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With the Compliments of the President. 
 
 Union University comprises Union College and its preparatory School at 
 Schenectady, and the Medical College, Law School and Dudley Observatory at 
 Albany. You are cordially invited to visit these Institutions, and to attend the 
 Commencement of Union College, held annually on the fourth Wednesday in 
 June. 
 
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ADDRESS 
 DELIVERED AT THE 
 Annual Commencement 
 
 OF 
 Union College, 
 
 VON Ee 23 peeve 87 5) 
 
 BY 
 
 Pewee (Oo PER ODD UL, Ds DeCun,, (Oxon.,) 
 Bishop of New York, 
 
 AN ALUMNUS AND HONOURARY CHANCELLOR OF UNION 
 UNIVERSITY. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF THE BOARD OF TRUSTEES OF 
 UNION COLLEGE, AND OF THE GOVERNORS OF 
 UNION UNIVERSITY. 
 
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 Wo. H. Youne, PUBLISH 
 
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 Nos. 8 AND 9 FIRST STREET, THO Tee 
 
OIE SS: 
 
 Firry years ago, there stood forth upon the stage of 
 Union College, Schenectady, a youthful student just en- 
 tering upon his Senior year, and privileged to celebrate 
 his elevation to the crowning dignity of the undergrad- 
 uate in a Junior oration. A year later, he re-appeared 
 upon the same stage, appointed, along with a goodly 
 company of associates, to do his little best in a Senior 
 oration. And then, having received the usual testimo- 
 nials, and having spoken many a parting word, the time 
 came to take leave of his fair Mother, and of those 
 pleasant scenes, so tenderly associated with ‘four years 
 of eager study and reading and bright social enjoyment 
 —years which he now looks back upon as among the hap- 
 piest and most profitable of his life. 
 
 Fifty years fly quickly past, and the youthful student 
 returns guam mutatus /—returns an old man, bearing 
 about him sad traces—many without, far more within— | 
 of half a century of labour and care. He returns to look 
 upon the graves of children and of their tender, devoted 
 mother. Changed himself, changed in all things, save 
 in his affections, in his attachment to friends, in his love 
 of books and good learning, in his tender, reverent re- 
 gard for the dear old College; changed himself, he be- 
 holds change everywhere around him; and here, in this 
 
4 
 
 assembly, he gazes, now upon the living before him, some 
 known, many unknown; and now, with a-kind of second 
 sight, upon forms revered, beloved, disclosed only to the 
 vision of age. . 
 As in Westminster Abbey, in time of Divine Service, 
 the stranger, if he chance to lift his eye to glance around 
 him, beholds an impressive scene, a kind of realization 
 of the communion of the living and the departed; the 
 living worshippers on their knees around him, while on 
 many a monument within his view is seen a recumbent 
 form, with hands uplifted and clasped as if in prayer, 
 so here, | seem dimly to see well-known forms, distin- 
 guishable by characteristic bearing and action, moving 
 across the stage, or gravely seated here in the place of 
 authority, as if still full of interest in these scenes, still 
 caring for the fair Mother, her servants and her children. 
 Foremost among them all, the “old man eloquent,” the 
 real founder of this noble seat of learning, and tor more 
 than half,a century its consummate ruler, the guide, 
 philosopher, and friend of a long succession of many 
 hundreds of ardent, enthusiastic young men, since dis- 
 persed over all the Union, devoted admirers of his wis- 
 dom, eloquence, goodness. How distinctly I see him 
 as he appeared on Commencement day; “the observed 
 of all observers,” passing uncovered, in flowing robe, be- 
 tween two lines of students and: distinguished strangers, 
 up the walk toward the Chureh, and having on either 
 hand a high State official, or an honoured guest! The 
 whole brilliant ceremonial, here within, with what grace 
 and dignity he presided over it! Who, that was a stu- 
 dent here fifty years ago, can have forgotten the ancient, 
 mysterious, three-cornered hat, which it was such a privi- 
 
5 
 
 lege and honour merely to look upon, because, only once 
 a year it came forth from its academic sanctum, on occa- 
 sion of the great annual literary festival ? 
 
 Or, to turn your thoughts toward yonder classic emi- 
 nence, who that had the happiness of being a student 
 there half a century ago, can have forgotten the glow of 
 admiration and sympathy with which we used to listen 
 to those discourses, always impressive, sometimes thrill- 
 ing, on a Sunday afternoon, toward evening, in the College 
 Chapel, where many that came to enjoy an intellectual 
 treat, or to criticise, went away to think deeply, perchance 
 to pray! Or again, re-entering, on a week-day afternoon, 
 one part of that rude College Chapel, devoted then to reci- 
 tations and lectures, where we used to listen to the won- 
 drous talks of that master thinker, talks on matters of 
 taste, literature, philosophy, morals, religion, practical 
 wisdom, all things, great and small, that could enlarge 
 - the mind, refine the feelings, improve the heart, a bound- 
 less store, worthy to be incorporated into a manual of 
 life; with what refreshed, elevated spirits we came forth, 
 day after day, from that pure intellectual feast! 
 
 And then, in government, in discipline, what a mas- 
 ter! How he swayed the hearts of young men! In his 
 whole bearing, what a matchless union of dignified gen- 
 tleness, tenderness, patience, firmness! How well he 
 knew the power of that chiefest attribute of the Al- 
 mighty Father,—Love, Merey. And in the might of 
 that sublimest of gifts, what miracles he wrought, some- 
 times suddenly, in perverse, wayward hearts! Often in 
 his own study, often in the private room of the unhappy 
 student, was there a scene over which angels rejoice, and 
 over which fathers and mothers, had they known the 
 
6 ‘ 
 
 whole truth, would have wept in silent wonder and 
 thankfulness. A wilful youth, in peril of ruin, smarting 
 under a sense of his own neglect, wrong-doing, humilia- 
 tion, angry with himself, with everything and every- 
 body about him, stiffly bent upon rebellious, insulting 
 courses toward the chief authority, looking for nothing 
 from him but harsh words, severe measures; he suddenly 
 finds himself in a presence of inexpressible dignity, but 
 full of kindness, sweetness, gentleness, and listening to 
 words of sympathy and encouragement. He is touched 
 when he is least expecting it, with the finger of love! 
 Oh! for. the overcharged bosom it is too much! Pride 
 breaks down; anger vanishes; noble feelings rise up and 
 take their place ; and that youth, when once more he finds 
 himself alone, shows by his kindling eye, his loftier mien, 
 that he is possessed by a new spirit, is’ arming himself 
 for worthier deeds henceforth ; and, let it be added, in 
 many cases, the subsequent life, in College and after Col- © 
 lege, fulfilled the promise of that happy hour. Blessed 
 ministry, where there is the heart, and the wisdom 
 to exercise it! That old heathenish system of public 
 ignominious expulsions, how at the very mention of 
 it his whole nature revoltede He would have nothing to 
 do with it. By wise precautions he laboured to exclude 
 evil; by timely intervention he sought to repress it, or 
 to transmute it into good. His supreme aim was to save 
 and to bless. But when all efforts with the wayward 
 failed, a thing rarely known, he proceeded by delicate, 
 private methods, intimating to parents or friends that the 
 unhealthy member must be quietly withdrawn. 
 
 All honour to his memory! The College is his suffi- 
 cient monument. May it flourish and grow, and may the 
 
7 
 
 able, energetic inheritor of his dignity and of his respon- 
 sibilities,- who, aided by munificent friends, has given 
 such a fresh, vigourous impulse to the life of the Institu- 
 tion, prove in all things worthy of the grandfather who 
 made the place which he fills to be truly a place of 
 honour ; may he be not altogether unworthy of the father, 
 the memory of whose labours, and of whose eloquent les- 
 sons, is yet fresh in the beloved College, as it is yet fresh 
 in the field of his latest labours and final resting-place ! 
 
 GENTLEMEN: ‘To detain you with many words, in the 
 midst of these interesting ceremonies, would be highly 
 unbecoming. Yet very probably these may be the last 
 words that I shall ever give utterance to under the 
 sanction of my Alma Mater, or from a position so dig- 
 nified as that which I now occupy. I have asked my- 
 self the serious question: “If you were pronouncing 
 your valedictory, your farewell address, not as part- 
 ing words to college and friends at the close of the 
 four years of undergraduate life, but as suited to the near 
 termination of the earthly life itself, what would you wish 
 to say ? what, especially, speaking from the place where 
 you now stand?” And I reply, that in these last aca- 
 demic utterances, my parting thoughts are much taken 
 up with two great interests: the honour and influence for 
 good of this and similar institutions, and the true wel- 
 fare, dignity and happiness of my country. Great 
 themes these, gentlemen, which might well employ 
 hours, while I can give to them only a very few vanish- 
 ing moments. And what you are to look for from me, at 
 this time, is not an oration, not a laboured dissertation, 
 but a few words expressive of the latest feelings of an old 
 man, touching some views of education. 
 
8 
 
 To speak of the true development and right working 
 of this University as being likely to have any apprecia- 
 ble influence on the well-being, dignity, and happiness of 
 this vast country, may be thought too extravagant, ‘too 
 fanciful, implying a wild conceit of the importance of the 
 institution, and an utterly inadequate conception of the 
 greatness and intelligence of the nation. Well, gentle- 
 men, I do not think that we Americans are any of us 
 likely to undervalue our own magnificent country! We 
 are all proud of it. We all love it. We are all jealous 
 of its honour, and of the esteem due to it from other na- 
 tions. But a nation may be pre-eminent for material 
 power and resources, for a certain kind of quick popular 
 intelligence ; in scientific research and discovery, in useful 
 invention, in individual cases of high culture and schol- 
 arship , in poetry and oratory and history; in painting 
 and sculpture, in high military achievement; it may 
 have done well, very well indeed; while yet, if we set 
 ourselves to consider thoughtfully the prevailing tone 
 and texture of much of the national life, especially of 
 the great middle class, we may possibly find reason to 
 doubt whether in certain moral and reflective qualities, 
 in certain tastes and capacities for rational enjoyment, 
 this great people, this tremendous aggregate of human 
 capabilities, mind, heart, manner of life, whether it be 
 quite all that we could wish it to be. Certainly, in this 
 broad land of ours, we have enough, and more than 
 enough, of that kind of education, and of those exciting 
 influences (unavoidable, perhaps, in a great country 
 which is drawing in foreign peoples, which is rapidly 
 developing its power, and rapidly changing its aspects) 
 —I say we have enough, and more than enough, to 
 
9 
 
 make the national mind impulsive, restless, adventurous, 
 quick-witted, eager about external and material things, 
 not to say rash and headlong in schemes for the family, — 
 and for worldly profiting. 
 
 Can anything be done that will tend to make the com- 
 mon mind of the nation, of the great middle class, more 
 sober and sedate, more contemplative /—anything to im- 
 bue it with a serener, deeper wisdom, with more of a 
 spirit of contentment ; more in love with moderate, cheer- 
 ful enjoyments, and more disposed to look for happiness 
 in the sweet calm of home affections, and well-directed, 
 virtuous employments? Can our educated classes do 
 anything to shed over the plain, common people of the 
 country a brighter light of fancy and feeling? Where 
 shall we find the wise, thoughtful poet to sing for them, 
 as Goethe said, “the Song of the Potato,” ¢.@., to spir- 
 itualize, to invest with thought, sentiment, high associa- 
 tions, the dull, material things of the daily life? From 
 whence are we to summon the men of education who 
 will know how to pour into our common schools and 
 academies an influence which, without superseding arith- 
 metic and geography, will do something to refine and en- 
 noble the spirit of the girl and boy ; something to fill the 
 opening mind with beautiful images, with far-reaching 
 thoughts, with grand conceptions; things to make one 
 more bright, cheerful, wise ; and so fixed in the memory 
 that, through all the life, whatever may be its trials and 
 losses, they will remain to shed around, within the soul 
 and without it, a blessed’ light, only inferior to that which 
 comes down upon the “ pure in heart ” from heaven 4 
 
 It is said of an ancient Greek philosopher, that being 
 in captivity, and being entrusted by his master with the 
 
10 
 
 education of his children, he made selections of wise and 
 beautiful things from the finest of the poets, and caused 
 them to be committed to memory by his pupils. I doubt 
 whether any of the innumerable educational conventions 
 in these modern days have ever contrived an exercise 
 better fitted to enrich the young mind and make it bean- 
 tiful. I have sometimes referred to this story in my ad- 
 dresses at the closing ceremonies of a young ladies’ school, 
 and intimated that, were I charged with the control of 
 such a work of female education, I should be inclined to 
 employ, as a part of my system, the method of the Greek 
 philosopher. Having made selections of beautiful and 
 suggestive things from the finest of the poets, and caused 
 them to be printed in short portions, and in large type so 
 as to be easily read from a distance, | would have them 
 hung, one set at a time, around on the walls, to remain 
 there for days, until most thoroughly committed to mem- 
 ory. And then, calling the attention of the pupils to a 
 striking passage, I would ask them to tell me what there 
 was in it that was beautiful or noble, and why it was so. 
 And so of other similar passages. And when everything 
 worthy of note in the one set had been drawn out and 
 appreciated, I would take them down and replace them 
 with another set, to be treated in the same way ; and all 
 this without interfering with what is thought to be the 
 main business of the school, giving what is called “ solid 
 instruction,” but rather helping it on by bringing in 
 brighter influences. Would it do any harm to the child, 
 or to the national tone, to infuse into the plain families 
 and common schools of the country a little more of the 
 poetic element, a little more of the grand heroic? These 
 elements may be very simple, and yet of a nature to stim- 
 
4 
 
 ulate to elevated thought and feeling, to enlarge the con- 
 ceptions, to kindle the imagination. May we not provide 
 for all needful instruction of the young, without confin- 
 ing them forever to what is hard, dry, mechanical? Oh! 
 the ploughboy in the field, the milkmaid at her work, the 
 rural housewife in her cares and toils, in her hours with 
 her husband and children—shall the spirit be sometimes 
 lighted up with song and story ? or shall all be prosaic, 
 monotonous, a weary grinding day by day, in a narrow 
 prison-house, something that belittles and wastes the life ? 
 What a difference between the two systems, if we look 
 for a cheerful, refining influence to quicken the common 
 mind of the country, and to help save it from sinking 
 down into what is gross and debasing. Now a great 
 literary institution will aim at helping to confer such ben- 
 efits upon the nation. It will not limit its views to a 
 narrow estimate of mere personal advantage to the in- 
 dividual under its charge, but while it will always con- 
 sult the interests of the youth committed to its care, and 
 labour to promote them, it will uphold those great prin- 
 ciples of education and of life which are diffusive in 
 their nature, tending to influence beneficially the com- 
 mon mind, the great middle class, hardly less than the 
 circles of superior intellectual power and training. 
 
 And here allow me to express the hope that no word of 
 mine will be regarded by any one as intended to reflect at 
 all upon the course of study adopted in this University. 
 I know of no occasion for criticism ; but I believe there is 
 abundant occasion for approval and congratulation. My 
 observations are altogether general and abstract, prompt- 
 ed only by the feeling that if I speak here at all, I ought 
 
12 
 
 to bear my testimony, however imperfectly, on a great 
 question, and let it go forth for what it may be worth. 
 
 To return then to the more popular relations of the 
 College or University. One Professor, at least, there 
 was in Union College, thirty or forty years ago, who gave 
 to popular education no little time and thought, and who 
 was as widely and favourably known for his zealous efforts 
 to extend and improve the education of the people, as 
 for his unwearied labours, his animating influence in the 
 College. But I confess I am thinking of something 
 quite different. I refer to that kind of influence of the 
 College or University upon the common mind of the 
 country, which may flow out over the land through the 
 high culture, the tone of thought and feeling which it 
 imparts to its educated men. In this respect, as in many 
 others, England is a marvellous country, a wonderful 
 little world! And toward that home of the English | 
 language we are apt to turn our eyes whenever we are 
 considering, in a large way, fundamental questions of 
 education, or what is meant by high intellectual culture. 
 High intellectual culture, of course, we have at home; 
 but there are some advantages in looking to an old social 
 system, to a world far removed from our own. Striking 
 facts, great examples, may very well be put in the place 
 of abstruse reasoning, at least at first, or at all events be 
 used as a help to enable us to comprehend and appreciate 
 theoretic statements. No doubt England is in large 
 measure what she is in national spirit and tone, in virtue 
 of elements of character, complex influences derived 
 from her blended and in some respects illustrious ances- 
 try; from her twelve hundred years of heroic, pictur- 
 esque history ; from her old feudal institutions—institu- 
 
13 
 
 now softened and refined into habits more consonant to 
 equal rights and a better civilization. 
 
 One needs only to glance at the curious observances 
 that attend upon the coronation of an English sovereign 
 to see how the whole gorgeous pageant is made up of 
 ideas and ceremonies drawn from long past ages of the 
 nation’s history. It is a splendid piece of tapestry, in 
 which you recognize the brilliant colouring, the grand 
 symbolical figures characteristic of times long since past 
 away. So itis with the national character and feeling. 
 As the English language is intermingled with rich lights, 
 with expressive forms derived from ancient literature, as 
 well as from later tongues, so do the English character 
 and tone bear the impress of a grand and peculiar his- 
 tory. Of course it must be added, that in the present 
 social condition of England, much is due to her enormous 
 wealth—wealth partly inherited, partly collected year by 
 year by her adventurous sons in every part of the world, 
 and brought home to be lavished upon that rich, that 
 exquisite little island. But all these causes put together, 
 potential as they are, will not explain the present char- 
 acter and condition of England. All that is brightest 
 and best about her intellectually, all that makes her most 
 worthy of the admiration of the world, so far as mere 
 human inflnences go, is derived from her great schools 
 and from her grand old Universities. 
 
 One of the very first things which strikes an educated 
 man when he sets foot upon English soil and enters Eng- 
 lish society, is the classical tone prevailing everywhere 
 among educated people; and the second thing is the 
 very large proportion of persons in society who are so 
 educated. Not only in its great towns, but in out-of-the- 
 
14 
 
 way nooks and corners of the land, you constantly meet 
 
 with persons of high culture, University men, living in 
 
 retirement, gentle and courteous in their manners, and 
 
 day by day shedding around them, without knowing it, 
 
 a refining, enlightening, purifying influence. What 
 
 must be the aggregate of all such influences on the na- 
 
 tional tone, on the respectable middle classes, scattered as 
 
 they are thickly all over the land? But so far as high 
 
 literary culture is concerned, these influences come almost 
 
 wholly from the Universities of England. And in the 
 
 Universities of England, it must be confessed that that 
 
 high culture is drawn originally, in very large measure, 
 
 from classical sources, from the study of the literature of 
 Greece and Rome. Of course, very many of those who 
 
 hear me are familiar with the measure of classical attain- 
 
 ment commonly met with in England. But there may 
 
 be many others present who would prefer to have some 
 
 definite facts to make palpable the habits, the tastes, the 
 
 degree of attainment which come from such studies 
 there* 
 
 Well, then. In the Universities, and sometimes else- 
 where, you may hear Latin spoken (when there is real 
 occasion for it,) with considerable fluency and elegance. 
 Very sweetly and trippingly on the tongue it comes from 
 the modest Fellow or Professor, when there is need. Of 
 course the same thing is often found on the Continent, 
 and sometimes in this country, though we are less accus- 
 tomed to the use. Again, Greek and Latin authors are 
 
 * If it seem strange that, in speaking before a University, on its great literary festi- 
 val, I should choose to devote many words to so old and well-worn a subject as the 
 importance of classical studies, I must plead as my excuse that I seem to myself to 
 
 see signs in many quarters in this country, that such studies are in danger of being too 
 much disparaged and too often neglected. 
 
15 
 
 read by not a few with nearly the same facility with 
 which they would read English. Many would probably 
 be found able to do what the younger Pitt was said to 
 have been daily in the habit of practising with his col- 
 lege tutor at the University—read directly from the 
 Greek, at first sight, into English. And the consequence 
 of this mastery of the ancient languages and literature is, 
 that they hold a high and commanding position through 
 all the after life. They continue to be read with delight. 
 There is a strong public opinion in all educated circles 
 which enforces respect for them. Much oftener than 
 with us, the gems and fine gold from the ancient poets, 
 orators, philosophers, historians, sparkle in English 
 speech and writing, and even in common discourse. 
 The condensed wisdom, the felicitous phrase, the pathetic 
 truth, comes out, with all its high associations, as if un- 
 bidden, because nothing else will so well express the in- 
 tended meaning. 
 
 The treasures of ancient literature hold so foremost a 
 place in the thoughts of all educated persons, that a ref- 
 erence to them seems never inappropriate. They present 
 themselves on. common occasions, in the intervals of duty 
 and in times of amusement. In a quiet nook in a rural 
 district in England, you may find a clergyman, in a mo- 
 ment of leisure, expounding to his curate a remote allu- 
 sion or peculiar turn of expression in a Greek tragedy, 
 or in Plato, a work no doubt read and re-read before, but 
 which, on a re-perusal and a closer scrutiny, suggested a 
 question as to form or meaning. Once when in England, 
 returning from a stroll through the fields with the Vicar 
 of the parish, we met, at the door of the vicarage, the 
 young Curate, an Oxford man, some time out of the 
 
16 
 
 University, who had walked over to ask the help of the 
 Vicar in such a passage as I have just referred to. It 
 was beautiful to see the quiet Vicar, as modest as he was 
 able and eminent, take the Greek tragedy in hand, and 
 proceed, without helps and in a half humourous way, to 
 expound the context and open out the dark passage. 
 
 At another time, you may find the Rector, and perhaps 
 the squire of the parish, or a retired judge, or a mem- 
 ber of Parliament, deep in some obscure passage of a 
 curious, out-of-the-way Greek fragment. Or, you may 
 meet a company of young men at table, full of life and 
 spirit as of refinement, and you may be amused at the 
 way in which, after running through some common top- 
 ics, and through many a walk of English literature, they 
 will, without premeditation, become involved in a hot 
 debate touching certain fine lines in Homer or Virgil, or 
 some other classic author. The conflicting but good-hu- 
 moured criticism waxes warmer and warmer, until at 
 length, all rising from table and the books being brought, 
 they cluster around the reader, and careless of lexicons 
 or commentators, question the force of words, the use of 
 different authors, collate parallel passages, setting reason 
 against reason, till the majority, or the admitted superior, 
 comes to a decided conclusion, and the whole ends in a 
 burst of youthful merriment. 
 
 Or, three or four young clergymen, laborious when at 
 home, and destined to rise to eminence, take their few 
 weeks of summer vacation on the Continent, and in some 
 rather rough excursion, amuse themselves in a joint pro- 
 duction of Latin verse, celebrating their adventures, and 
 hitting off each other’s ludicrous appearance. Or, two 
 aged men, of seventy-five and eighty years, veterans, the 
 
17 
 
 one in theology, the other in law, both in classical litera- 
 ture; close friends and correspondents for fifty years, 
 ever since their university days, revered through all Eng- 
 land—why should I not name them? the Reverend 
 John Keble, the poet, the scholar and the saint, and 
 the Right Honourable Sir John Taylor Coleridge*— 
 they see the end drawing near, and by letter, as usual, 
 they hold solemn and most touching communion respect- 
 ing the soul, and life and death, and the better life to 
 come. But even in these supreme moments the love 
 of letters continues; the cheerful resource found in 
 scholarly habits remains; and the veteran judge con- 
 sults the veteran poet and divine respecting a curious 
 passage in a later Latin author. But enough, and 
 more than enough, has been said to bring clearly into 
 view the classical tastes and habits to be found every- 
 where among highly educated people in England. They 
 are thoroughly impregnated with, and largely take their 
 tone from the literature of Greece and Rome. 
 
 No doubt many of the same things may be said of a 
 more limited circle of scholars in this country. There is 
 no need to make comparisons. I have preferred to set 
 forth an old country as an example, and to show what for 
 ages have been her views of education, and her ideas of 
 the highest intellectual culture. 
 
 And now what of the fruits of that early study? Lord 
 
 * While these pages ate passing through the press, we receive news that a good 
 man has gone to his rest. The words of an English journalist (Feb. 16,) will find 
 sympathy in many hearts in this country: “Sir John Coleridge died last Friday at 
 his home in Devonshire, leaving a name distinguished both in literature and in the 
 judicial annals of his country, and dear to all who remember—and who that ever knew 
 him does not ?—how good he was, how unaffectedly kind, how charming in talk and in 
 his family, how simple and pure in character. Surely if an example had to be sought 
 of an admirable life, an honoured, useful and serene old age, and a peaceful end, here 
 is one not often to be matched, and which we ought to be the better for thinking of.” 
 
 3 
 
18 
 
 Bacon, speaking of the ingenious sports and.mischief of 
 children, as exercising and developing their faculties for 
 the more serious work of the after life, says, a little 
 quaintly, that “the same strategy, which is early employ- 
 ed in robbing an orchard, is afterwards put in practice in 
 taking a town.” And that early discipline in ancient 
 languages in the great schools and in the universities of 
 England, that hot debate among young men in a social 
 hour over the doubtful passage in Latin or Greek, just 
 now referred to, or that practice of young Pitt of read- 
 ing at first sight directly out of the Latin and Greek into 
 English—to what use in after life were they applied ? 
 What enabled young Pitt to step directly out of the 
 University into the House of Commons, and to become 
 a consummate orator and debater at twenty-two or 
 twenty-three, and Prime Minister before he was twen- 
 ty-five ? What enabled him at that age to stand up, 
 single-handed, against all the great orators and states- 
 men of England—Fox, Sheridan, Burke, Lord North 
 and others—and beginning, as he did, with a minor- 
 ity, to vanquish and triumph over them all, convert- 
 ing his minority into a majority, and keeping it for 
 fifteen or twenty years? What kind of training was it 
 that enabled him to rise on the instant when suddenly 
 and unexpectedly assailed, and speak with such luminous 
 order of thought, and in sentences so perfectly formed, 
 that it came to be commonly said of him, that he could 
 “speak a king’s speech off-hand?’ I am not so simple as 
 to ascribe all this to Greek and Latin. No doubt Mr. 
 Pitt was a transcendent genius; no doubt the splendid 
 career and still more splendid eloquence of his great 
 father (Lord Chatham) early directed his attention to all 
 
19 
 
 those exercises of the explicit reason, to all the arms 
 and ammunition likely to be called for in Parliamentary 
 warfare, and in Parliamentary eloquence. But I am apt 
 to think that his mastery in the ancient languages, and 
 his fluent practice in them, had something to do with it.* 
 On one occasion, when Mr. Pitt was at his house in the 
 country, two friends, both of them University men, called 
 to pay their respects. A few minutes elapsed before the 
 great man came down to them. In the meantime, one 
 of the visitors, finding a classical authort on the table, 
 takes it up and begins to read. He meets with a passage 
 which puzzles him. The other visitor is applied to, and 
 he too is puzzled. In a moment, Mr. Pitt appearing, 
 his assistance is invoked. He glances at the passage 
 for an instant—this statesman who for years has been op- 
 pressed with the business of a great country, and daily 
 obliged to encounter some of the most consummate ora- 
 tors the world ever saw; he who, if anybody, might 
 have been excused for becoming a little dim-eyed in the 
 deep things of Greece and Rome—he reads the passage 
 for them at first sight. 
 
 Did high ‘classical culture, did years and years devoted 
 largely to Greek and Latin, make Mr. Pitt unpractical ? 
 For that is the sort of imputation which we sometimes 
 hear. Unpractical! The great financier, the Prime 
 Minister of England, the consummate master of men and 
 of human affairs! Or Mr. Gladstone, who would have 
 
 * He said so himself, when asked by an intimate friend, how he came to be gifted 
 with such perfect fluency, such ready command of the choicest language; and he ob- 
 served that his father had early enjoined upon him the constant practice of reading 
 
 directly out of some foreign language—Latin or Greek especially—into English, taking 
 care to pause, if necessary, until he found precisely the right word. 
 
 + Thucydides. 
 
20 
 
 been so welcome here to-day, whose presence (itself a 
 splendid argument in favour of all high culture,) would 
 have been such a boon to me, and to you! Has, Mr. 
 Gladstone been made unpractical by his thorough class- 
 ical culture? I believe he was what is called a “ double 
 first” at Oxford—this great Minister, whose financial 
 measures prospered, and who left everything in per- 
 feet order behind him; as an orator in Parliament, con- 
 fessed by all to be facile princeps—in the closet, you 
 will find him busy with curious studies on Homer, or 
 touching with marvellous knowledge and power some 
 great theme, some “burning question” of the hour. Or 
 Sir Robert Peel, one of the ablest business men that 
 England has seen for an hundred years—he also, I think, 
 was a “double first” at Oxford; first in ancient lan- 
 guages and first in mathematics, and in all that mathe 
 matics stand for as the language and instrument of the 
 physical sciences—who ever heard that he was the worse, 
 less practical, or less eloquent, or less sagacious and well- 
 balanced in his judgment of men and things, for having 
 loved, for continuing to love Homer and Thucydides, 
 Tacitus and Cicero. Cicero! One of the greatest 
 preachers of France in her day of great preachers, was 
 said to have been in the habit of reading over the chief 
 works of Cicero every year. 
 
 But these histories are too seductive to an old man, 
 and there would be no end to them. One further obser- 
 vation, however, in this line, is, I think, worth making. 
 The Prime Ministers to whom I have referred, are certain- 
 ly eminent examples of men of superior classical culture 
 in the highest offices of the kingdom. But they are not 
 exceptional cases. They are only brilliant representa- 
 
21 
 
 tives of a class of scholarly men* who have filled foremost 
 places in successive administrations in England for a long 
 series of years. The late Lord Derby, a brilliant orator 
 and statesman, certainly not an unpractical man, winds 
 up his long life, mainly political, with a new translation 
 of Homer! Now whatever view we may take of this 
 kind of study and knowledge; whether we regard it as a 
 sharpener of the critical and logical powers of the mind, 
 (and certainly distinguishing nicely the precise import of 
 words, and making out a consistent meaning in a sen- 
 tence, is a natural, and at the same time a jine exercise 
 of the reasoning faculties ;) or whether we look upon it as 
 a purifier and refiner of the taste, or as a means of incor- 
 porating into our being the quintessence of all ancient 
 wisdom and beauty of thought; (and he who does not 
 know how transcendent the Greek was in the perception 
 of the beautiful, and in the power of creating it, knows 
 little of that marvellous people;) or again, whether we 
 regard this kind of study and knowledge as a source of 
 daily enjoyment, or as giving us a complete mastery over 
 all the apparatus of learning, over all the avenues to 
 literary research and investigation—whatever view we 
 may take, we must admit, that thoroughness of attain- 
 ment, familiarity and mastery of knowledge, such as have 
 just been shadowed forth, are indispensable to our reap- 
 ing wn full the advantages of such studies. Yet I by 
 no means deny—lI fully believe—that a very inferior ac- 
 quaintance with the Greek and Latin languages is of 
 great use, from their perfect structure, from the clear way 
 
 * Tt has been remarked that when Sir Roundell Palmer (now Lord Selborne, 
 
 and late Lord Chancellor) took oftice under Mr. Gladstone, he was the eighth member 
 of the Cabinet who was a man of high classical culture. 
 
22 
 
 in which they lay open to the eye all modifications in the 
 order and relations of thought, thus giving us a distinct 
 view of the general principles of grammar, which we can- 
 not obtain from our own, nor, so far as I know, from any 
 other modern tongue. Gentlemen, shall we refuse a 
 lattle, because we cannot have much? To visit the ancient 
 portions of the city of Rome, or of the city of Jerusalem, 
 for only a few days, is to engrave upon the memory a 
 pathetic and suggestive image, which, so long as the 
 faculties survive, can never fade away, can never be lost. 
 It is a picture, which remains through life in the cham- 
 bers of imagery, to extend the range of our thoughts, to 
 impart lessons of wisdom, to add dignity to our inner 
 being. And so, too, the youthful student may penetrate 
 but a little way into the realms of ancient Greece and 
 Rome, through a limited reading of their languages and 
 literature; he may be able to glance around him in only 
 a hurried and superficial way; and yet I believe he can 
 scarcely fail to catch a glimpse of those old worlds, those 
 strange forms of life and thought, those grand old colos- 
 sal figures, which will do much to enlarge his conceptions, 
 to make him a very different being from what he would 
 have been without such imperfect knowledge. There- 
 fore, though thorough attainments are what we all prize 
 above all price, yet in ancient languages I am not so 
 very much afraid of that dangerous thing, a little knowl- 
 edge, if in a given case it be the best that we can get. 
 What a strange thing it was for our great sage—he 
 was wise in the things capable of being brought within 
 the range of his intellectual vision—what a strange thing 
 that he should venture to erect himself into a judge of 
 the value of classical studies! “ To seek after two words 
 
23 
 
 to express the same thing, when one word will do as well, 
 is to lose our labour!” The truth is, one word will not 
 do as well. Ifa really great man reason in a way so 
 very narrow and superficial, it need not surprise us that 
 educational conventions sometimes succeed in proving- 
 themselves not infallible. What is the wse of Greek and 
 Latin? is often asked. Well, gentlemen, you are no 
 doubt ready with your answer—We don’t like to be cut 
 off from the treasures of genius and wisdom of the an- 
 cient world, which cannot be adequately conveyed to us 
 in translations. We don’t like to be put off with a sys 
 tem of education which leaves us forever blind to much 
 of the history, and to more than half of the beauties of 
 our own language, a system of education which inspires 
 no taste, imparts no qualifications for companionship with 
 our great poets, orators, writers, the real masters of our 
 language—for who does not know that to read Milton 
 and many like authors, without classical knowledge, is to 
 be absolutely incapable of perceiving the richest lights, 
 the most exquisite allusions, the most pregnant hints; it 
 is to read at such conscious disadvantage, with such im- 
 perfect insight into those mysteries of glory and wisdom, 
 that the reading is apt to weary, and to be given over ; 
 and so it comes about that our greatest masters of thought, 
 our greatest refiners and invigorators of the mind, so 
 often lie sleeping on our shelves, covered with dust, and 
 in utter neglect. Gentlemen: We all accept that pro- 
 found classical dictum, “Birds of a feather flock together.” 
 When we go of an evening into a very mixed company, 
 we are apt to seek out those with whom we can converse 
 most easily and pleasantly, persons of nearly our own in- 
 -tellectual measure. If we are only equal to personal gos- 
 
24 
 
 sip and daily news, we shall find our equals. Or, if we 
 attempt to soar higher, and to converse with a superior 
 intelligence, we may incur the hazard of making our- 
 selves a nuisance, or at the best find ourselves embar- 
 rassed, uncomfortable ; or, if interested, still our gains 
 from the conversation can only be in proportion to what 
 we bring, to what we are, ourselves, intellectually. Con- 
 versation, as you know, is a kind of commerce; we may 
 profit a little, but there will still be a proportion between 
 what we carry and what we receive. So it is in that 
 great “world-society” of books. If we have the taste and 
 the intelligence for it, we may collect around us in our 
 library all the great masters of thought and knowledge, 
 ancient and modern, and pass a large part of all our days 
 and nights in that glorious companionship. We may 
 walk up to Bacon and say: “Come impart to me some of 
 your wisdom, some of that ‘wisdom of the ancients, 
 which you have loved so well.” Or to Milton: “ Come 
 bear me up on your glorious wings to where the seraphs 
 sing.” Or, if we are of the earth, earthy; if our minds 
 have been left in a dwarfed and darkened state by our 
 neglect, or by lack of opportunity, we may drag through 
 all the precious days and nights of this mortal life, feed- 
 ing on husks, belittlng our immortal souls with tittle- 
 tattle, with sensual indulgences, with the low ambitions, 
 the vanities and bickerings of a wasted and worthless life. 
 
 And once more; to the question what is the use of 
 Greek and Latin in a system of education, we answer, (I 
 think I hear you reply,) that we do not want a diploma, 
 which is too poor to secure for us admission into the 
 great republic of letters; which will not make us free to 
 commune with that noble brotherhood of scholars found 
 
25 
 
 everywhere throughout Christendom, with many varying 
 local tongues, yet all speaking, as it were, one language, 
 all nourished in the same great schools of thought, all 
 sympathizing, whatever their minor differences may be, 
 with the same ideas of intellectual culture, the same zeal 
 for intellectual progress. To have no part in classical 
 learning, no sympathy with it, is to have no place in the 
 _ great republic of letters. There may be a great deal of 
 knowledge, a great deal of science, of a most valuable 
 kind, but it does not by itself produce that sort of culture, 
 that impregnation with the higher literature and ideas of 
 the lettered world, which alone serves as a passport to 
 the great communion and fellowship of scholars. 
 
 And finally, in reply to that oft-repeated question as to 
 the use of classical learning, we say, in brief and in sum, 
 that no system of education can ever be accepted as a sat- 
 isfactory system, which bars the way to the highest culture 
 of the human mind, which refuses to employ those means 
 for developing and disciplining the intellectual faculties, 
 which the experience of ages, which the judgment of 
 nearly the whole learned world, which the very constitu- 
 tion of the mind declares to be, not indeed the only 
 means, but the most effectual, the most necessary means 
 to so great an end. Other means there are, and they too 
 are indispensable. Let me not be misunderstood. I have 
 no partial views. In the midst of the universal demand 
 for the new knowledge (a demand which ought to be met 
 and satisfied in every great institution of learning) I have 
 only wished to throw out afew words, in a familiar way, 
 not as to the value of this or that kind of instruction, but 
 as to the true nature of education in its highest sense. 
 
 To presume at this time, and in this place to attempt 
 
 4 
 
26 
 
 another full, formal argument in favour of the thorough 
 study of the languages and literature of Greece and 
 Rome, as a thing indispensable in the nature of things 
 to the highest culture, would be attempting to “ gild re- 
 fined gold.” It would be the height of presumption in 
 a College, where the Greek chair has been long filled by 
 such a master, such an enemy of shams, such a wise, in- 
 dependent teacher of truth, as is Tayler Lewis. Long 
 may he be spared to the admiration and love of his 
 friends; the pride of this University ; the noble exemplar 
 of American scholarship! If another laboured plea for 
 the ancient learning might come gracefully enough from 
 the professed student, from the man of letters, yet it 
 would ill befit one who has chosen to devote his days and 
 nights to laborious duties in another sphere of action, 
 who is burdened with great cares, who spends much of 
 his time in the open air, travelling from place to place on 
 a sacred mission, collecting another kind of dust than the 
 Olympic. Yet perhaps I may be allowed, in such a final 
 address as this, to put upon record my deliberate testi- 
 mony. As I have said on another occasion—having early 
 entered upon the duties of life in a professorship of the 
 mathematical and physical sciences, and having been an 
 enthusiastic lover of them, I can have no possible preju- 
 dice against such studies. Indeed every intelligent ad- 
 vocate of the ancient literature as a necessary instrument 
 of all high culture not only acknowledges but strongly 
 maintains, that the exclusive study of the ancient learn- 
 ing, without the balancing co-operative discipline derived 
 from the exact sciences, from mathematics including 
 physics, logic—logic in its larger sense—would leave the 
 development and training of the intellectual faculties in a 
 
27 
 
 very partial, unsafe, unsatisfactory state. And then, of 
 course, it is always to be understood that, whatever we 
 may say of ancient literature, we fully recognize the pro- 
 priety, we insist upon the indispensable necessity, in every 
 college or university claiming to be thoroughly furnished, 
 of an ample provision for instruction in all the new 
 branches of knowledge, all those branches which are 
 the fruit of modern discovery and invention, and which 
 immediately concern the interests, material, intellectual, 
 moral, of all future ages. Indeed, to say nothing of the 
 disciplinary effects of the study of exact sciences, no one 
 pretending to be a scholar, to be at home with scholars, 
 no one aspiring to enlarged intelligence, can afford in 
 these days to be ignorant of those magnificent worlds 
 which modern science opens to our contemplation. 
 Verily, to remain ignorant of that part of the material 
 universe which is round about us and within our ken 
 would be at least quite as ignominious as to be ignorant 
 of the ancient world of letters. No! let the sciences be 
 taught, and taught thoroughly. Let there be ample en- 
 dowments for them. Let there be schools of natural and 
 applied science, wherever they are needed, in connection 
 with colleges and universities, and when. necessary in 
 separate institutions. In this vast country we can hard- 
 ly do too much in that way, provided everything be well 
 done. Let there be no controversy between the ancient 
 learning and modern science. Let there be no short- 
 sighted, fallacious plea of utility to excuse the disparaging 
 and stinting of the one in order to deal more largely with 
 the other. But be it remembered, whenever we are 
 thinking, not merely of enstruction in this or that kind 
 of “ useful” knowledge, paying knowledge, but thinking 
 
Pe) 
 
 of education in its true sense, of the means of attaining 
 to the highest development, and the highest culture of 
 the human,faculties; then let us remember that we have 
 no choice. As between ancient languages and exact 
 sciences we are obliged to say, “ The one must be done, 
 and the other must not be left undone.” They must both 
 be included, as for centuries they always have been in- 
 cluded, in every true system of education. 
 
 Among the mixed things of this short, hurried life, 
 where, at every step, we have questions presented to us, 
 and have to choose our way, what a comfort and help it 
 is to us, what a safeguard, that we have not every mo- 
 ment to rely absolutely on our own unassisted private 
 judgment, as if we were the first thinkers in the world, 
 ' and as if nothing had been settled before we came into 
 it. What a happiness and what an advantage it is to 
 us that as soon as we open our eyes upon the world, 
 and have to deal with certain serious matters, we find to 
 our relief, that though many subordinate and collateral 
 questions connected with them are debateable, yet that a 
 vast number of fundamental and most vital things are 
 already absolutely determined for us, and were so deter- 
 mined before we were born; in law, in medicine, in 
 morals, in science, (the constitution of the solar system), 
 in religion. Of course, not every alleged truth or fact 
 which any particular class of persons may proclaim to be 
 fixed and certain, is so necessarily. But, as we all know, 
 a great many momentous things are certified to us, made 
 ready to our hand for use, placed beyond question. Now 
 as to the greatly debated, and much abused subject of 
 education, we know that there are infinite details about 
 which questions may be properly raised ; there are means 
 
29 
 
 and methods, subordinate and collateral matters, where 
 there is room for indefinite improvement. But at the 
 same time here, too, in this matter of education, as in 
 law, as in science, there are great fundamental facts, 
 principles, which in the view of those most competent to 
 judge were long ago accepted, ascertained and settled 
 as certain and immutable ; as for example, the great truth 
 already dwelt upon and so well understood here and else- 
 where; that the complete developing, training, furnish- 
 ing of the intellectual man, the completest intellectual 
 culture can only be through the old, well-known, three- 
 fold instrumentality—in the large old sense—languages, 
 mathematics, logic. To raise questions about this is like 
 raising the question whether the law of gravitation be 
 not an antiquated fallacy. And therefore, when educa- 
 tional conventions in this country, or in any other, debate 
 such a question, and pass doubtful resolutions, (not often 
 done, yet sometimes,) [ am always sorry, and a little 
 ashamed. Gentlemen, let us make an impossible supposi- 
 tion. Suppose that three-quarters of all the educators in 
 this country were to unite in adopting a resolution dis- 
 paraging the study of the ancient languages and litera- 
 ture, as they are pursued in the best of our Colleges and 
 Universities in this country, and in the institutions 
 abroad. They would merely be smiled at by the wiser 
 of their professional brethren here, and by all men of 
 real learning in Europe. They would discredit them- 
 selves, and do some discredit to their country, without 
 producing the slightest.impression upon the established 
 judgments and habits of the learned world, either at 
 home or abroad. Of course, there are sometimes “self- 
 
 - made men,” so called, brilliant, able, useful men, who 
 
30 
 
 have known nothing of the ancient learning, or of any 
 other very systematic and thorough study. They de- 
 serve all credit, all respect, for what they are. But they 
 are exceptions and prove nothing. And not unfrequent- 
 ly they betray their imperfect education by their partial 
 and erroneous judgments. And again, in some one 
 branch of science, or of applied science, there may be 
 superlative and most valuable instruction ; there may be 
 great attainments; there may be a power created of 
 achieving brilliant and useful triumphs in the one field. 
 We regard the individual with respect, with admiration. 
 He may make a name which will command the homage 
 of the intellectual world for ages. No one will venture, 
 no one will wish, to detract from his great merits. But, 
 if his intellectual powers have been trained and informed 
 only in that one department, then we may say of him 
 that he has genius, that he is learned, that he is able in 
 his one line, or profession; but say of him that he is a 
 man of high culture, that he is a thoroughly educated 
 man, that we cannot say. 
 
 Mr. President, gentlemen of the Trustees, friends of 
 this institution, and of all good learning: we salute our 
 fair mother! We close with an “all hail” to the Uni- 
 versity. Hsto perpetua! May she live and flourish a 
 thousand years. May her endowments and her children 
 be multiplied an hundred fold. May thousands and tens 
 of thousands, under her wise, tender care, and under the 
 care of other similar institutions in this land, be trained 
 up in true learning and wisdom, trained to the love of all 
 that is manly and pure, humane and generous. May 
 they be moved to an earnest, faithful use of their facul- 
 ties and their great opportunities. May they be taught 
 
dl 
 
 to take large, comprehensive, charitable views of men 
 and things, and be so guided as to have a right judgment 
 in all things. And when they shall have been thorough- 
 ly furnished with all good knowledge, and good princi- 
 ples, and prepared for their great work, whatever it is to 
 be, may they be found in every part of this land, dwell- 
 ing among the people for their good, so shedding around 
 them by their counsels, and by their example a benefi- 
 cent, all-pervading influence, that this great family may 
 become a wise and understanding nation ! 
 
NOS TE 
 
 I may be pardoned for referring to a great example. 
 Mr. Hallam, speaking of Milton in his blindness, which 
 came over him just as he was turning to the composition 
 of Paradise Lost, says: 
 
 “Then the remembrance of early reading came over his dark and lonely 
 path like the moon emerging from the clouds. Then it was that the muse 
 was truly his; not only as she poured her creative inspiration into his 
 mind, but as the daughter of Memory, coming with fragments of ancient 
 melodies, the voice of Euripides, and Homer, and Tasso: sounds that he 
 had loved in youth, and treasured up for the solace of hisage. They who, 
 though not enduring the calamity of Milton, have known what it is, when 
 afar from books, in solitude, or in travelling, or in the intervals of worldly 
 care, to feed on poetical recollections, to murmur over the beautiful lines 
 whose cadence has long delighted their ear, to recall the sentiments and 
 images which retain by association the charm that early years once gave 
 them—they will feel the inestimable value of committing to the memory, 
 in the prime of its power, what it will easily receive and indelibly retain. 
 I know not, indeed, whether an education that deals much with poetry, 
 such as is still usual in England, has any more solid argument among 
 many in its favour, than that it lays the foundation of intellectual pleas- 
 ures at the other extreme of life.”—Literature of Hurope. 
 
 I have not been able to resist the temptation to repro- 
 duce this beautiful and instructive passage, though it has 
 already been quoted by me, in an address on the Uses of 
 the Imagination, delivered more than thirty years ago, 
 in Trinity College, Hartford. 
 
i 
 
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