TRUE GREATNESS: A
DISCOURSE

CHARACTER

REV. WILL.BUR FISK, S. T. D.,
LATE PRESIDENT OP WESLEYAN 0NIVEKSITT,
Delivered before the

U N I V,E R S I T Y,
IN THE
METHODIST EPISCOPAIi CHURCH, MIDDIiETOWN, CONJT.,
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 3d, 1839,
And now pubUshed by tbeir Request.

BY REV. J. HOIiDICH, A. M.,
PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILO^PHY AND BELLES LETTRES.

MIDDLETOWN:
E. HUNT «i CO.

3cL "l839"

c. H. PBiTON, Printer,

DISCOURSE, &c.

"KNOW YE NOT THAT THERE IS A PRINCE AND A GREAT MAN FALLEN THIS
DAY IN ISRAEL."— 2 Sam. iii. 38.
To avail ourselves of the virtuous example of the il
lustrious dead, is the chief advantage which the living
enjoy in the midst of sorrow for their departure. And
the influence of their virtues is the only legacy they can
bequeath to mankind, in the contemplation of which they
can find satisfaction in a better state of being. Exam
ple, it is often said, is more available than precept. It is
SO; but there are many things to weaken the fofce ofan
example, while hving, which exist no longer when the
subject is taken from us : and even the best and bright
est example, however influential while living, seems to
possess still greater force and authority when the subject
is enshrined in Heaven. Then our vision can no longer
be jaundiced by envy; nor our judgment perverted by
prejudice; nor our affection chilled by the practical re
proof of a hving object; while the heart is open to all
the tenderer influences of latent affection and respect,
called vigorously into action by the touching remem
brances of departed scenes. Then when the heart is
yielding to all gentle and affecting emotions, how readily
do the images of remembered virtues imprint themselves
upon the soul, and awaken deep toned aspirations after
a similitude of character !
And if, in connexion with true greatness of character,
the causes can be presented which produced it, the prac-

tical efficiency of such an exaraple may be greatly in
creased, particularly if the causes be such as lie within
our reach.
The character ofthe venerated subject of our present
discourse possesses peculiar advantages in all respects.
His was a character truly eminent; one, too, that was
less weakened in its force by inimical influences than
that of almost any other man with whom it is our privi
lege to be acquainted ; and yet, owing to the love uni
versally felt for him, will be still more influential now
that he is gone. It is a character, too, raised to great
ness by causes, in a great degree, within our reach. For
the foundation and superstructure, — the origin and com
pletion of it, — was, the deep seated and vigorous influ
ence of the christian spirit and principles. That which
imparted to it beauty and dignity, excellence and symme
try, was, the "grace of our Lord Jesus Christ;" and
while we render the admiration and acknowledgement
due to the human medium of its exhibition, and hold up
a human example for our edification, still we ascribe the
glory to Him to whom alone belongs the praise of every
good word and work.
The words of our text were uttered by David in refer
ence to the death of Abner, who, out of envy and revenge,
was treacherously assassinated by Joab the son of Ze-
ruiah. With the history of this transaction we shall not
now meddle ; since the words we have chosen are only
intended to be introductory to our principal design on
this occasion.
It shall be our endeavor, in this discourse, to shew
what constitutes true greatness of character ; — to shew
that these elements belonged to the venerated subject of
this discourse ; — and to render his example available, if
possible, to our own improveraent.

Never were you more imperatively called upon to Hft
up your hearts to God and pray that his blessing may
rest upon our endeavors to serve him !
I. What constitutes true greatness of character.
Greatness, though in a positive forra, is but a relative
term. There is no such thing as absolute greatness short
of Deity. Men are only great by comparison with one
another ; or with some ideal standard to which reference
is made. He is usually esteemed great that is conspicu
ous in his own circle of influence, that stands out promi
nently from the mass of men, that is above the general
standard of character about him. Hence it follows that
he who is great in one age, or circle, or position is not
necessarily so in another. Much also depends on the
tastes of his contemplators : since quahties which some
esteem, others despise ; and what obtain the admiration
of one class, by a different class are considered superla
tively little and contemptible. If we should take the
opinions of any given circle as the test of greatness, there
would hardly be such a variable term in the Enghsh lan
guage. It would characterize the loftiest achievements
ofthe human mind, and the meanest; the noblest quali
ties of the heart, and the basest. It would belong to
Halley calculating the return of a comet, to Luther at
the diet of Worms, and go down to distinction in occu
pations that degrade our nature and shock our better
feelings. But among this clashing of opinions is there nothing
to determine what constitutes true greatness of charac
ter ? I think thefe is ; and it may be ascertained by
inquiring what constitutes greatness in any other appli
cation of the term. We consider anything great which
possesses the best or most essential qualities of its na
ture in an unusual degree. But observe, it is not the

6
possession of one quahty, hov^ever eminent, that secures
superiority. There must be a due proportion in the oth
er qualities ; a certain harmony and correspondence in
the parts. The Peak of Teneriffe, though twelve thou
sand feet high, is not a great mountain, for it wants ex
tent; and our own Appalachian range does not rank
araong the greatest mountains of the globe; for though
it possesses extent, it wants elevation.
If this mode of judgment be correct, then he only is a
great man who possesses the best or most essential qua
lities of our nature in an unusual degree and in due pro
portion. But the qualities of human character are of two
kinds, intellectual and moral; ahd these again are sub
divided into several subordinate features.
If, so far, we be correct in our premises, it will follow
that the world has committed some serious and perni
cious mistakes on the subject of human greatness. Ac
cording to these principles, he is not a great man who
owes his distinction merely to adventitious circumstan
ces. Yet there are thousands of names that are esteem
ed great only because the proprietor occupied a promi
nent station in the world; and thousands of. others es
teemed diminutive because unattended by the trappings
of human distinction. But what of all that } Can place
give greatness .''
" Pigmies are pigmies still, though perch'd on Alps ;
And pyramids, are pyramids in vales."
Nor is he truly great who possesses merely one mental
quality in uncomraon prominence, but is wanting in the
others. For as one beautiful feature will not make a
handsome face, neither will one splendid attribute make
a great mind.
Nor can he be truly great that possesses uncommon

mental endowraents, without corresppnding moral pow
ers. Bacon in intellect and learning ranks among the
greatest ofthe human species. But Bacon in his study and
Bacon in the world, if we are to credit history, were dis
tinct beings. Possessed of transcendant mental qualities,
a power of genius that forced itself into new channels of
thought, plunged into the dark unknown and brought to
light new principles of philosophy, that stamped his narae
upon every subsequent discovery in science, and upon
every new theory in morals, was yet so dwarfish in his
moral stature as to have drawn upon him the paradoxical
epithets — " Greatest, wisest, meanest of mankind."
On the contrary a great raan is one whose greatness
is in himself, not in circumstances. The elements are
within him. His own bosom is the reservoir whence he
draws his power to attract admiration or command re
spect. True, it does not follow that he always will com
mand attention, nor that his worth will be always felt.
Nor were that necessary to prove the character true.
The fires of ^Etna may long slumber unobserved, and the
ocean long present nothing but a clear and glassy face,
mirroring the passing object and deluding us with its
quiescence. But their powers are within, and they only
wait the suitable occasion to make them manifest. Let
but the mountain belch forth her contents, and the ocean
be lashed to fury, and you arc amazed at the power that
was latent in those calm and tranquil monarchs of their
species. A harraony of mental character is another requisite to
a great man. He does not possess one feature in striking
prominence, while he is glaringly deficient in others. A
man is not great because' he possesses a splendid imagi-

nation, but without judgment or memory; or that pos
sesses a capacious and retentive memory without the
power of arrangement or combination. A great man
is something different from a great collector of facts and
particulars, a great musician, poet, or orator. Patrick
Henry, great as he certainly was at the forum and the
bar, was found to be something less than a great man
when he came to grapple with the raaster spirits that
composed the National Congress of 1774. A great man
is one who possesses so complete and harmonious a men
tal character that he can be, whatever it is necessary
that he should be. His mental powers are all there, rea
dy to be called into action when needed. Iraagination,
judgraent, memory, reason, all exist, and exist in due
proportion; and if he be distinguished in one depai traent
rather than another, it is not because he has no power to
be distinguished elsewhere, but because circumstances
have directed his selection. Who will say that the great
lord Bacon, — great in intellect, though not in character,
a great mind, not a great man, — could not have raade a
poet as well as a philosopher ? His was a capacity equal
to the raightiest undertakings, and that could stoop even
to the raost humble. He could comprehend the whole
planetary system and take in the entire circle of the sci
ences ; and yet descend to all the minutiae of ordinary
life. " His raind," as one graphically expressed it, " was
like the trunk of an elephant, that can rive an oak, or pick
up a pin." The eleracnts of the poet were with him, de
licacy as well as strength, imagination as well as rea
soning. A great man is one who possesses eminent moral en
dowments in due proportion araong theraselves, and in
just relation to the intellectual character. The moral
nature of man is his noblest characteristic, the most im-

portant to all the purposes of his being and elevates him
above the brute even more than the intellectual. But
both are necessary to decided superiority of character.
It is the one of these classes that gives stimulus and di
rection to the other. Where there are great intellectual
abilities and but little moral force, the possessor dreams
away his life, like the poet Thompson, in strenuous idle
ness, and hardly accomplislies any thing worthy of him
self. Or if his moral powers be not properly governed
so as rightly to direct his intellectual operations he forms
one of those meteor lights in literature, that have so often
shed a baleful influence on the world. O, had the ba
lance been always maintained between tho intellectual
and the moral endowments, the good need not to have
shed such burning tears upon the memory of a Bohng
broke and a Gibbon, a Byron and a Shelly. I know not
that a greater judgment can be inflicted on mankind, than
splendid minds without moral principle. Such minds
have, indeed, grandeur, nay subliraity ; but it is the gran
deur of the lightning that blasts what e'er it touches;
or the subUraity ofthe tornado that spreads ruin and de
solation wherever it appears. O, it is fearful to see such
uncomraon power trusted in hands that know not how to
use it. Better for us to have the more steady light and
genial warmth of our ordinary luminary, than the lurid
glare ofthe misdirected hghtning; or to have the softest
zephyrs' pleasant fannings, rather than the grandeur of
the hurricane; or the fertilizing gentle dews, rather than
the terrible sublimity of the tempest and inundation. —
How should every believer in the Providence of God
pray that our world may be spared the desolating influ
ence of misdirected talent; that virtue may always con
secrate talents to the cause of humanity; in a word, that
greatness may never exist without goodness.
2

10
Again; if it be true that a great man possesses the
elements in himself, and is not dependant on circumstan
ces ; that he has a harmonious development of all the no
bler qualities of the head and the heart, 1 think it will
follow, that a truly great man, is great every where, at
home as well as abroad, upon close inspection as well as
to a distant gaze, in one situation as well as in another.
How this differs from the commonly received notion I
need not say. It has somehow or other passed into ge
neral acceptance, and the celebrated Dr. Johnson seems
to have sanctioned the opinion, that the most eminent
raen are least eminent at home; and that the brightest
characters lose much of their lustre on a nearer view.
But if this be so, it must be because of some glaring and
radical defect. When there is that, completeness of cha
racter which makes a great man, there is a just subordi
nation and an harmonious action among all the faculties.
The moral powers move in accordance with the intellec
tual; the passions are all subjugated to the reason, and
the actions to the conscience. Such a man is consistent ;
he always acts like hiraself; he bears the stamp of his
own individuality. There is in him the outline of gran
deur and the finishing of beauty. He is like the paint
ings oi the great masters of the older school, sketched
out on the largest scale, yet with the exquisite finish of
the miniature. Such a man bears examining at every
point : and is noble near at hand or afar off. Seen at a
distance, the glorious outlines of his character command
respect ; seen at a nearer view the exquisite finishing and
beautiful symmetry of the whole conciliate affection and
secure esteem. Such a man is indeed the noblest work
of God! — the highest monument of grace! True, he
raay not be always adequately appreciated. Prejudice
or envy may misconstrue his actions; party views raay

11
impute wrong motives ; he may sometimes, like an ob
ject seen through a mist, appear in colors not his own.
But what then ? The virtue is within ; the greatness is
unsullied. Men may misjudge, but Heaven reads his
heart ; and while puny mortals sneer below, an approving
Deity smiles above. He stands.
" Like some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale and midway cleaves the storm;
Though round its breast some transient clouds are spread.
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
One more element of a great raan, I must introduce.
It is that he always lives up to his own convictions ofthe
demands of his immortal nature. 1 cannot conceive of
a man truly great, who believes in his celestial nature and
lives like an earth-worm ; who professes to believe in a
better world and lives as if this world were all; who be
lieves in God, and lives as an atheist raight live. There
is no grandeur in such a character. It is shocking, it is
painful. Why is such a spectacle ever presented ? Is it
because raan's passions have dominion over reason ? or
because interest is stronger than conscience ? Or pre
sent, inferior things, more influential than future superior
things ? But this is not grandeur. It is meanness. It
is degradation. It argues a sad derangement of the fac
ulties, a dwarfish or depraved moral nature. A proper
direction and adjustment of the powers reduces every
thing to order, puts every thing in its right place. The
nobler faculties have their full development and their per
fect influence. No man is great therefore who violates
his own convictions of right ; who does not honor his
own immortality by living up to its demands.
II. It shall be the object of our second division to shew
that these elements of a great raan belonged to the reve-

12
red subject of the piesent discourse. To accomplish
this object, it will only be necessary for us to present a
brief summary of his life and character. This will not
only shew what manner of man he was ; but will also uh-
fold the causes which led to so great an elevation of ex
cellence. WiLLBu R Fisk, was born at Brattleboro, Verraont, on
the 31st of August, 1792. His parents are both living
and have survived hira to endure in their old age a be
reavement which few can ever suffer. His genealogy
was not illustrious. But in the language of one to whom
his character in several features bore a resemblance, he
might have said,
" iWy boast is not that I deduce my birth.
From loins enthroned, or rulers ofthe earth;
No ! higher far my proud pretensions rise,
A child of parents destined to the skies."
His parents belonged to that large and important class
which constitutes the nerve and strength of the nation ;
which has so greatly enriched every department of the
community with talents and worth — viz. the respectable
middle class. They possessed all the substantial quali
ties of New England farmers, but with superior intelli
gence and information. His father stood high in the es
timation of his fellow citizens, and served with great re
spectability several responsible public offices. His mo
ther was then, and his father has since become, a worthy
member of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and noted
for their fervent and consistent piety. His mother with
exemplary diligence, and christian faithfulness discharged
her obligations ; and it was through her instruction, and
prayers and exaraple that his raind was first irapressed
with the iraportance of sacred things. When in the

13
twelfth year ofhis age an event occurred in his father's
family which tended to give a practical influence to his
early religious instructions. This was the death of a
younger brother to whom he was deeply and tenderly at
tached. Young ns he was this circumstance produced a
strong and permanent impression upon his mind. He
saw the uncertainty of life. He felt the importance of
being prepared for death and a better state of being. —
Even at. that tender age, tho Holy Spirit seemed to pro
duce in him deep convictions of sin, and an earnest de
sire for salvation. Nor did he rest until he sought, and
believed that he had found redemption in the blood of
Christ. He now became fervently, consistently pious ;
and gave strong proof of the power of divine grace over
almost an infant heart.
His early opportunities of education were but limited.
He had always a strong predisposition to learning and a
great thirst for knowledge. But unfortunately, in conse
quence of losses in business, and failure in the engage
ments of others, his father's circumstances were not suf
ficient to procure him such raeans "^f instruction as he
required. However, at the age of sixteen he was sent for a short
tirae to the grammar school at Peacham. Here he en-
enjoyed advantages which he had not before, and which
greatly stimulated his desire for mental improvement ;
and visions of intellectual beauty passed before his mind
enticing him strongly to enter the walks of literature and
science. Here he saw young men fitting themselves for
college and heard thera talk over their plans and pros
pects, and his heart burned to join their band and follow
their pursuits. He found, moreover, that raany young
men of slender means made out to obtain an education
by working their way and supporting theraselves. Hav-

14
ing with some difficulty obtained his father's consent, he
determined to make the attempt. He therefore com
menced his preparatory course, and about the year 1812
entered the University of Vermont at Burlington. But
" the events of 1813," to use his own language, " drove
the students from the temple of Minerva to make room
for the sons of Mars." The College buildings were con
verted into barracks. He now entered, Brown Universi
ty at Providence, Rhode Island, where he graduated with
distinction and commenced bachelor of arts in 1815.
It was at this time his intention to study law, and with
that view entered the office of a highly respectable at
torney. But again his circurastances erabarrassed him.
At the end of six months he abandoned his object, and
engaged as private tutor in a gentleman's family in Ma
ryland. Here he continued but a short time, not more
than two years, when the rupture of a blood vessel in the
lungs raade it needful for him to return to his native air.
On his way he was taken ill with a fever at Burling
ton, Vt., and was brought very near to death. But the
ways of Providence are merciful. He was spared for his
own good and the benefit of many. On arriving at home
he found a powerful revival of religion in progress, and by
this means his serious impressions which had very much
declined during his scholastic career were revived with
greater force than ever. The complexion of his life was
now entirely changed. He gave himself away to Christ,
and entered upon the work of the sacred ministry,
thinking of nothing but to be a plain, faithful and efficient
minister ofthe New Testament.
His talents, zeal and piety immediately attracted at-^
tention, and he rose rapidly to an elevated place in the
confidence and affection of his brethren and of the
church. Of this substantial proof was given in the im-

15
portant stations assigned to him. Few men obtain as
early as he the appointment of Presiding Elder, or that of
delegate to the General Conference. A farther mark of
confidence was reposed in him in being elected principal
of the Wesleyan Academy at Wilbraham, and then Pre
sident of the Wesleyan University, in both which stations
he secured such unqualified approbation. Nor is this
all. He was appointed at a very critical tirae to the ira
portant and responsible office of delegate to the British
Conference ; and twice he was elected a Bishop in the
Methodist Church — the highest honor in her gift. May
I not safely add that there is scarcely a raan in the church
that clairaed hira for a son whose death would havebeen
as deeply and as widely felt, or who could not have been
better spared ?
Nor was the respect paid hira confined to his own
Church. Various Colleges under different religious de
nominations have united to confer on hira literary dis
tinction ; and it is but a short tirae since that one of the
most distinguished classical scholars of the age dedica
ted to him a new publication on a classical language.
Nor is his name confined to our country ; nor will his
loss be felt merely at home. In Europe he has many
friends and admirers who will hear ofhis death with dis
may. In Asia, too, there are those to whom his name
is as a household word ; and in South Araerica the sad
intelligence will produce many a deep drawn sigh.
But O Liberia! What will thou say when it shall
be told thee that the tongue of thy eloquent advocate is
silent in the dust ? And thou, too, poor Oregon ! how
wilt thou feel when the tidings shall reach thee, thy pa
tron — thy father — is no more ! Methinks I hear a voice
of lamentation coraing frora Europe, Asia, Africa, and
Araerica, whose united cry is, " How are the raighty
fallen, and the weapons of war perished !"

16
Frora this brief glance at the life of our late venerated
President, we may take a general view of his claims to
that high designation we have appropriated to him —
a great man.
1. It is obvious that he owed but little to adventitious
circumstances. He derived not his birth from a long
line of storied ancestry, which at once elevates an
individual on a pedestal that commands the gaze of
thousands and in whora a little merit passes for a great
deal more than its real value. It was not his name that
drew attention to his talents ; it was his talents that gave
lustre to his name. He forced his own way out of ob
scurity, and by the power of his own genius and the ex
cellence of his character, carved out a name for hiraself
in the temple of renown. Nor was he at birth ushered
at once into the regions of elegance and refinement, and
surrounded by those social blandishments which tend to
rub off the asperities of nature, to polish the manners,
and beautify the character. Nor was he nursed in the
lap of affluence, and aided in his pursuits by all the fa-
cilites which wealth secures. No ; in all these respects
he had few advantages which we have not all possessed.
He sprang frora the people, frora the substantial, intelli
gent yeomanry of New-England. How then did he
attain to such eminence in science and literature .? It
was by the force ofhis own genius; by patient, laborious,
untiring industry. Precisely, young gentlemen, as raany
of you are now pursuing the sarae course. And how
did he attain such elegance of raanners ; — raanners at
once dignified yet faraihar; modest, yet always cal ra and
self-possessed ; raanners, indeed, which all admired but so
few attain, even under the raost favorable auspices ? It
was the quickness ofhis observation which enabled him
readily to appropriate to hiraself whatever was graceful
and becoraing in others. It was the superiority of his

17
'mind, which always commanded respect, and every
where secured him an ascendancy. But above all, it
was the dominant influence of piety; which by purify
ing the heart from selfish feelings, renders its possessor
always kind, and, therefore pojite; and by destroying
paltry vanity and ambition and taking away all undue
anxiety how to appear, makes its possessor always ap
pear to advantage, because it makes him easy and natu
ral, simple and unconstrained.
It is evident, then, that his greatness was in himself.
He may not inappropriately be styled a self-made man ;
under the blessing of Heaven, the architect of his own
destinies. 2. His intellectual endowraents were of a very superi
or order. His was without question a great raind — a
mind truly great. All his faculties were unusually strong
and admirably developed. A beautiful illustration of
every mental susceptibility might be drawn from his pro
ductions, had we time to make the selections. His
memory was capacious and retentive: witness the stores
of information he had collected. His imagination was
lively and vigorous. How often have you seen the liv
ing image rise up and stand out before you under the vi
vidness of his descriptions. He possessed all the quali
ties necessary to a clear, close, cogent logician. Wit
ness his tract on the Unitarian question, than which there
is, perhaps, hardly a clearer, neater, or more conclusive
piece of reasoning in the English language. But of all
his faculties none was more surprising than the soundness
of his judgment. He seeraed to possess an almost in
tuitive perception of truth and right. Of this you have
all had proof in the remarkable prudence of his con
duct ; in the wisdora of his counsels ; in the sagacity
which generally marked his undertakings; and in a
3

18
blamelessness of life which almost defied censure. If 1
ever knew a person who never by an unguarded word or
an unbecoming action detracted from the dignity of his
own character, that man was Dr. Fisk. And when I say
that of orie who was not by any means taciturn, and as
prompt in action as in speech, I have paid as high a eu
logy as we dare pay to human wisdom.
But we would not be misunderstood. We do not
mean to signify that Dr. Fisk excelled every man in eve
ry thing, or in any one thing. Far from it. Many may
have excelled him in each particular. We do not claim
for him the polyglottic skill of Sir Wm. Jones or Dr. Adam
Clarke; nor the metaphysical acuteness of Locke or
Edwards ; nor the gorgeous imagination of Chalmers or
Jeremy Taylor; nor the profound raatheraatical know
ledge of Newton or La Place ; nor the refined elegance
of Addison or Robert Hall. But he possessed more of
all these talents than any one of them singly taken ; more
over none of us know what he might have been had he
confined his attention to any one department ; and still
less, had he lived the ordinary length of human life. But
it was not in any one feature that his superiority or his
strength lay. It was in the beautiful harraony ofthe whole;
it was in his corapleteness of raental character. Here lay
his peculiar excellence. With every faculty beyond the
coramon standard, the whole were bound together by a
zone of grace that charmed every spectator.
It was to this harmony of raental character that he
owed, in a great degree, his success as a pubhc speak
er. Owing to his versatility of talent he was ready upon
every subject, and could accoraraodate hiraself to every
occasion. Did the subject and occasion demand argu
ment ? He had but to apply his clear, discriminating
mind, and forth there flowed arguments forcible and

19
strong, such as reason could not well resist, nor sophistry
evade. Did it require iraagination } He had but to give
wings to his fancy, and like the wand ofthe magician, it
could bring troops of images, tripping in sportive beauty
before the eye, or marching in dignity and grandeur
across the scene. Or did circumstances deraand the
chastened huraor, the harraless satire } We have seen
him at a deliberative assembly when angry feelings were
enkindling, rise in his calm and playful manner, with that
sportive smile you all know so well, and by one stroke of
delicate humor, avert the gathering storm and change
the whole current of feeling. Those beautiful flashes came
like a sunbeam breaking through a gloomy atmosphere,
throwing a raoraentary radiance on every surrounding
object. But his huraor was delicate, not broad and
coarse ; his satire was not biting nor unfair ; but teraper
ed with christian raeekness and charity. Or did the oc
casion demand emotion } Was it necessary to arouse
the sympathies of an audience } His ductile mind and
vivid and vigorous sensibilities were ready for the task.
He could not only logically demonstrate a proposition, or
unravel a knotty point in theology ; he could with equal
effect address hiraself to the heart and awaken the loftiest
aspirations ofthe huraan soul. Some of you have heard
the eloquence, the pathos with which he could plead the
various causes of benevolence ; and many of you have
felt the unction with which he would discourse to us frora
the Book of God and urge upon raen the claims of eter
nity. For ourselves we have scarcely known when to
call hira greatest, couching the lance in the arena of the
ological contest; or wielding the sword of the spirit in
the place of spiritual warfare ; or exercising the shield of
faith and breast plate of charity in a still closer contest
with the powers of darkness.

20
There was, moreover, a remarkable uniformity and
suitabiUty in his performances. He did not always wait
for great occasions to draw out his resources. Were I
to enumerate his most successful efforts which it was my
privilege to hear, I should certainly include a sermon
preached at Durham during a revival; and I have heard
it said by the people of those places that some of his
most powerful sermons were preached in the little chur
ches of Middlefield and Berlin, on common occasions and
withotit any pecuhar interest or excitement to call out
his energies. We do not mean, however, that he never
failed, or that he was always equally great. Far from it.
Had he always preached alike he would have been some
thing less than Dr. Fisk. It is the part of a great man
to adapt hiraself to the occasion. Suitability and pro
priety are essential qualities in all performances. He
always does best who does what the occasion requires,
and no more. This he generally did. He could rise to
the level of the raost extraordinary occasions and grace
fully descend to the raost farailiar. And if he ever disap
pointed expectation, it was because he ventured to ap
pear in circurastances under which an inferior raind
would not have dared to raake an effort. A little man
has not an inch of his stature to spare. A great man
can afford to stoop sometimes, and appear the more be
coming for it. There are some whose public efforts are
so disproportionately above the ordinary tone of their
minds, that it requires extraordinary occasions and high
excitement to raise them to the proper pitch. There
are others, who though they may not always be equally
well prepared, yet are not afraid to come forward on eve
ry necessary occasion with what they have. Those who
love the meteor's flash and the lightning's glare will pre
fer the former. They who choose the less briUiant but

21
more uniform light of day, will prefer the latter. A chief
beauty in Dr. Fisk's mental character, as already obser
ved, was its harmony, its uniformity. It did not move
convulsively, fitfully There was nothing spasraodic
about him; there were no paroxysms. His great
ness sat upon him easily, gracefully, naturally. To
reverse the metaphor applied to a distinguished man ofa
former age, he had the inspiration of the sybil without
her contortions, and the strength of the oak without its
sinuosities. 3. It was my design to have illustrated at greater
length the harmony of his moral energies — those powers,
I mean, which stimulate to action and modify the man
ners. These were beautifully developed, and admirably
balanced. He had neither that sluggishness of nature,
that torpor of soul, which leaves the intellectual powers
to stagnate and decay ; nor that reckless energy which
outstrips reason and discretion and defeats its own aims
by attempting too rauch or going too fast. If there was
any deficiency in his moral organization, it was in two
points ; first in having no raercy upon hiraself, and the
other, in having too much raercy for others. But these
faults, if faults they were, leaned so much to virtue's side,
and are so much easier to discern than to do better, that
one hardly knows whether most to censure or admire.
4. I should like also to have enlarged more fully upon
his practical qualities. He was no dreaming visionary,
or learned recluse. He gained knowledge for practical
purposes, and considered knowledge of little value that
could not be turned to utility. There is reason, too, to
believe that this habit was adopted on principle. He
has been heard to say that when young he was a good
deal ofa visionary; that he 'seemed to live in a region
peopled by the creations ofhis own fancy ; but that in

22
more mature years he found the necessity of changing
his habits of feehng, and addicting himself raore to busi
ness. And it was his advice to a young gentleraan, " if
you want to do any good in the world, you must learn to
be a man of business — a practical raan." But we pass
on to notice what is to us a raore interesting and impor
tant feature of his character.
5. His personal piety. This was after all his crown
ing grace — his chief attraction.
We have already seen that he becarae a subject of
renewing grace in his youth, and that he lived for sever
al years the life of a spiritual, consistent christian. He
continued to sustain this character until he went to the
Grammar School at Peacham. Here he found but little
sympathy in his rehgious feelings, nothing to aid, and
many things to discourage him. The consequence was
that his serious impressions were in a great degree effa
ced, though he always continued to respect religion, and
never gave up private prayer, or ceased attending the
house of God. But the sensible influence, the vivifying
power of grace was gone. In this state of mind " hav
ing the form of godliness but without the power thereof,"
he continued through his collegiate course and until
a.fler his return from Maryland. The sickness which
he had at Burhngton again arrested his attention, and
the impressions thus renewed^ were perfected during the
revival which he found in progress on his return home.
Then he gave himself anew to Christ, and under a deep
conviction of duty resolved to devote hiraself to the work
of the ministry.. At first he hesitated what church he
should join ; and while in this state of mind, wrote to
one who then, and since, has had of all others the best
opportunity to know his heart; " I shall make this a sub
ject of prayer, and entreat God to show me my duty- If

23
I shall be convinced that among that people (the Metho
dists,) I shall be most in the way of ray duty, with them
I shall continue. For though I could have a rauch better
living with almost any other denomination, yet I am de
termined to do my duty at the loss of all things." The
result ofthis investigation you all know ; nor did he ever
repent the step he then took. Though liberal in his
feelings and expansive in his charity, he always remained
conscientiously a firm, genuine, uwavering Methodist.
This lofty, generous spirit of christian heroism never left
him. It was a shining trait in his character through his
whole life, and shone out brightly to the very last.
His personal piety was of a high order. It was deeply
seated in the heart, and swayed a delightful influence
over the entire man. It was not sullen or morose; not
cynical and repulsive. It was cheerful as the day, and
melting as charity. He was eminently spiritually mind
ed. His piety was not occasional and uneven. It seem
ed a part of himself, and it shone forth every where. We
have seen him in the cottage of the poor, and in the
drawing-room of the elegant, and in either place his
piety was recognized and felt. It led hira to take a deep
interest in the welfare of his friends and neighbors. I
presume there is scarcely an individual in this house who
has not had an interest in his supplications at the throne
of grace. For he never failed whenever he heard of any
affliction or distress in any family, to reraeraber them at
his own domestic altar. One other fact illustrative ofhis
piety we may add. He has been heard to say that since
he has been a rainister, he had not known the tirae when he
had gone to bed, without feeling that if he had waked in
eternity all would be w«ll.
His humility was striking. We have an evidence of
this in the views he entertained of his ministerial quahfi-

24
cations. In his early days, he said, " my greatest afflic*
tion on this subject is, that the people where I labor and
my brethren in the ministry, from a knowledge of my
having had the advantages of a public education, expect
raore of me than they find in me. They find many others
with not half my advantages go before me in the excel
lence and usefulness of their perforraances. And the
greater their expectations, the greater their disappoint
ment, and the lower I sink in their estimation. But this
is good for my naturally ambitious heart. It enables me
to take an instructive lesson of humility from Him who
has said ' learn of me, for I am meek and lowly.' Lord !
help me to become a fool that I may be wise. And if
I glory in aught, let it be in my infirmities." The same
trait was evinced when the dfegree of doctor in theology
was first conferred upon him. He thought at once of
declining it, alleging that neither his age, piety nor learn- ,
ing entitled hira to such an honor. In a few days, how
ever, sorae one reraarked that he could not avoid it
without a public renunciation, as the students, (he was
then at Wilbraham,) began already to give hirn the title.
He replied that in that case he would let it go. For to
come out and publicly disclaim it, would look too much
like an affectation of humility. It was in this spirit he
bore his honors, .rather as a burden and responsibility to
tremble under, than as a distinction to be proud of or to
glory in. The sarae trait was observable on his appoint
raent to the Presidency of the Wesleyan University. At
first he thought of declining, and yielded, at length, out of
deference to the opinions and wishes of the church. It
was equally, observable in his private and social inter
course. He never seemed desirous of drawing attention
to his own concerns. He was reraarkably free from all
egotism; indeed, scarcely ever alluding to himself or his

25
performances, and never, but in the most intimate friend
ship. He was remarkable for his meekness and evenness of
temper. This is more striking from the fact that when a
child ho was passionate and excitable. But he has been
heard to thank God, that since he had felt the influence
of religion he had hardly known what it was to feel angry.
We have seen him tried and even insulted ; but who saw
him angry ? At the time of the outrage upon his feel
ings by a student, the only one ever perpetrated by them,
how did we admire the calmness, the composure of his
manner; nay, his kindness to the misguided perpetrator
of that insult. His temper like the tree which Moses
cast into the streams of Marah, had the power of turning
the bitter into sweetness. It was this perfect self-com
mand which gave him such superiority as a governor.
He never forgot himself; he never forfeited respect, or
lowered his own dignity; and by this means he always
maintained the vantage ground. What can be a surer
proof of greatness ? what more incontestibly avouches the
presence of a master spirit, than this unmoveable compo
sure ? What greater instance can be presented of raoral
grandeur than this constant ascendency of the superior
faculties — this constant subordination of the lower to
the higher principles of our nature.-^ We admire bravery;
we applaud the man who exhibits military prowess. But
a man may conquer cities and be a slave; may conquer
the whole world, and be conquered by his own vices.
Shall we, then, admire an Alexander with his midnight
revels and frantic homicides.'' or a Marlborough with his
despicable avarice ? or a Bonaparte with his criminal,
selfish ambition.'' No ! rather give us the raore splendid
spectacle of a man who with strong passions, has a mind
strong enough to govern them. For " he that is slow
4

26
to anger is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth
his spirit than he that taketh a city." But " he that
hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city broken down
and without walls."
I ought not to omit his zeal for the cause of religion.
This was not an occasional impulse. It was not confin
ed to the platform or the pulpit. However earnest,
zealous, and successful on such occasions, his zeal was
not put on like a loose garment to go out in. No; it
was the habitual feeling, the ruling, abiding all-pervading
principle ofhis soul. It was this that led him to advo
cate the establishment of our literary institutions. He
felt the injurious effects of being at institutions where
there was little or no religious influence, and he desired
to provide places of our own, in which young men could
have all the advantages of education, without endanger
ing their religious principles. This was the reason of
his entering so heartily into the project of establishing
the Wilbraham Academy and the Wesleyan University.
What pains he took to promote the religious welfare of
those committed to his care you all know. A sentiment
he expressed in his last illness is indicative of his con
stant feeling. " It has always been ray aim, and as far as
I know the feelings' ofthe Faculty, it has been the aim of
us all, to send young raen into the world to make it bet
ter." Hence the earnestness of his preaching, the ferven
cy of his prayers, the constancy of his exertions to pro
mote the religious interests ofthe University. You well
remember the exhortations he has given, the private
counsels or admonitions, as occasion required, and the
tears he has shed over the penitent student returning to
his God. This is the true test of religious zeal. Many
motives of a questionable character, raay concur to
produce an appearance of zeal before the public and on

27
great occasions. That which is seen and felt in a person
every where, and at all tiraes must be genuine.
But I must hasten to a more awful part of my subject —
a part which I approach almost with dismay — -the closing
scenes. Would that those scenes had never transpired;
or, since such was the will of God, would that the ini-
pressions of them might abide on our hearts forever!
Dr. Fisk's constitution was always delicate. When a
child he had an attack of illness which left behind it that
fearful cough which so long beforehand " prophesied of
the sepulchre." During his collegiate course, also, he
had several severe turns of fever ; and while in Mary
land, as we have observed before, he had an hemorrhage
frora the lungs. Indeed, he has always appeared to be
walking on the verge ofthe grave. Thirteen years ago
we reraeraber he seemed almost Hke a dying man, and
no one thought he would have lived half so long. We
ought not, therefore, so rauch complain that he was cut
down so soon, as be thankful that he was spared so long.
However, we are never ready to part with our dearly
prized mercies, and so we continued to cherish the hope
of our revered President's continuing with us. But alas !
the tinie had to corae. His race was finished, his work
accomplished, and he was to enter into the joy of his
Lord. But I must hasten to approach that scene which I
dread to touch — frora which my heart recoils — his dying
scene. And O, what a death was that ! No powers of
mine are adequate to do it justice. So calm, so sublime,
so patient, so triumphant, since it must take place, it was
worth a lifetime to witness it. It was a scene

. " quite in the verge of Heaven."

When it was announced to him that there was no hope

28
of his recovering, he was perfectly calm, observing
" death had no terrors to him," and began to arrange
his temporal affairs as if only preparing for a pleasant
journy. While all around were drowned in soriow, he
alone was calm, serene and happy. The subject of
distress — of nature's deepest, keenest agony was the
fountain of consolation to all around hira. All felt it,
from the aged raother, with the wife and adopted daugh
ter, down to the casual visitant ofhis dying chamber.
Instead of giving the different scenes and expressions
consecutively, for to do that, indeed, would of itself re
quire a volume, I choose rather to touch upon the raore
prominent features exhibited. And it is admirable what
a. perfect identity of character there was throughout the
whole. He was Dr. Fisk to the very last. There was no
falling off from his dignity, no obscuring of his excellen
cies. On the contrary, every virtue, every trait, seemed
to acquire new lustre — increasing radiance.
"Thus while the veil of flesh decayed,
His beauties brightened through the shade;
Charms which his lowly heart concealed,
Iri nature's weakness were revealed."
We were most forcibly struck with his patience, hu
mility, elevation of thought, philanthropy, oblivion of self
and regard for others, faith in Christ and triumphant
hope. His patience was so conspicuous, because it was so
singularly tried. Owing to obstructed respiration, he
could not he down. For fourteen days and nights before
his death he had to sit in his chair propped up with
pillows, with the exception, perhaps, of only an hour or so
in twenty-four. The extreme weariness produced by this,
it is, perhaps, impossible for us to conceive. The agony
was almost insupportable. Yet there was no murmur,

29
no complaining. He would some times express his feel
ings in such language, "O weary, weary me! when
shall I find rest ; — rest in the grave .?" Again, after a
paroxysm of difficult breathing, from which it was
scarcely thought he could recover, he would say " what !
all this, and death not yet.?" And then he would check
himself, saying "If it were the will of God he would
cheerfully submit. It is sweet to have our own will
lost in God's!" Once he remarked "I groan and sigh
a good deal; and I have, perhaps, been in the habit of
that all my life. But I hope it is not impatience ; and I
think it is not. It is only onfe of nature's own methods
of expressing her agony." No one supected him of im
patience. There was not a mark of it upon his face.
That calm, clear brow, was as smooth and unwrinkled
as though a pang had never crossed his frame.
The same humility which ever characterized him was
still remarkable ; indeed, much more so, as his circum
stances led him to speak of himself, as he never did when
well. All his expressions indicated a lowly opinion of
himself One remarked to him, that there was less to
regret in his life, than in that of alraost any one he ever
knew." His reply was ; " I do not feel so at all. I secra
full of imperfections. I have nothing to trust in but
Christ. On expressing his gratification at the harmony
and union which had always existed in the Faculty,
one observed " You were the magnet which drew
us together. We all loved you." He answered,
" Yes; but not because I was worthy." Again he said,
"I feel that I am a sinner; a sinner saved by grace;
and if I get to Heaven I shall have as much reason to
sing that song as any there." Although every body
wondered at the amount of labor he accomplished, we
heard him complaining that he had done so little for

30
God. " I want," he said, " a score of years more to do
any thing hke what a man ought to do in the course of
his life." Again, " I shall be a star of small magnitude
in Heaven; but it is a wonder that I shall get there at
all." His dignity of raind and elevation of thought were ne
ver more conspicuous than at this time. Every thing
about him bespoke an intellect of a superior order. Even
his aberrations — for a part ofthe time he was delirious
— were indicative of thought, so naturally did it seem
inwrought in his v«ry structure. Every expression seera
ed to be a fragraent of soraething iraportant — a detach
ed link ofa golden chain. At one tirae he was heard to
say, " It has saved us from many absurdities"  at
another, " we do not undertake to correct popular ex
pressions." — At one time he seemed to be preaching;
now discoursing with his friends on religion, and again
lecturing or arranging classes. But in all this there was
nothing .frivolous, nothing low, nothing unworthy of a
great raind.
But there was one scene of surpassing elevation. —
Seeing, on one side of him, the partner of his bosom,
" whom," hd said, " he had always loved, and loved to
love, and never more than now;" and their adopted
daughter on the other, he said " let us pray together once
more." . And then putting an arm around the neck of
each, while panting for breath and gasping out a few
syllables at a time, he offered up a prayer, which, for pa
thos, power, and sublimity, appeared to surpass any thing
that ever fell from his lips before ! It seemed the effect
of inspiration !
His philanthropy never forsook him. He took a live
ly interest to the last in every thing relating to the happi
ness of mankind ; and in his mind the happiness of man-

31
kind, and the spread of true religion were identi
cal. He evinced by his remarks the interest he
felt in every benevolent undertaking. He observed
" there were sorae things I had hoped to see done before
leaving the world. But what ara I, that I should have a
part in these things .? Any active mind can do them."
One present desired to know what things he particularly
alluded to; when, after a pause, he added, " there is the
poor Wesleyan University. But," he said, speaking to
the professors who were present, " I hope you will stand
by it, and that God will bless it." He never felt as if his
office in the Institution could not'be filled; but he justly
believed that no one could feel the sohcitude or would be
willing to do for it all that he had. Hence when one spoke
ofthe difficulty of supplying his place, he remarked, " it
will be easy to obtain another president; but it may not
be so easy to procure another father." Speaking in an
other place of his anticipations of future rest, he reraark
ed, " but what is rest to me that I should indulge antici
pations of it, while there are so many unconverted in the
world going downward to eternal woe .'' I see very much
to be done ; but any active mind can do it ; and the
work of God is in his own hands. He can do without
me." His regard for others and oblivion of ^elf, was always
an interesting feature in his character, and never appear
ed more strikingly than now. . No one could be less ex
acting, or in his situation less engrossing. It seeraed to
give him pain that he was the occasion of so rauch trou
ble to others. Often he would refuse little comforts be
cause, though they afforded him some relief, yet, he said,
so disproportionate to the trouble they would give his at
tendants that they would not pay for it. His acknowledg
ments for kindpess were touching. To one he would

32
say, " have you left your own dear home"-^to another —
" your own sweet little flock" — to a third — " your com
fortable bed, to wait on me — poor unworthy me .f"' " I
do not know what I am spared for, I am sure, unless it be
to make manifest the patience of my friends. Sure ne
ver man had such friends." To a young gentleraan, a
student who had been of great service to hira from his
peculiar tact in adjusting his pillows, and was rauch with
him, he said, "My kind youiig friend, you have watched
me faithfully. You would have made even the pillows
of death easy." And then, apparently fearing that anoth
er who was present might feel slighted, he turned and
said, " You, too, have been kind to me. You will not lose
your reward : for a reward is promised to one who gives
even a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple." At
another tirae we hear him exclaim, " O, that I could die
in an obscure corner rather than give ray friends so ranch
trouble." It was very manifest that aU his trust for salvation was
in the merits of the Atoning Lamb ; and in Christ Jesus
he had full assurance of his acceptance with God. Of
this we have already had ample proof. To him empha
tically Christ was precious. He disclaimed all idea of
receiving the promised reward on the score of right.
" Rights ! I have no rights : but Christ has ; and he
confers them on me." Again he said, " Jesus ! Oh love
ly name ! No narae so charming ! He saves his people
from their sins ! I ara a sinner ; therefore the narae of
Jesus suits rae best !" And again, " My soul is centred
in the love of God in Christ Jesus."
He was favored with a most confident and triumphant
hope of future bliss. Yet this was not so much charac
terized by ecstatic eraotion, as by a calra, confident reli
ance upon the word and proraise of God in Jesus Christ.

33
His reliance upon the great doctrines ofthe Gospel was
unwavering. " They are God's truths," said he, " and
will bear the light of eternity." And what strength of
assurance was there in those words which were spoken
with so much calm confidence, and unutterable hope.
" Vain reasoners tell us the body and soul will go down
into the dust together. But it is not so. So far from
my body pressing my soul down to the dust, I feel as if
my soul had almost power to Vaise my body upward and
bear it away. And it will at last by the power of God
effectually bear it to Heaven. For its attractions are
thitherward." At one tirae, after having tried to lie
down, on being replaced in his chair, he faintly said,
" from the chair to the throne !" At another time com
ing to him when the vital functions seemed about to
cease, he reraarked with perfect composure " I believe
I am going." And soon after said
" There is my house and portion fair,
My treasure and my friends are there;" —
 some of them, at least, and the rest are on their way."
And again, as the physician stood by his chair feehng his.
pulse and while his distress for breath was extreme, look
ing up, he inquired " is it fluttering.?" " Not fluttering,"
the doctor said " but very low." He sighed forth in an
swer, " the hour of release is at hand !"
Two days before he breathed his last, I was convers
ing with him as to his prospects of the future. He was,
as usual, full of peace, and tranquil hope. He was suf-
ferino- severely from his agonizing weariness and difficult
respimtion. I observed that it was a great consolation
to know that these distresses could not last for ever : —
That a rest remains for the people of God, where the
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at
rest." He responded with peculiar emphasis, " Bless

34
God for that !" The next day on entering his room I
found hira lethargic. Consciousness was ebbing fast
away. It was difficult to rouse hira so as to fix his at
tention. Nevertheless I went up to him and putting ray
hand in his, said, " I have corae to see you, sir, once
raorfe. Do you know rae .?" With his dying hands he faint
ly grasped raine, and distinctly whispered " Yes ; — glori
ous hope !" These were the last words I heard him
speak. I beheve they were the last he consciously utter
ed. Ho was fast sinking into a state of coma, from
which his spirit was not aroused until it awoke replum-
ed and glorified in the celestial world. And though the
death struggle was terrible, yet that purified spirit seera
ed to leave behind it the stamp of its own glorious desti
ny. He that beheld that corpse in the habiliments of
the grave would say, " that was the casket of a splendid
jewel !" so much did it seem to smile upon the occupant
which had gone to take possession of a nobler house
above. The very happiness of Heaven seemed to be re
flected in the countenance of the dead.
Officers ! Students ! Friends ! of the Wesleyan Uni
versity. The scene is closed ! The vision is ended ! Our pro
phet is no raore ! In the olden time when Elijah was
about to be taken up to Heaven in a whirlwind, he said
to his servant Elisha, " Tarry here, I pray thee ; for the
Lord hath sent me to Jordan." But Elijah said, " As
the Lord hveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave
thee." So they came to Jordan. " And Elijah took his
mantle, and wrapped it together, and smote the waters,
and they were divided hither and thither; so that they
two went over on dry ground." And Elijah said to Eli
sha, « Ask what I shall do for thee, before I be taken

35
away from thee. Now Elisha knew no better thing to
desire, and so he said " Let, I pray thee, a double portion
of thy spirit be upon me." And his master said, " Thou
hast asked a hard thing : nevertheless if thou see me
when I ara taken from thee, it shall be so unto thee."
And they went On and talked, and " behold, there ap
peared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted
them asunder ; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into
Heaven. And Elijah saw it," and rapt in a transport of
astonishment and grief, he exclaimed, " My father ! My
father ! The chariot of Israel ! And the horsemen
thereof!" And he saw him no more. But he took the
mantle of Elijah that fell frora him, and with it he also
smote the waters of Jordan, crying " Where is the Lord
God of Elijah ?" And the waters knew the virtues of
that wonder-working mantle and recognized the name
by which they were adjured. And lo ! " they parted hi
ther and thither : and Ehsha went over. And the sons
of the prophets who were near, saw it and were aston
ished and they whispered to each other, " The spirit of
Elijah doth rest upon Elisha !"
Friends and brethren! Our prophet is translated.
Our master spirit is no more. Often have we, and raany
of you rauch oftener than myself, seen him go down into
the troubled waters. But before that mantle of christian
excellence which he wore, the turbid elements have been
calmed and all discord ceased. No difficulty could long
subsist before such a spirit. We went down with
hira also to the place of his departure ; for like Elisha
our hearts exclaimed, ' We will not leave thee !' And
we were edified and blessed with his conversation until
by faith we saw his ransomed spirit step into the chariot
of fire, and take its flight into the realms above, and ia
mingled anguish and exultation^ we exclaimed, 'My

36
father! my father! The chariot of Israel, and the
horsemen thereof!' But, my brethren, who of us said,
let a double, por tion ofhis spirit be upon me } Where,
where, in this company are the Ehsha's who have caught
the falling raantle of our ascended Elijah .?
Brethren of the University ! Catch that raantle and
wear it as your safeguard. You cannot have a better
panoply. With it you raay approach difficulties and
they will vanish. The waters will divide, the storra shall
be a calm; and the sons of the prophets shall recognize
the virtues of that mantle and will say to each other,
" behold the spirit of Elijah doth rest upon Elisha !"

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

3 9002 08866 0684