, but it sinks into insignificance before the mental suffering of a situation so bereft of hope. To be shipwrecked is terrible. To be driven by the fierce hurricane upon an iron, rock-bound coast, is fearful and appalling. But in shipwreck there is room for action, and consequently for hope. There is something to be done, some effort to be made; a steady eye, a calm, self-possessed mind, a courageous heart, may avail something towards escape, and if death come at last, it comes only after noble efforts and struggles. To die in battle is terrible. Few scenes of this world’s suffering and woe, can equal the battle field,—that scene of dreadful and indiscriminate slaughter, where multitudes are assembled that death may mow them down with greater facility, that, not individuals, but thousands may be leveled at a blow, that the mighty and renowned, the young, the healthy, and the vigorous may perish in a moment, amid piercing groans, and frantic shouts, and bitter shrieks, and the roar of the deadly thunder, which strews around them companions in misery. But in battle there is action, and to the very last there is hope, a hope of success or escape. The mind is buoyed up and pressed onward to effort and endurance by this hope, and if at last death come, sudden and violent, there is, it may be, the consciousness of a noble duty nobly done, of life periled in a holy cause, and sacrificed, if sacrificed it must be, to freedom and truth.

But here, after the first few moments, there was no room for action, effort, or hope. In the wild confusion and dismay of the first outbreak of danger, the only means of escape had been utterly lost. And there they stood, the two companies, helpless and powerless, gathered on the bow and stern of that ill-fated boat,—the devouring fire raging to madness between, throwing its lurid flames to Heaven and casting a terrific brightness upon the yawning waves that stood ready to engulph them. There was no longer any help in man. None could hope to live for an hour in that wild wintry sea. They had nothing to do but to wait, to suffer, and to die. If ever any situation required manhood, fortitude and the power of religious faith, it must have been this. Let us trust, brethren, that these were not wanting. Let us trust that those brief hours were not all hours of pain, of grief, of unmitigated anguish. Let us hope that, while glad memories of the past thronged thick and fast upon their minds, and burning thoughts of home, of wife or husband, of children and kindred, no more to be seen on earth, tore with anguish their hearts, there also came in upon their souls, sweet and holy in its influences, that faith, mightier than any human affection, stronger than any mortal peril, which lifts the spirit to God, and gives it peace in death.

That this faith was present to many, with a calming and sustaining power, we have reason to hope. That it was present to one I cannot doubt; and from among the many husbands and fathers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, who, torn from their homes on earth, have found, I trust, a home in Heaven, I may be allowed to select and notice one, the only one with whom I had an intimate acquaintance, whose unobtrusive goodness and genuine worth have won for him an abiding place, in the memory, and hearts of all, who knew him well.

Exiled from his birth place, not for any crime, but for his love of liberty, his adherence to what he thought right and truth, Dr. Follen, brought to this, his adopted country, the same principles, the same noble sentiments, the same love of freedom and of truth, the same devotion to what he deemed duty that had banished him from his home. It is now nearly twenty years since he sought a refuge in our land, bringing with him no patent of nobility, but that which God had stamped upon his soul; and he needed none other to secure him that place in society to which his worth and talents entitled him. During his residence among us, he has honorably filled some of the most important literary offices in the dwellings of the happy and the prosperous, remembering the injunction to “rejoice with them that do rejoice,” h secured to himself the love and respect of all. Even those, and I myself was among the number, who differed from him in judgment and opinion on some subjects, honored and revered the man. His character deserved and inspired these emotions. The qualities, for which Dr. Follen was remarkable, were his ardent love of truth and his fearless devotion to it, his patient perseverance, his high moral purpose, his warm and tender affections, his quick and wide sympathies with humanity, and especially and above all, the simplicity and purity that distinguished his every thought and word. He was truly an upright and sincere man, “in whom there was no guile.” In the prime of life, with a mind vigorous, active and richly stored with learning, a heart full of noble purposes and aspirations, his death is a public bereavement. From literature and religion it takes an ornament, from truth and virtue, an advocate, eloquent in character as well as speech, and from an extensive circle of friends, an object of warm and confident attachment. Upon the sanctuary of private sorrow, we cannot, we dare not intrude. There is desolation there which none but God can reach and comfort. Our sympathy is with the living,—for him we fear not. Death in however terrible a form, could have no terrors to him. It could not find him unprepared, and those who have seen his “calm look, where Heaven’s pure light was shed,” will feel assured that in that last hour of mortal agony,

“Faith o’er his soul, spread forth her shadowless, her sunny wing,
And from the spoiler plucked the dreaded sting.”

Confident that Christian faith thus calmed and sustained him, I would humbly trust that others also had a blessed experience of its power, that with many the last moment of sensation was full of that peace which no earthly vicissitude can disturb, and the gloom and darkness of a watery grave lighted by that hope, which speaks of eternal life.

I cannot but remark also, that although some families of our city are called to participate most deeply in this calamity, families for whose mournful bereavements we feel, and would express, a most tender and respectful sympathy, we have yet reason for gratitude as a community, that so few of us have a direct share in this sad event. Those who are taken from us were worthy, honorable and beloved, so far as known. To kindred and friends, their death has thrown an abiding shadow over life. Seldom, however, does a boat pass through the Sound, that is not more richly freighted, in numbers at least, with our own citizens; seldom could such an accident have happened and not have left more of our own dwellings desolate.

But though so few were connected with us, they were all connected with others. “They dwelt among their kindred.” Of that company there was not one, however humble or obscure, perfectly solitary and isolated in the world, not one, to whom the heart of some other one was not knit by some strong cord, some tender tie of interest and affection. No one dieth or can die to himself alone. He cannot, by sin or by solitude, so cut himself off from all connection or intercourse with his race, that no one shall notice or lament his death. Let him fix his residence in the wildest fastnesses of the mountains, that residence will sometimes be deserted. The strong, inextinguishable impulses of humanity will sometimes bring him back to the abodes of men. Curiosity will, at intervals, lead a stranger to his hut, and a kind providence, as many instances in the past illustrate, will so order it, that when disease finds its way to his dwelling, human aid shall follow its steps, human sympathy, unexpected yet gratefully received, shall minister to his wasting strength, and hollow in kindness, his solitary grave. Let him plunge into the abyss of sin, let him steep himself in crime, and die in ignominy, it can not be even then, that he will die to himself alone. The mother, that bore him, will mourn for the sinner because he is her son. The wife, whose love can not change, though the joy, that encircled it, is withered and crushed, will yet weep in bitterness and sorrow, and the children will lament for the father, though his memory be covered with shame. No one can die to himself. Let his age or station, his character or condition be what it may, so long as he lies, he is linked to his race, and whenever and however he may die, some heart shall hallow his memory and deplore his loss. Every individual of that company then had a home, some spot where his presence shed gladness and comfort, and where tender affections or fond hopes rested upon him. The cases, that are especially known to us, are of peculiar and distressing sadness. It may be that all are equally calamitous and mournful. Wide-spread is the sorrow then caused by this disaster; many tearful eyes and aching hearts are turned to that fearful scene. Many families are made desolate, many are left widowed and fatherless, deprived of the power that protected, the wisdom that guided, the love that blessed and made them happy. Let our hearts yearn for them, let our prayers go up for them, that God, who is as rich in mercy, as he is inscrutable in the ways of his providence, may give that support and consolation, which He only can impart.

But I confess, my friends, I hesitate not to say, that after the first emotions of horror and pity, excited by this event, the thought, the feeling that is uppermost in my own mind is, indignation; yes, I will use that word though it be a strong one, indignation at the gross recklessness or carelessness, which caused this destruction of human life and produced this wide suffering – and indignation also at the feeble and inefficient legislation, that permits, and has for years permitted, these disasters to occur throughout our waters, without a just rebuke or an adequate restraint in the laws. I have read the statement published by the agent of this ill-fated boat. I am willing to admit and believe that every word of that statement is true. I admit also that those, whose business it was to prevent by carefulness this accent, are themselves among the sufferers, and that the inference is, that they would not wantonly peril their own lives. They are dead,—I would respect the memory of the dead,—but I must plead, and I feel constrained to plead for the rights, the protection, the security of the living. Admitting all that has been, or can be said in extenuation, the simple facts of the case, so far as known, especially when taken in connection with the circumstance that this self-same boat has unquestionably been on fire once, rumor says two or three times, within the law few weeks, it seems to me, that these facts are enough to prove that a solemn duty, a fearful responsibility was neglected somewhere by some one, enough to sustain the opinion, widely prevalent, that this awful disaster is to be attributed, either to the selfishness and cupidity of the owners, who, greedy of gain, insisted upon overloading their boat with a dangerous and inflammable freight, or to the culpable carelessness, the utter inattention of the master and officers, in not stowing that freight securely, in not watching ever and constantly, with an eagle eye, the condition and safety of the vessel, to which hundreds had entrusted their lives.

The simple fact that such an accident, on such a night, occurred, is in itself presumptive evidence of carelessness or incompetence on the part of some one. At any rate, all the circumstances of the case ought to be thoroughly investigated, every thing that can be gathered, if anything can be gathered from the survivors, touching the origin and early progress of the fire, ought to be made known, to satisfy the public curiosity, to relieve the public anxiety. If this investigation makes against the owners or managers, the truth ought not to be winked out of sight. It ought not to be hushed up, and kept back, and passed over. It is a misplaced charity to do it. We are false to our own interests and safety, to the interest and safety of all, in doing it. It ought to bespoken out, to be urged and insisted upon, boldly and plainly. It ought to be proclaimed trumpet-tongued, throughout the length and breadth of the land, till it reaches the halls of Congress, calls off the members from their petty party animosities, their disgraceful personal contentions, and wakes up the government from its inertness, its epicurean repose, a repose of apparent indifference to those, whose safety it ought to guard, whose lives it ought to protect,—till it causes the supreme power of the land to legislate, wisely and efficiently, for one of the most important interests of the people, and to do, not something, but everything requisite, to check an evil that cries aloud for redress.

The destruction of human life in the United States, during the last ten years, by accidents and disasters in the public conveyances, is, I had almost said, beyond computation. It is utterly unparalleled in the history of the world. It confirms, what all foreigners and travelers assert, that there is no country upon earth, where the proprietors, managers and conductors of these public conveyances, are so little responsible, so slightly amenable to the law, so far beyond the reach of public rebuke or public punishment; and the fearful catastrophe of the past week, as well as many others that might be collected from the history of the past year, are sufficient evidence that the late act of Congress, as was anticipated, has proved utterly inadequate and inefficient, and that something more strong, peremptory and binding is necessary, to protect the immense amount of life and property, daily and hourly exposed upon our highways and our waters.

I call upon you therefore, as merchants, who have large interests at stake in this matter, I call upon you as men, and citizens, who cannot behold with indifference the sufferings of your fellow men, to let your influence be felt, let your voice be heard in this thing, let it go forth to swell the power of that great sovereign, Public Opinion, till it demands and insists upon enactments, that shall meet the necessities of the case.

But, my friends, we are Christians as well as men, believers in God and his providence, and it becomes us to look up from the secondary cause, that produced, to the great First Cause, that permitted and overruled this disaster. While it seems to us, that it may be traced to the carelessness of man, we cannot doubt that God, in the inscrutable depths of his wisdom, permitted it. The Infinite Spirit of the universe was not absent from that spot on that awful night. He, in whose hands is the breath of every living soul, who counts the hairs of our head and numbers the beatings of our pulse, He was nigh unto each and all of that suffering band,—to hear their prayers, and to receive their spirits to the bosom of his love.

We cannot comprehend all the purposes of his providence. We cannot fathom his councils, “whose ways are not our ways, whose thoughts are above our thoughts.” But we have reason to believe, that a wise and gracious design presides over every event, however dark and mysterious in its aspects; from every event also, even from that fearful scene of suffering and death, we can gather lessons of duty and instruction. It speaks to all of us all of our dependence upon God, and of the worth of that calm and holy trust in Him, which is the property only of the faithful and devout soul. It enforces also social duty. It bids us keep our hearts warm and our sympathies active, our affections strong, pure, tender, and to do what we can to make happy those, who are bound to us by close and tender ties; for we know not how soon or how suddenly they may be cut down, and placed beyond the reach of our love or our neglect.

Ah! If in that perished company there were any, who had parted in coldness or unkindness from their friends, any, who had given pain, or brought disappointment to fond and trusting hearts, by neglect or indifference, by harsh words, or selfish acts, how must the memory of these have oppressed their spirits, as they thought of passing into the presence of that Master and Judge, who has said “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples if ye have love one toward another.” What would they have given, at that moment, for opportunity to return the affection they had so often slighted, to recall every cold look, every angry word, every hour marked by a selfish indifference to others? Let this event then speak to our consciences on this point. Let there be no longer any unkindness in our hearts, or in our conduct.

“While yet we live scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us all let there be peace,”

And not peace only, but love, sympathy, kindness, a strong and abiding affection, that shall spread a joy and gladness over life and take from death all bitter and painful memories.

Let it speak to us also of that, which is so often urged, so seldom regarded, the utter uncertainty and insecurity of human life. How true it is, and how blessed for us that it is true, that we know not what a day, nay! Not what a moment may bring forth; that though there may be but a step between us and death, an impenetrable curtain, that no mortal vision can pierce, and only time lift up, conceals that step from us. Of those, whose untimely fate has excited such universal sympathy, many probably on the last Sabbath went up to the sanctuary of worship in devout gladness and gratitude. In firm health, with bright hopes, vigorous, active, useful, they anticipated death on the morrow, as little as we do now. Yet the morrow’s sun is the last which they behold on earth.

And who can tell what the morrow will bring to us? Who can say, as he passes forth, whether he shall ever re-enter these doors? Who has an armor of adamant, that death cannot pierce, or a talisman to bid misfortune stay its blow? No one!

These lips may be cold in death, the voice, that is now speaking, may be hushed in everlasting silence, ere the day returns, which gathers us within these consecrated walls. Even now the unseen arm of death, casting no fore running shadow, and known only when it falls, may be uplifted, to descend upon some one who hears me. The hoary head of age, the busy and anxious heart of manhood, or the fair cheek and persuasive lips of early beauty, may be its victim. Let us feel this uncertainty of life. The voice of God’s providence, speaking in the flames of that burning ship, is sounding in our ears “Be ye also ready,”—let it reach and touch our hearts.

NOTE.

It is worthy of record and acknowledgement, and the author of this discourse is ready to bear his humble testimony to the fact, that the steam boats on Long Island Sound have, till recently, been in general managed with distinguished skill and care, and all necessary, nay, even a scrupulous attention paid to the safety and comfort of the passengers. Of late years, however, the growing competition, and the increased facilities for carrying freight, afforded by the rail roads to Providence and Stonington, have produced an unfavorable change, and taken from the boats the high character for safety and comfort that once attached to them. They are now, it is said, almost invariably overloaded, the passengers all but crowded out by the freight, and their comfort and safety made apparently a secondary consideration. We have separate boats for freight on our waters? If steam boats, for passengers exclusively or principally, could not be supported at the present rate of fare, let it be increased. Until the fate of the Lexington is forgotten, most persons will be willing to pay something extra if they can be insured a safe, comfortable passage. It is to be hoped that this melancholy catastrophe will direct public attention to the subject, so that the reckless exposure of human life, which has marked some portions of the country, may never become one of the features of traveling in New England, and proper means be taken and efforts made, to provide against the recurrence of any similar disaster.