The latter part of September the company urged me to begin to write again, if it were at all possible, even if it were only a few paragraphs each week. They said the impression everywhere entertained that I would not recover, was injuring the paper very much. The people were losing interest in it. They insisted that I should counteract that feeling as much as possible. Under this pressure, though confined to my bed and suffering every hour, I began writing, the first of October, and never after missed a week. That winter I stayed at home, and was not out of my room for eight months. The last of August I started to Midway, to see Dr. Lucy. I got as far as Louisville, and could get no further. We dispatched for the Doctor, and he came down. After resting a few days I got home, the last of August, and I was not out of the door again till the last of April. During that winter I did a large amount of writing, besides my weekly work on the Guide.

June 10 I went to Louisville to attend the International Sunday-school Convention, but was able to get out only a few times. I attended the State meeting at Paris, but was able to take no part. I greatly enjoyed meeting with the brethren, and hearing them concerning the things of the kingdom of God. These convocations are seasons of refreshing from the presence of the Lord.

The first of October we went to Mason, in South-west Texas, to spend the winter. Here, as at De Land, it looked as if the hand of Providence guided us. We knew no one there, but we found some of the dearest and best friends of our lives. They had been taking the Guide, and, in competition with several other places that wanted us, made such a liberal offer that our trip cost us nothing. They seemed to anticipate all our wants, and find great pleasure in supplying them. The Lord has always blessed me with many good friends—more than I deserved. I have felt, for a number of years, that I was greatly overestimated, and it has been a source of no little humiliation. I should have quit editorial work several years ago, and lived in obscurity here at my retired home, if I could have done so. I appreciate the good opinion of my brethren, to the extent that I think it is merited; but to realize that I am not what I am thought by some to be, is a great mortification.

I am now at home enjoying the company of my family, the quiet of my home, with every want anticipated and supplied by a devoted wife and children, pleasantly, though in much feebleness, doing my work on the Guide, and putting in my spare time in other writing. I find my greatest pleasure in being about my Father's business. I must be employed. I expect to thus work on till the Master says, "It is enough."

MT. BYRD, Ky., June 13, 1885.



CHAPTER XIX.

Reflections on his Fiftieth Birthday. What a Wonderful Being is Man! Governed, not by Instinct, but by Reason. Man Lives by Deeds, not Years. How to Grow Old. Half of Life Spent in Satan's Service. Renewed Consecration. Last Three Birthdays. His Trust in God.

The seventh day of March has come again. Fifty times has come this anniversary of my natal day! Half a hundred years old to-day! What a period through which to carry the burdens and responsibilities of life! (What a time for which to give account to God for wasted moments and opportunities lost!) What a period to be devoted to building a character for the skies! What a period of time devoted to the issues of eternity!

What a wonderful being is man! Time is but his cradle, from which he walks forth into a world where life is parallel with the ages of God. An intelligent, expansive being that will never cease to be—what a thought! When the sun grows gray with age, his eye is dimmed, and darkness reigns, man will still be drinking in the light of heaven from the morning star of eternity. The century-living crow doubles this period of man's probation, with life as it began. She builds her nest the last year, as she did the first, with no improvement sought. She rears her young the hundredth time as she did the first, by the long experience none the wiser. This is her nature. God made her thus. Instinct is wonderful, but it never improves. It grows not wiser with age nor the ages. It nothing from experience learns. The sparrow builds her nest, and the beaver his dam, just as they did in the years before the flood. The little quails an hour from the shell, will hide at the danger-signal of the mother bird, when they never saw a hawk, nor heard of one's existence. How different this from man! More helpless than the stupid beast, and more senseless than the creeping worm, he starts to make the pilgrimage of life. But what a change does time produce! The child more helpless than the humming insect of an hour, becomes the monarch of the world. He bridles the lightning in its home above the mountain peaks, and makes it do his bidding. The terror of the ages past, becomes his willing servant. He harnesses the steam, that for ages spent its power in the open air, and with it moves the world. He sends his whisperings through old ocean's bed, where the great leviathan sports, as if he talked to one across the room. He leaps aloft as if on steady wing, till his look is downward where the lightnings play and the thunderbolt leaps to its deadly mission. Wonderful development! The heavens declare the glory of God, and the earth proclaims the dominion of man. He was made a little lower than the angels, and crowned with majesty. Age counts with man, and years bring knowledge, but not unfailing wisdom. Did man grow wise with age, as a sure result, age should be an unfailing blessing sought. But imbecility it often brings and childish discontent. These are the blighted sheaves of evil sowing in the spring and summer days of life. With right ideas of life, men grow wiser and better, as they older grow in the service of their God. Life is not measured simply by the flight of time. Men live more now than they did before the flood. Intenser now is life. Into a few decades, is now crowded the patriarch's experience of nearly a thousand years. How to grow old, is a problem not to be despised. It should not be left to solve itself. To grow old gracefully, is to make a picture on which the world delights to look. But, alas! how sadly blurred is the picture by many made! It is sad to see one's religion sour with age. While young and strong the loved disciple on the bosom of the Master leaned. Then when age had dimmed his eagle eye, and time had stolen his elastic step, he had the same love for his children in the faith. His was a sweet old age, the outgrowth of a life of faith and love. He grew old gracefully. When brought, as was his wont, and before his congregation set, his last sermons were mainly the touching, tender words, "My little children, love one another." O, that his mantle could on many of us fall! But oft, alas! we see grow cross, self-willed and sour the shepherd of the flock. This, too, when age should give his words both weight and wisdom. Lord, give me poverty and affliction, if it be thy will, but save me, I pray, from this sad end. Far better that one die young, than grow old against the grain. "Is life worth living?" the sages ask. That depends on how one lives it. Lived aright, it is worth living, and many such worlds as this beside. Otherwise 'tis not. Of right living, the more the better; of wrong, the less. The life lived faithfully to God, can never be too long; its opposite, too short.

Of the half-century, this day gone, one claim I can safely make—it was not spent in idleness. The years to Satan's service given, were well to his account put in; and those devoted to a better cause, I have tried to give as faithfully to Him to whom they all belonged. For the years in Satan's service spent, like Saul of Tarsus, I conscientious ignorance plead. O'er eyes unused to heaven's light, sectarianism's vail was thick. But no sooner was known the way of life, than in its path I tried to walk; and in it have I tried to keep, till this good day. Thus equally divided has the time been spent. Except the years of childish innocence, twenty-five were in the service spent of him who for this life pays the soul in spurious coin, and leaves it bankrupt in the life beyond; while an equal number, praise the Lord, have a better Master claimed. For the rest of life, be it long or short, the long side will the right side be, while hitherto it otherwise has been. The periods of service have not before been equally divided, nor will they be again. But the sides have changed proportions, praise the Lord! Should not this turning-point in life an epoch make? A half century, and a half divided life, in one! Surely I shall not look upon its like again.

The past few birthdays I have noted as those of former years were noted not, and for reasons I need hardly state. The first that deep impression on the mind did make since apprehension was that each would be the last, was three years ago, amid the orange groves of the sunny South. The day was lovely as the Queen of May; and friends more lovely than the day, made it a time not to be forgotten. The feasting of the outer man was the lesser part of the day's enjoyment. "The feast of reason and the flow of soul" was chief. Three of us were seeking health in that sunny land. Two have found it, but not there. In a fairer land by far than this world can boast, did they find the fountain of perpetual health. Beneath the branches of the tree of life, have they also sat and plucked its leaves for the healing of the nations given. I, the feeblest of the three, and thought the nearest to the other side to be, on the shores of time am struggling still. Thus it is with man's poor guessing.

Two years ago the day was cold and bleak. It drizzled through the dreary hours, freezing as it fell. But to many loving hearts, its sleet and rain were not its gloom. On this day was laid to rest in Mother Earth the loved remains of one numbered in the health-seeking trio of the year before. What a contrast with that day one year before! The day and its events, how sadly changed! But such is life. Well do I remember on this asking, "Shall I another birthday live to see?" And well do I remember, too, the thought expressed in grave response. While, in the providence of God, it was possible, of course, the other way were all the probabilities. But this so oft before the case had been, it left a ray of hope. And that has now been more than realized. As said our sweetest poet, how truly can we say:

"God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform."

One year ago, in the balmy breezes of the "Lone Star" State, compelled was I by feebleness of frame to miss the sumptuous feast by loving hands so deftly spread. And sad, yet happy thought, those as ever ready on the poor to wait, are now in those of the Master clasped. And still I linger, and the years go by. Such is life. Deep and many are her mysteries. God knows it all, but he keeps it to himself. But what are now the prospects for the year to come? Better now, by far, than they before have been in all these dreary years of pain. Would it not be strange, if once again in providence divine I should mingle with my fellow men, and tell them, as of yore, the story of the cross? Indeed, it would; but stranger things have happened. Stranger things by providence divine have come to pass without the aid of "Warner's Safe Cure," or other disgusting humbuggery, with its offensive intrusion into the reading of decent men. The providence of God is not dependent on patent nostrums; nor is He limited in His healing power to calomel or blue mass. Prayer is oft more potent than all the noxious drugs of man's device. God has promised, when consistent with His holy will, the prayers of His believing children to hear and bless. And in numbers more by far than this poor life is worth, have these from earnest, pleading souls gone up to God. Hence to-day we rest in the cheering hope that these have not been in vain.

Should it please the Lord to give the health I need to fight again the battles of Christian life, what responsibilities will it bring! That strength must all be counted His who gave it. All those years must be wholly His, His cause to serve. The interests of His kingdom to His children left, must be strictly guarded. Conflicts with men, even those we love, will come to him who strictly guards the faith, as Jude directs. In all conflicts with fellow men, for two good graces I humbly pray—the courage of Paul and the gentleness of John.

This holy Lord's-day morning, the sun rose bright and charming as on the seventh day of March it did three years ago in the sunny land of Florida. For the first time in many weary months did I a whiff of the outside air inhale. Oh! how delicious! 'Twas like a prisoner's whiff of the air of freedom. But this was not the best. To sit again with the brethren around the table of the Lord and hear again the sweet old story that is forever new, what a feast to the hungry soul! Then the birthday feast is next to be enjoyed. Loved ones gathered at the dear old "cottage home" to celebrate the marked event with music, song and recitation.

The birthday cakes and other "dainty tricks" by loving hands prepared and sent to grace the festive board, told tales of love. One thing alone marred the pleasure of the day and checked the overflow of its cup of bliss: Two loved and loving ones were far away and disappointed in their hope of being here. These would have made the ring complete, the family circle whole. But such, again, is life. Its disappointments will forever come. We should expect them, therefore, and be content.

This is my fiftieth milestone along life's rugged road. At this half-century mark I set up a pillar, as did Jacob of old.

"Here I'll raise my Ebenezer, Hither by Thy help I've come, And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home."

Thus far in life has a loving Father led me, and in his providential care I trust for all the rest. I place my trusting hand in His, asking to be led as He sees the way. "Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah," shall be my constant prayer. And thus, dear Father, the rest of life I leave with thee.

Dear Lord, should birthdays more be mine To spend on earth to Thee, Thy cause shall claim them wholly Thine As earnest work can be.

And should'st Thou will the next be one In Thy bright home above, I gladly say, "Thy will be done," And join Thee in Thy love.

COTTAGE HOME, March 7, 1886.



CHAPTER XX.

Conclusion by the Editor. Tokens of Love from Many. Keeps Writing. Controversy with the Standard. Last Meeting with His Mother. Visited by Professors McGarvey and Graham. Commits His Writings to the Latter. Visits Eminence and Lexington. Many Brethren Come to See Him. Meeting at Mt. Byrd. Estimate of His Character. The Closing Scenes. Farewell to His Family. Dies. Funeral Services.

The foregoing autobiography closes with June 13, 1885, while the life of the author was prolonged till January 6, 1887, and it remains for the editor to record a few of the incidents transpiring in the interval; and to bring this remarkable recital to a close.

Midsummer found Bro. Allen in his "Cottage Home," at Mt. Byrd, growing weaker in body day by day, but with no very acute suffering. Everything that devoted love on the part of his family and church could suggest for his comfort was done; and there were not wanting from abroad many tokens of undying affection, as it became generally known that he was gradually but surely passing away. Many of his friends, and especially preachers, came to Mt. Byrd as to a Mecca, to find their pilgrimage repaid in the fresh inspiration received by communing with this saintly man. The company of his brethren did not weary him; on the contrary, it seemed to have a favorable effect on both his body and mind; he greatly desired the visits of his friends, and found comfort in them. Still many were deterred from going to see him for fear it might disturb the quiet which they hoped would contribute to lengthen out his days. Meanwhile he kept writing with a diligence and persistence marvelous to those who witnessed it, and incredible to others; so much so, that many at a distance could not understand how one so near the grave could continue to write so much and so well; hence the hope entertained that he might survive for years to bless the church and the world. It must be remembered that his disease never affected his mind, and that, like most persons who die of consumption, he retained the full possession of his mental faculties even unto the end. Besides, he was sustained by an indomitable will that hesitated at nothing that stood in the way of duty; added to which was an unfaltering trust in God and a joyous resignation to His will, causing him to cease praying for longer life. Propped up in an invalid chair with a convenience of his own invention, he continued his weekly editorials to the Guide as regularly as ever, and developed abilities as an editor that none suspected he possessed till the last years of his life.

It was at this time that the unfortunate controversy began between the Guide and the Standard about our work in London, England, causing so much regret on the part of many friends of both papers. It was feared by some that this controversy would work irreparable injury to our mission enterprises, not only in England, but in other lands, for we all realized that Titans were engaged in the conflict; men, not like those of old, giants in physical strength and daring, but of intellectual power intensified by the love of God and his cause. Of course the disputants viewed the matter from different angles, and both, we must think, were equally sincere in their convictions. The present writer was not of those who thought upon the whole harm would come of this dispute, though he deeply regretted the asperity with which it was conducted. In our present imperfect state we need, I doubt not, these conflicts to remind us of our frailty, and if only we have grace to profit by them, God will turn them to our good and to His own glory. It is a source of devout thankfulness to those who knew Bro. Allen's unselfish purpose, that many who censured his course united with multitudes who approved it in paying honor to his memory, when the messenger who ends all earthly strifes called him to his final account.

In July, 1885, his aged and revered mother made him a visit, and remained some time; it was their last meeting; and now that her gifted son has gone to his reward, she waits in joyous hope for the day that shall reunite them forever.

A few weeks later it was the pleasure of the writer, in company with Prof. McGarvey, to spend two days at Mt. Byrd, in delightful fellowship with this grand man. He had been apprised of our coming, and was prepared for it. Truly, to him and to us it was a foretaste of the joys of the future world, and we left him the same resolute, confiding servant of Christ he had ever been, wholly resigned to the will of God and rejoicing in assured hope of eternal rest.

It pleased his Master to protract his life and usefulness a little longer, and so 1885 closed, and we find him still with his family, receiving many tokens of love from them and from brethren far away. Spring comes, and birds and flowers; the bright sunshine beams into his chamber, and now and then he is barely able to walk out to see and feel his Father's goodness bathing all things in quiet beauty. He repines not, knowing that "our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

He continues to write, and with the rest the preceding chapter of "Reflections on his Fiftieth Birthday." He commits it, his diary, and other writings to me, with the request that I do with them as I think best, for now he is sure that this unequal contest with mortality can not last much longer.

Summer comes, and with it increasing weakness, but no diminution of his trust in God. He wishes to visit Eminence once more, and to see his two younger daughters graduate from the college that had helped himself in former years. He attends, and then, unable to walk without help, he comes on to Lexington, to spend commencement week among his friends and brethren; this done, he returns to his beloved Mt. Byrd, to leave it no more till he goes to stand with the redeemed on the Mount of God.

During the fall of this year hardly a week passed that several of his relatives and Christian brethren were not found at his home; and did not the limit of this chapter forbid, we would like to record their names, for in love they came to testify their admiration for him and their sympathy with his sorrowing family. For one and all he had a word of cheer, and none came away without being deeply impressed with the conviction that he had been with one of the purest and best of men—one who lived in daily communion with his Maker. His one theme of conversation was religion, and if we may judge from his increasing delight in it, to no one was death a more gentle transition from faith to sight. Narrow, indeed, to him was the bourn that divides the seen from the unseen, the temporal from the eternal, and the labors of earth from the felicities of heaven. He daily lived upon the boundary of two worlds.

In October, Bro. J. K. P. South held a meeting with the Mt. Byrd church, and, though feeble beyond measure, Bro. Allen made out to attend a few times, and even to take part in prayer and exhortation, sitting in his chair. Only twice after this was he able to be carried to the Lord's house, but on neither occasion could he take an active part in the worship.

In all the relations of life Bro. Allen was a model of all that is lovable in human character—kind, gentle, considerate of the feelings of others, even the least, and always cheerful. A refined and delicate humor pervaded his conversation, which was always chaste and instructive. There was in him a moderation that always attends reserved power, and a candor that was transparent; these qualities, united with an equipoise of intellectual and moral strength, harmony of emotions, and hatred of everything mean or unfair, made him revered by his friends, and an idol in his household. Wife, children, servants, all who came into that charmed circle, were attached to him in a love that bordered on idolatry. To draw a portraiture of this remarkable man would indeed be a pleasing task did space allow—his logical penetration, depth of feeling, strength of will, energy, industry, unwavering faith in God and goodness, and, crowning all, his fidelity to the gospel of Christ—but it is unnecessary. To us who knew him these virtues were conspicuous; by others, they may be gathered from the unvarnished story of his life as it is told in the foregoing pages. We must hasten to the closing scene.

On New Year's day, 1887, he laid down his pen to resume it again no more. He was forced to this by sheer exhaustion; his body was wasted to a skeleton, and it was clear to all that the end was near. Having suffered much for several days, but without a murmur, on the evening of Jan. 5 he requested all his family to come to his bedside, and while their hearts were breaking for grief and all eyes were blinded with tears, he spoke to them for the last time.

"My dear children," said he, "I want to say a few things to you while I can. I may not be able to do it if I put it off longer. I will soon leave you, and I know you will miss me. It is hard for you to give me up, but it is the will of God, and you must bear up as best you can. I am sure I have always had your love, and you have always obeyed me; and now I want you to always love and obey your mother. Remember, wherever you may be, that you are all of one household. Live in peace, and let no strife or discord spring up among you." Taking the hand of each of his daughters, he asked them to meet him in heaven, and then kissed them good-bye.

Laying his hand upon Frank's head, he said, "My dear son, papa has to leave you." "O papa," said the lad, "pray not to die." "We have prayed, my dear boy, but it is God's will to take me home, and He knows best. You must love your mamma and obey her; be good to your sisters. I want you to grow up and become a minister of the gospel. Try to make a better preacher than your papa has been. Be studious and industrious, and live so that you may at last meet me in heaven. May God bless you, my son, and keep you in His care. Kiss me good-bye."

Throwing one arm around his wife, he said, "My dear, my affliction has been a blessing to me in having you near me all the time. You have been everything on earth that a good wife could be. I have loved you even more in my affliction than I ever did before. I want to thank you for all your kindness to me and loving care of me. If I have ever done or said anything I should not, I want you to forgive me now. I can say on my dying bed that I have always been a true husband to you. I have made the best provision I could for you and the children, and if there should appear any mistakes they have not been of my heart." He then bade her a long and last farewell.

He then blessed his three little grandchildren and kissed them; expressed a desire to see his "dear old mother," brother and sisters once more, and spoke of some business matters a moment, then said, "This is too sacred for that."

For two or three days before this he had been able to speak only a few words at a time; but throughout this interview with his family, his voice was as strong and clear as it had ever been. After this his breathing became difficult, and he could gasp only a single word now and then. He seemed to have no wish to be occupied with this world. The weary traveler had at last reached the goal; and about nine o'clock Thursday night, January 6, 1887, his pure spirit left its frail tenement to suffer no more.

The following account of his funeral, written by his devoted friend and Christian brother, W. K. Azbill, may well close the biography of Frank Gibbs Allen:

"IT IS FINISHED."

It is finished. The struggle with his fatal malady is over at last, and F. G. Allen is at rest. He sank into a quiet sleep last Thursday night, Jan. 6, 1887.

A few friends were notified of the end by telegrams, and that the burial would take place from Mt. Byrd Church on Sunday, but the condition of the Ohio River rendered it extremely difficult to reach "Cottage Home." However, in spite of the difficulties and dangers in crossing the river, and the extreme cold weather, there were seven ministers and a very large audience present at the burial. The people came over the snow and through the snow, in sleighs and sleds and buggies, afoot and on horseback, till the large country audience-room was well filled. The presence of such an assembly on such a day evinced the truth of what is now widely known, that Frank Allen was loved best where he has lived and labored for the past sixteen years.

The services were begun by Bro. A. W. Kokendoffer, who lead in an invocation of divine blessing and strength and guidance. The congregation then sang "Nearer, My God, to Thee." The writer read the following Scriptures; John xiv. 1-4, 27, 28; I. Cor. xv. 51-58; I. Thess. iv. 13-18; II. Sam, iii. 31-39, repeating 38.

He felt that he should not, because he could not speak on the occasion. He had followed the inclinations of his own grief, and had come as a mourner and not as a comforter. We had not met to tell how much we esteemed our departed brother, or how much we loved him, or how much we should miss him, now that he has gone. The gap is a wide one he has left in the family, in the congregation of his love, and in the larger church; and it will seem wider and wider as the days go by. We had come as his brothers and sisters—as those who loved him—to lay him away in the grave, and to ask God's help and blessing in this time of loss and sorrow. He then led in worship, thanking God for His gift to the church of the precious life that had just been surrendered at His call; praising God for His love of brave and true men like him; expressing the loving confidence of all that the heavenly Father would deal tenderly with our widowed sister and her children; asking especially that the little boy might live to honor the name of his beloved father, and praying that the dear church, that has borne him on their hearts through all this anxious time of weakness and suffering, might forever be blessed by the memory of his godly life in it.

The song, "Asleep in Jesus," was then sung, after which President R. Graham, of the College of the Bible, addressed the audience on the life and character of the deceased.

He had thought of how truly it might be said of him, that "There is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel." He had felt inclined to derive comfort for the church, and to those to whom he was doubly dear, from the passage in the Apocalypse, "I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth; yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors: and their works do follow them." He did not know whether others would be present to take part in the services. But Bro. Kurfees was here from the churches in Louisville, and, as a representative of the Guide, Bro. McDiarmid, from Cincinnati, to represent his associates in our other publishing interests, and Bro. Azbill, from Indianapolis, connected with our missionary interests, while he himself brought the sympathies of those in the College of the Bible. He felt there was a suitableness in all this, for all these things were dear to the heart of our brother.

He then proceeded to give a sketch of his life and career. There were several distinct periods in his history. The first was from his birth, March 7, 1836, to his marriage in 1856, a period of about twenty years. Here he spoke of his early struggles for an education, and of the signs of a useful life manifested even then. The second, from the time of his marriage till his entry upon general evangelistic work, about 1866. During this decade he became a Christian, resolved to preach the gospel, and entered and passed through a course of collegiate studies in Eminence College. The third period began with his evangelistic labors. During this time he became a pastor of the Mt. Byrd church. During this period most of his public discussions were held. It was through these labors that he was revealed to his brethren as a man who was greater than we knew.

The last period began with his editorial career, and closed with his death. He became first a contributing editor of The Apostolic Times, and afterwards co-editor. Then he became the proprietor and editor of The Old-Path Guide, which, in the course of events, was consolidated with the Times, and became The Apostolic Guide.

President Graham then spoke of his character and his characteristic abilities. He was a sincere man, he was a conscientious man, he was a brave, true man; he was a pure-minded man, he was a godly man.

His ability was not that of the great scholar, but of the logician of keen, accurate perceptions. He was not an encyclopedia, but a compact volume of naked logic. He was capable of the very nicest discriminations; and he had the faculty of pointing out a fallacy with marvelous clearness, and of turning an objection to his position into an argument in its favor.

He was sometimes misunderstood; but he was always true to his convictions, and there was no honorable thing he would not do for the truth's sake. He believed in the gospel as the power of God unto salvation; and he made no compromises with doctrines in conflict with his conviction that the gospel must be believed and obeyed by those who would be saved.

The speaker said many tender and fatherly things to the bereaved family and to the church, one of which was that we who knew of our brother's sufferings, could have had but the one motive of selfishness for detaining him an hour longer than he lingered with us.

Bro. M. C. Kurfees followed the remarks of President Graham with some comforting reflections on Bro. Allen's views of death and of the future life. He spoke of his willingness "to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better." Heaven is not a far off place, but an actual spiritual presence with God. He spoke of the blessedness of being always ready for this change from our life in the body to our life with God in the invisible world.

Bro. McDiarmid closed the services with suitable remarks and an earnest prayer. After the singing of the song, "Jesus, Lover of my Soul," came the final leave-taking, and the departure from the church to the grave. Not the least touching of these scenes was the breaking down in grief of the sturdy yeomen of the congregation as they stood around the bier of their dear brother and former pastor, and looked on that manly face and form for the last time.

Finally we laid him to rest in the burying-place near by. At the grave the closing prayer was offered by Bro. Wm. Buchanan, who referred tenderly to his aged mother and absent relatives. And thus the final scenes closed.

His resting-place is a lovely spot, overlooking the city of Madison, commanding an extended view of the river valley, and in sight of the stream and of all the vessels that go by. It is near to his "Cottage Home" and to the church he so much loved; and the spot will be all the dearer now that he sleeps in it.

Only four days ago the writer said in a letter to the family: "I linger on the eve of taking a long voyage, and he may soon go on a very short one; but which of these shall be made the occasion of saying 'good-bye,' I hardly know." Even then the solitary voyager was on his way. The breakers dashed about him as he launched; the great billows roared beneath and around him as he went out; the waves broke over each other in ripples as he passed on; and the ripples hushed into whispers as he neared the other shore. At last he took the adorable divine Guide by the hand, and passed beyond our view.



PART II.—ADDRESSES.



I.—CULTURE AND CHRISTIANITY: THEIR RELATION AND NECESSITY.

[An Address Delivered Before Eminence College, June 8, 1877.]

There are periods in our history which form the oases in the desert of life. In one of these our spirits are to-day refreshed. Its dark shade and cooling fountain strengthen us for the onward pilgrimage. From its green sward we pluck bright flowers, whose fragrance will linger with us till the end of life's journey. From these let us to-day weave fresh garlands, which shall ever exhale the sweetness of these associations.

This is ever a proud day for Eminence College. Annually on these festive occasions do the hearts of the many thousands who have gone out from these classic halls turn to them again with longing. Memory, unfettered by space, walks again amid these lovely bowers and responds unconsciously to the greetings of other days. Though separated far, and mingling in the busy scenes of life, how their souls revel in these delights! These college associations are the golden links which bind many hearts in an unbroken chain. The chords so exquisitely touched in our hearts to-day will vibrate for an age. Ere these sweet strains die away on the distant air they will be caught up by responsive hearts and reechoed round the earth. These are times in our college life that must ever be linked with the future. Memory will ever delight to lift the heavy curtain of material life, and behold again these visions of beauty, and paint in fancy these rose tints of youth. Then let this day be one whose brightness shall shed a ray of celestial light along the path of life. Let our spirits bathe in the fountain of living waters, while the chords of our hearts are swept with entrancing melodies.

"Then th' inexpressive strain Diffuses its enchantment. Fancy dreams Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves, And vales of bliss; the intellectual power Bends from his awful throne a wandering ear, And smiles."

As a theme worthy of your consideration to-day, I have selected

"Culture and Christianity: Their Relation and Necessity."

The Greek word for man, [Greek: anthropos], signifies etymologically to look upward. Man is the only terrestrial being capable of looking inward and upward. In this there lies between him and the animal creation an impassable gulf. Man alone can look into his inner nature, and thereby make his very failures the stepping-stones to a higher life. God designed that man's progress should be upward; hence his high destiny is attained, not by creation, but by development. The ladder at whose foot he begins his immortal career rests upon the eternal throne. This is not a development into man, but a development of man. The theory of development into man is of the flesh; but the development of man is of the spirit. Since man is destined for eternity, it is not befitting that he should attain perfection in time. Hence he does not develop as the beast of the field, or the fowl of the air. They soon learn all that they ever know. They soon enjoy all they are capable of enjoying. They soon attain to the perfection of their being, and fulfill the end of their creation. The swallow builds her nest and the beaver his dam precisely as they did in the days before the flood. Nor can it ever be otherwise. But it is not so with man. This life is too short and this world too small for his development. He but begins to live in this world. This life is simply a state of probation. Our faculties but begin to unfold on the things of time when we are called hence. This unfolding of our faculties, this development of our inner self, is the result of culture—a culture not of the flesh, but of the spirit; not of the outer, but of the inner man.

Culture and Christianity, properly considered, are inseparable. He who relies on culture apart from Christianity misconceives the end of his being. He appreciates not his high destiny. Animals have minds susceptible of a high degree of cultivation, but not of a culture which reaches beyond time. Their culture is wholly a thing of this life; but not more so than is the culture of men unsanctified by the religion of Christ. A culture that terminates with death is in harmony with the nature of a horse, but contrary to the nature of a man. What is culture? This is a question on whose solution man's eternal destiny is largely suspended. Our age prides itself on being an age of culture; but do we know in what true culture really consists? As a whole, I think not. A smattering of sentimental literature, a superficial refinement of manners, a few borrowed phrases and appropriated customs of "society," the rendering of a few pieces by rote, and fashionable dress, constitute with, alas! too many the standard of culture. How unworthy of their race are those who entertain the thought! All this may be but the gilding of barbarism; beneath this external glitter there may be a heart and character steeped in moral rudeness and degradation.

True culture consists not in the cultivation of outward accomplishments. It consists not in intellectual acquirements. It consists in the development of the triune man—body, soul and spirit—in their divine harmony. Without a cultivation of the spirit in harmony with its immortal destiny, all that this world calls culture is but the gilded tinsel that bedecks the putrefaction of death. The truly cultured man is developed in harmony with the laws of his being. This being is compound, having a fleshly and a spiritual side. Hence, to cultivate one to the neglect of the other is to disproportion him whom God created in His own image. As we exist first in time and next in eternity, that culture which loses sight of either state misconceives the full mission of man. Man's conception of his present mission and ultimate destiny determines his standard of culture. He must have an ideal, and if that ideal be low, his life will be correspondingly low. Nothing but Christianity can furnish man an ideal worthy of himself; and nothing but Christian culture can develop him in the direction of that ideal.

Classical antiquity never conceived a destiny worthy of man. It never contemplated him in that relation of Christ-likeness to his God, which the Bible reveals. Even Aristotle, the most cultivated of all heathen philosophers, thought that only a part of mankind possessed a rational soul. With such a conception man is incapable of the highest culture. It is degrading to his dignity. All culture based on such a hypothesis must be a culture of the flesh, and not of the spirit. It is the culture of materialism, not of Christianity. Between modern materialism and the cultivated heathenism of the ancient Greeks the difference is not worth the naming. "To assume the existence of a soul," says Vogt, "which uses the brain as an instrument with which to work as it pleases, is utter nonsense. Physiology distinctly and categorically pronounces against any individual immortality, and against all ideas which are connected with a figment of a separate existence of the soul." "Man," says Moleschott, "is produced from wind and ashes. The action of vegetable life called him into existence.... Thought consists in the motion of matter, it is a translocation of the cerebral substance; without phosphorus there can be no thought; and consciousness itself is nothing but an attribute of matter." This deification of the flesh, this "gospel of dirt," makes man consist simply of what he eats. The missionaries of this heathen gospel have no need to address the reason of men; only feed them on the right kind of food and their regeneration is accomplished! Materialism is a religion of the flesh, a deification of matter; its laver of regeneration is the chemist's retort; its new birth, phosphorus! Give the brain plenty of phosphorus by high living, and you develop the soul of materialism! Yet the heralds of this soulless gospel talk flippantly about culture!

Man's fall was due to an attempt to acquire knowledge at the expense of heart culture. Here, amid the bowers of "paradise lost" is found the root of all false culture, and from that root the world has ever been filled with a noxious growth. True culture consists in a correction of the process which

"Brought death into the world, And all our woe."

Man in his spiritual nature must be educated back to the divine image from which he fell. No culture comprehending less than this has ever proved a permanent blessing to the race. The highest culture hitherto attained apart from Christianity was incapable of saving its devotees from ruin. Greece and Rome were never more cultured, in a popular sense, than when they began to go down in death. Materialistic culture was their winding-sheet, and "A Religion of the Flesh" should be their epitaph. As Christlieb has truly said: "Wherever civilization is not made to rest on the basis of moral and religious truth it can not attain to any permanent existence, and is incapable of preserving the nations possessed of it from spiritual starvation, to say nothing of political death."

It is idle to boast of Liberty when the foundations of her temples are not laid in divine truth. Of this, Greece and Rome have furnished the world examples. In Greece freedom had a field peculiarly her own; she breathed her inspiration into the people, and her spirit into their literature; she lived in the deeds of their youth, and was sung by the muse of their bards. This spirit was diffused in Rome. Plato, Aristotle and Homer were transplanted to the Rhine, the Seine, and the Thames. Their land was full of liberty and culture, but not the liberty nor the culture of the soul. When we learn from Tacitus that "in the first century, in a time of famine, all the teachers of youth were banished from the city, and six thousand dancers were retained," we have an example of that culture which made Rome a sink of iniquity. It is not impossible that the fatal mistake of Greece and Rome should be repeated in our own country. We are venturing to some extent on the slippery places from which they fell. The evil star of their national ruin is that on which the eyes of many of our political leaders are fixed. The godless spirit that animated the Roman senate is being nursed into new life in American politics, and this nursing is not simply in the halls of legislation, but in the homes of the people. Here lies the trouble. If the American republic ever goes down in ruin, the power that hurls it from its high position will be enthroned in the family circle.

We complain that those in authority have not the fear of God before their eyes. We lift our hands in holy horror at the public corruption which brings our nation into dishonor before the world. But who is to blame? One political party is ever ready to ascribe all the corruption of the country to its political rival. But this godless disregard of national honor and national interest is confined to no party. Neither is it confined to party leaders; but it controls the people on whom the leaders rely for support. Here is the seat of the disease which is gnawing at the vitals of the republic. The man who now refuses to cater to the depraved tastes of the masses, can not, as a rule, be promoted to office. How many men can sit in the halls of legislation, or even on our benches of justice, who persistently refuse to influence men's votes by money, or inflame their passions and sway their judgment with strong drink? When a man of a high sense of moral honor seeks promotion by the suffrage of his fellow-citizens, he soon learns that he must come down from his "stilted dignity" or be defeated. In the excitement of the canvass he yields to base motives to prevent defeat. He compromises his high sense of honor, deadens his conscience, and sells out his manhood to secure an honorable (?) position. We should not expect men to manifest a high sense of honor in public places as long as we require them to compromise their honor in order to secure such places. The thing is both unreasonable and unjust. As well expect sweet water to flow from a fountain which we have made bitter!

Party spirit is hostile to moral purity. As one becomes filled with the spirit of party, to that extent does he surrender the freedom of a man. He can neither think nor speak impartially. He stifles the convictions of conscience and shouts the shibboleth of party. With him the triumph of party is infinitely dearer than the maintenance of principle. Hence the conflict becomes a struggle, not for principle, but for victory. The people are distracted and the nation brought to the verge of ruin over the most trivial matters. The Eastern empire was once shaken to its foundation by parties which differed only about the merits of charioteers at the amphitheater.

This ruinous party spirit is fostered by ignorance. The masses who are controlled at the ballot-box by the basest influences, because they will not be controlled by any other; and who in turn control the ballots of our country, are, as a rule, the uncultured part of society. The better class of citizens are not approached with the influences which control the ignorant. Therefore, the remedy is in the correct education of the masses. The emphasis is correctly made; for any kind of education will not accomplish this end. Only as people are truly cultured do they cease to be tools of politicians. Then their intelligence, not their passions, must be addressed. When the masses are thus cultured they will refine instead of demoralize our public men.

As a remedy, then, for the demoralization of all classes we need a better system of education. We must have a free education if we would have a free people. Our children must be educated in just principles, if we would perpetuate a just government. To make this remedy effectual, when the means of education are provided for the ignorant, they should be required to appropriate them, or forfeit their right of suffrage. No man should have a voice in determining the destiny of our nation, who rejects the means of that culture which alone can qualify him to act intelligently. A man who has not spirit enough to avail himself of the benefits of an elementary education, when placed within his reach, is not worthy of being a citizen of a free government.

Not only must the ballot-box be elevated by culture, if this government would number its centennials, but it must be purified by Christianity. We need to erect a high standard of moral qualification for positions of trust and honor. Those in authority will ever be about what the people require of them. When ungodliness and moral corruption are at a discount among the people, and party spirit can not atone for the darkest crimes, then may we expect more purity in high places; not before. This standard must be erected at the ballot-box or our liberties will find an untimely grave.

This government was established on a false idea—the idea that man is capable of self-government. God never intended that man should govern himself. Consequently, in the strictest sense of the word, he is incapable, both individually and collectively, of self-government. Since, by his own wisdom, man is incapable of governing himself he is likewise incapable of governing others. The men and the nations, in the ages of the past, that attempted this, failed of the high destiny for which God gave them being. The ultimate prosperity of men and nations depends on the government of God. Only He who created man fully understands his ultimate destiny and the laws of his being to attain to that end. Therefore, only when man is thus governed is his life a success. All sacred history shows that God rules in the governments of men; and only when this fact is practically acknowledged may nations expect permanent prosperity. That nation whose laws are framed and executed regardless of the law of God will eventually fall under the divine chastisement. No more can the statesmanship of this world, unsanctified by divine wisdom, save a nation from the wrath of God, than the wisdom of man can save a soul from eternal death, regardless of Him, "who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption." For the disregard of God's will, nations are punished here, because as nations they do not exist hereafter. On this the Lord has clearly spoken: "At what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to pluck up, and to pull down, and to destroy it: If that nation against whom I have pronounced, turn from their evil, I will repent of the evil that I thought to do unto them. And at what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to build and to plant it: If it do evil in my sight, that it obey not my voice, then I will repent of the good, wherewith I said I would benefit them." Thus it is that nations are in the hands of God as clay in the hands of the potter. Only, therefore, when they purge themselves from ungodly legislation, will they become "vessels unto honor, sanctified and meet for the Master's use."

The voice of God, then, must be heard and heeded in our nation, and if the people rule, and the nation prosper, the voice of God must become the voice of the people. In this sense, and this only, are any people capable of self-government. To this end we need more extended culture, and that of a higher order. Our politics must be purified by our religion, and our religion must be a religion of the spirit, not of the flesh. We need more religion in our politics, and less politics in our religion. The history of other nations fully confirms the language of Goethe: "All epochs," says he, "in which faith prevailed have been the most heart-stirring and fruitful, both as regards contemporaries and posterity; whereas, on the other hand, all epochs in which unbelief obtains its miserable triumphs, even when they boast of some apparent brilliancy, are not less surely doomed to speedy oblivion." Liberty is the twin sister of Faith. In the language of Seneca: "To obey God is freedom. A nation that desires to be free must believe, and a nation that will not believe must be in servitude; only despotism can dispense with faith, but not liberty."

History clearly proves that national prosperity depends on an appreciation of the intimate relation existing between culture and Christianity. Of this relation Christlieb truly speaks: "No one, indeed," says he, "will wish to deny that in our modern culture there is much that is false, egotistic, and selfish; much that is misleading and exaggerated, and consequently opposed to true culture. Against these untrue elements of culture, Christianity will and must always take the field; it must not oppose progress, although it is at all times bound to show itself hostile to the sins of progress, just as from its very commencement it has always testified and striven against such sins. Between Christless culture and Christianity a bridge of accommodation can no more be built than between light and darkness, and woe to him who undertakes this! But whatever in our modern culture is thoroughly Christless, and therefore Godless, is unworthy of the name and can, therefore, claim from us no further consideration; it is mere naked rudeness and selfishness, ill-disguised by the gaudy rays of outward decency; a mere cherishing of the sensual nature which, left to itself, would soon degenerate into monstrous barbarism, of which we already see many indications."

Intellectual, at the expense of moral, culture is one of the curses of this age. By such culture man acquires power without the principles which alone can make that power a blessing. Intellect is deified; but intellect unsubdued by Christianity is a remorseless god. True culture would lift man above this low conception of his own nature. It would give him a more comprehensive view of himself; of the infinite development of which he is susceptible; of the rulings of an all-wise Providence, whose loving care

"From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression."

True culture consists not in an accumulation of facts or ideas, but in developing a force of thought that is ever a ready and willing servant. To educate is to lead out and develop the faculties, not to break them down with the endless rubbish of other minds. The collection of facts amounts to but little unless with those facts we build towers from which to take higher and wider views of truth. Thus it is that culture demands them as a means, not as an end. To build up the mental and moral faculties, so as to comprehend and appreciate the great principles which control the life that now is, and that which is to come, is the highest culture in our probationary state. This can be accomplished only by an education in which the Bible and the authority of Christ are made paramount. On this, as we have seen, our free institutions and the perpetuity of religious liberty depend. This is the secret of Roman Catholic opposition to the Bible in our public schools. And it is not simply the Bible in the public schools that Rome opposes; she is opposed to the existence of the schools themselves; to the system of free education. No people understand better than the Catholics the power of religious teaching in connection with education. Hence they are the foe to all religion in connection with education that is not Catholic. Rome is the friend of education and religion when that education is priestly and that religion Romish; otherwise she is the enemy of both. Hence those who support Catholic schools foster the deadliest foe of our religious liberties. There will ever be, therefore, an irrepressible conflict between Roman Catholicism and Christian culture. Let him who doubts this study impartially the history of Catholic countries. We ask no more.

The idea is fast passing away, and it can not pass too rapidly, that the mass of the people need no other culture than that which fits them for their various vocations. The world is beginning to learn that culture is due to our nature, not to our calling. It is not the calling nor the place of residence that makes the man. It is what a man is, not what he does, that makes him great. True greatness is in the man, not in circumstances. True greatness and worldly fame are two widely different things. The greatest men of earth may be but little known. As force of thought measures intellectual, so force of principle measures moral, greatness. There is more true greatness in the huts of poverty than in the palaces of kings, only it is undeveloped. Here, therefore, is where we need true Christian culture. I can not better express my appreciation of obscure greatness, which culture should develop, than by repeating the words of Dr. Channing: "The greatest man," says he, "is he who chooses the right with invincible resolution, who resists the sorest temptation from within and without, who bears the heaviest burdens cheerfully, who is calmest in storms and most fearless under menace and frowns, whose reliance on truth, on virtue, on God, is most unfaltering; and is this a greatness which is apt to make a show, or which is most likely to abound in conspicuous stations? The solemn conflicts of reason with passion; the victories of moral and religious principles over urgent and almost irresistible solicitations to self-indulgence; the hardest sacrifices of duty, those of deep-seated affection and of the heart's fondest hopes; the consolations, hopes, joys, and peace, of disappointed, persecuted, scorned, deserted virtue; these are of course unseen, so that the true greatness of human life is almost wholly out of sight. Perhaps in our presence the most heroic deed on earth is done in some silent spirit, the loftiest purpose cherished, the most generous sacrifices made, and we do not suspect it. I believe this greatness to be most common among the multitude, whose names are never heard." Most beautifully has the poet expressed the same fine thought:

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

These pure gems need to be discovered and polished, and these sweet flowers cultivated and utilized by Christian culture. It is idle to talk of developing these hidden resources of intellectual and moral wealth but by true culture, and this can never exist apart from Christianity. Christianity is the spiritual power that vitalizes the culture of our age. So evident is this that even a Fichte was compelled to confess that, "We and our whole age are rooted in the soil of Christianity, and have sprung from it; it has exercised its influence in the most manifold ways on the whole of our culture, and we should be absolutely nothing of all that we are, if this mighty principle had not preceded us." Culture and Christianity can not now be divorced. Those who would array culture against Christianity are themselves under the influence of that which they oppose. The very imagined imperfections of Christianity must be discovered by the light of Christianity, "just as he who seeks to discover spots in the sun, must for this purpose borrow the light of the sun itself." Culture and Christianity are so interwoven that we may never expect either, separate from the other, as a blessing to the world. The very fact that the Protestant nations of the earth, where God is honored by a free Bible, are the chief exponents of true culture, attests this connection. So vital is this relation that, "United they stand; divided they fall."

Another important end to be attained in the culture of the masses is independence of thought. We need to cast off the yoke of human opinion and cultivate the individual judgment. We are too much the slaves of fashion. We are disposed to dress our minds as well as our bodies, after the fashion of the times. This destroys originality and independence of thought, and renders our lives tame and insipid. We need connection with other minds to excite our own, not to enslave them. We want the thoughts of others that we may think; and without correct modes of thinking, all efforts at education and culture are failures.

But it may be argued, the masses are denied the privilege of association with the cultivated. This is not true. They may deprive themselves, but they are not denied. This is peculiarly an age of printing. The best of literature may now find its way into the most humble homes. There is not a roof in the land under which the prophets and apostles of God will not enter with the glad message containing the promise of the life that is and that which is to come; not one under which the poets will not come to sing to us of that far-off land; not one too holy for the habitation of the great minds of earth which inspire us

"With thoughts that breathe, And words that burn."

With these for our companions, we may have the best society that this world affords, and, by such association, fit ourselves for the companionship of the cultivated.

Is it argued that the poor have not time for self-culture? This is one of the greatest mistakes of life. It is not time that we want; it is inclination. Generally, those who have most time profit by it least. An earnest purpose will either find time or make time. Nor is it necessary that much time should be taken. The spare moments, the mere fragments of time, often worse than wasted, will, if carefully improved, make both mind and heart a store-house of the most precious treasure. It is said that Spurgeon read the whole of Macaulay's History of England between the courses at dinner. I would not advise that these golden opportunities for social culture be devoted to reading; but the circumstance shows how much may be accomplished by gathering up the crumbs which fall from the table of time. When Martin Luther was asked how, amid all his other labors, he found time to translate the Holy Scriptures, he replied, "One verse a day." A small amount of daily reading, of the right kind, will furnish food for thought; and it is thought, after all, that enriches the soul.

A proper improvement of the most slender opportunities for self-culture creates new capacities for enjoyment, and saves the leisure moments from being dull and wearisome. More than this; it saves them from being devoted to ruinous indulgence. The soul-culture for which these fragments of time provide, lifts humanity above mere brutal enjoyments, and implants pleasures worthy of their race. Christian culture is essential to the subduing of sensuality, and the subduing of sensuality is essential to the permanent prosperity of both individuals and nations.

But, it may be said, any considerable degree of culture will lift the masses above their vocations, and cause them to become dissatisfied with their lot; that the cultured mind despises drudgery. The very reverse of this is true. Culture dignifies labor and destroys drudgery. The man determines the dignity of the calling; not the calling the dignity of the man. Let men of culture carry their culture into their vocations, and their vocations will become honorable. Let cultured men plow and reap, and plowing and reaping will become as dignified as the "learned professions." Because a man can not wear as fine a garb at the forge as he can at the desk, it does not follow that his thoughts may not be as fine. A man may wear a polished intellect and a cultivated soul under a coarse garb as well as under a fine one; and he should be respected the more, if circumstances have compelled him to develop his intellectual and moral forces; if at all, under a rough exterior.

While in these thoughts I have spoken of men, I have used the term generically. The principles apply with equal force to the women of this country. One of the great evils of our land is, that among the ladies, domestic labor is not sufficiently dignified. The number of mothers in the ordinary walks of life, silly enough to think that ignorance of domestic duties is an accomplishment for their daughters, is by no means small. This results from a want of true culture and common sense. There is no just reason why a young lady should not knead her dough and conjugate a Greek verb at the same time with equal skill. True culture will dignify domestic labor among women of all classes, and this will result in more domestic prosperity, and more domestic happiness. The rich and the poor will be brought into closer sympathy, unnecessary distinctions will be broken down, and the people will become one in the essential elements of good government and pure religion.

Young ladies, you above all others should appreciate the blending of culture and Christianity. One glance at the history of the world must convince you that the highest culture, unsanctified by Christianity, has never elevated your sex above disgraceful servitude. Certainly you can not entertain the thought, that the culture which does not elevate woman can ever bless the world. Only Christianity has exalted the gentler sex to that position in the esteem and affections of men that God designed she should occupy. Hence, of all the friends of ancient Christianity, woman should be the truest and most lasting; and of all the enemies of modern Rationalism, she should be the most bitter and unrelenting.

In conclusion, allow me to repeat the thought of the beginning, that it is the nature of man to look upward, and he who does not look upward is untrue to his nature. But in the flesh, we can only begin to ascend the heights of God. Here we are weighed down with infirmity, with our frail, decaying bodies; but our souls long for the power of incessant, never-wearying, glorious activity, awaiting us in the upper world. One of my highest conceptions of Heaven; one that thrills me to contemplate, is a life of no more prostration from labor; no more weariness of over-wrought brain; no aching head nor pain-racked body; but incessant labor, unincumbered by frail mortality; growth, development, expanding visions of God, among pure intelligences, and amid the celestial splendor of eternal worlds. But in the flesh, I can not bathe in those fountains of celestial light. Then let me leave this frail tenement of clay, as one steps out of the vehicle that can take him no farther, and leaving it behind, ascends the lofty mountain to gaze upon the unfolding wonders of God. Let my liberated spirit not only look upward, but mount upward, as on eagles' wings, till rising above the Pleiades, and leaving the Milky-way to fade out in the receding distance, it walks with God on the ever-ascending plain, reached only by culture and Christianity.



II.—SELF CULTURE.

[An Address Delivered Before Columbia Christian College, June 7, 1878.]

Ladies and Gentlemen:—I am happy in the privilege of again addressing you in the interests of the great work in which you are so nobly engaged. To-day many of you go out from under the fostering care of this institution, to engage in the ceaseless battle of life. That you have been well panoplied for the conflict is not questioned. And, if I can second, in some degree, the efforts of your faithful and worthy Faculty in directing and encouraging you to that success that should crown their efforts and yours, I shall feel that I have labored to no trifling purpose. The theme selected for your consideration is

"Self-Culture."

Man, though fallen, is in his ruins grand. His powers of development are little less than infinite. They begin with the cradle, but do not end with the grave. No other being begins so low and ascends so high. In his beginning, he is "crushed before the moth;" in the fullness of his power he shall "judge angels." In this world he scarcely begins to live. This life is too short and this world too small for the development of his God-given faculties. Here he scarcely learns the alphabet preparatory to God's grand university from which he is never to graduate. He simply begins the study of an unending book. He but gathers a few pebbles on the shores of the river of time, then sinks beneath its wave.

But while in this world we scarcely make a beginning, yet everything depends on the character of that beginning. As is the beginning, so will be the conclusion. In the direction taken in time will we progress in eternity. We may repent of our mistakes here and correct them, but there is no repentance beyond the grave. There are no mistakes corrected in eternity. Hence the necessity of a proper use of time.

I have selected the word culture to express the idea which I wish to convey, and yet I must confess that it does not express it as happily as I should desire. Where the Greeks had their paideia, the Romans their humanitas, we have the more elastic and accommodating word culture. I use it in this address in the sense of drawing out and developing the nobler powers that are potentially in fallen humanity. It is not so much the development of all the faculties in man to their highest extent, as the directing and training of the better ones to their true end. We are dealing here with beginnings, not endings. The perfection of man in all his capacities is not a thing of time. In time, the character must receive its mold; in eternity, its highest polish.

By self-culture I mean, of course, the power that one has, and ought to use, of cultivating himself. "To cultivate anything," says Dr. Channing, "be it a plant, an animal, a mind, is to make grow. Growth, expansion is the end. Nothing admits culture but that which has a principle of life, capable of being expanded. He, therefore, who does what he can to unfold all his powers and capacities, especially his nobler ones, so as to become a well proportioned, vigorous, happy being, practices self-culture." This may apply to those who have not the advantages of schools and colleges, and to the after education of those who have.

We hear much in this age about a "finished education at college." There is, alas! too much truth in the expression. Generally, the more superficial our collegiate education, the more completely is it "finished" on the day of graduation. How few young ladies and gentlemen meet the expectations raised by their educational advantages! How few years sadden loving hearts with disappointed hopes! How many stars shine brilliantly within college walls, then go out to be seen no more! And all this the result of a "finished education!"

Most of these failures are the result of wrong views of education. Our school days are but a beginning of our earthly education, as this is but the beginning of that which is to come. It is not what we learn in school, but what we learn after leaving it, that determines our success or failure. These advantages are but for the purpose of laying the foundation; the building is the work of after years. And he who does not build, does not even preserve the foundation. Alas! how many well-laid foundations have moldered into ruin! No sooner does the plant cease to grow than it begins to decay. Therefore, he who would live must grow, and he who would grow must be active. There is no success to him who stands with his hands in his pockets. This is an age of intense activity. Competition in every calling is sharp; the professions are crowded, and there is room only at the top. Therefore, the path to success is not strewed with flowers and tinted with the rainbow's hue. As Carlyle truly says: "The race of life has become intense; the runners are treading upon each other's heels, woe be to him who stops to tie his shoestrings."

Many a young man fails because he thinks himself a genius, and therefore does not need to study. The sooner you get rid of the idea that you are a genius the better. The old idea of a genius that never has to study is the pet of laziness and the ruin of manliness. Sidney Smith truly says: "There is but one method of attaining to excellence, and that is hard labor; and a man who will not pay that price for distinction had better at once dedicate himself to the pursuit of the fox, or sport with the tangles of Neaera's hair, or talk of bullocks and glory in the goad! There are many modes of being frivolous, and not a few of being useful; there is but one mode of being intellectually great."

It is common for those who have not the wealth to afford them a luxurious college course to bemoan their misfortune and content themselves with being nothing. If culture were attained by complaining of misfortune, many would soon reach perfection. To some, extreme poverty is doubtless a misfortune, but to many others it is a blessing. The world's grandest heroes and benefactors have struggled with poverty; and, but for this, they would have died unwept and unhonored. The great men and women of earth were not dandled in the lap of luxury. Lord Thurlow, Chancellor of England, when asked by a wealthy friend what course his son should pursue to secure success at the bar, is said to have thus replied: "Let your son spend his fortune, marry and spend his wife's, and then go to the bar; there will be little fear of his failure." The Chancellor well knew that, with his wealth, the young man would not do the work that success demanded. How many men, and women, too, were never anything till they lost their fortune! Then the world felt their power. What a fortune, then, to have no fortune to lose! True, poverty brings difficulties, but difficulties develop men. They show the material out of which one is composed. While they dishearten the irresolute, they stimulate the brave. The wind that extinguishes the taper only intensifies the heat of the stronger flame. Gnats are blown with the wind, but kites rise only against it.

All culture is, in a large degree, self-culture. Our teachers are only helps. They can teach us, but they can not learn us. We must do our own learning. Wealth can not buy it, nor luxurious surroundings impart it; it must be made ours by personal application.

I am not contending that all may or should be scholars in the proper sense of that word. There is a difference between culture and scholarship. A man of culture may or may not be a scholar. I plead more especially for the training of the mind, for the development of the nobler faculties of our nature, that we may fulfill the true end of our being.

I do not mean that all should be great, in the popular acceptation of that term. This is neither desirable nor possible. If all were great, then none were great. But God has designed us all for positions of usefulness and happiness; some in one direction, some in another. These positions we should seek and fill to the full extent of our ability. And it is with reference to this ability that I am making the plea for self-culture. It is not simply preparation for a position, but development in it, for which I plead. There is much said in this age about education for a position, and this education is all right; the more thorough the better. But the trouble is, too many seem to think that this is all. Here is the ruinous mistake. There is a world of difference between being educated for a calling, and being educated in it. That may be obtained in schools and colleges; this is a work of subsequent life. That is important; this is indispensable. Without that, this may be a grand success; without this, that is next to worthless. Many men are highly educated in their calling who were never educated for it. This is self-culture in its true sense.

Nor is the culture for which I plead derived simply from books. These we need, but we need them simply as helps. We should make them our servants, not our masters. A "bookworm" is sometimes a very inferior kind of a worm. Some men that the schools call highly educated rely so much on books that they are nothing in themselves. They have no mind of their own. They deal altogether in second-hand goods. We need to lay aside our books, and study men and things—commence with God and nature. We must learn to think. To think much. To think accurately. To do our own thinking, not have it done for us. Without this, we shall make but little of our advantages; with it, we rise superior to advantages.

Neither am I contending that we should all strive for the "learned professions." It is just the reverse. We want to elevate and ennoble the unlearned professions. The American people, at least, should learn that the calling does not make the man. We need to dignify all the honest and legitimate vocations by intellectual and moral culture. We not only need to dignify labor by culture, but, by so doing, we need to dignify the mass of our common humanity. Personal worth consists not in what one does, but in what one is. Better be a good barber than a poor doctor, a good shoemaker than a poor lawyer.

I would not be understood as claiming that men and women in all the vocations in life should be cultured in all directions. In this age of short and intense life this is not practicable. It might have done before the flood, when men lived a thousand years, but it is not adapted to the nineteenth century. Remember I am speaking with reference to the masses. Men can not know everything, neither can they do everything, and do it well. All knowledge may be made useful, and I would urge the obtaining of all possible; but it is a mistake to try to do too much, and do nothing. A few things well understood are of more value than a smattering of much. By all means avoid being "Jack-of-all-trades." Decide what you want to do and do it. I would urge the training of mind and heart and hand as a specialty in that which you select as a life work, embellished and perfected by all the general knowledge that a life of intense application will enable you to possess. Difference in occupation demands a difference in special culture, but not in general. This is culture, not of the schools, simply, but of life.

But the difficulties and the means of self-culture need now to be considered. In doing this, the first essential element to success to which your attention is called, is

SELF-RELIANCE.

No man ever amounted to much who did not rely on God and himself. The young man who whines around, waiting for some one to help him, instead of helping himself, ought to be sent back to the nursery, clothed in enlarged baby-gowns, and fed with a spoon. Men of independence are the men that move the world. The living rarely walk well in the shoes of the dead, and he who waits for them ought to go barefooted all his life. God helps those who help themselves. Self-reliance toughens our sinews and develops our manhood. "It is not in the sheltered garden or the hothouse, but on the rugged Alpine cliffs where the storm bursts most violently, that the toughest plants are reared." The man who does not rely on self, soon ceases to have any self. He becomes a zoological parasite, instead of a man. He is a lobster that waits for the sea to come to him, instead of going to it, though its waves may be dashing at his feet. Should the sea accommodate him in time, well enough; otherwise he dies. These men make the subjunctive heroes of the world. They always "might," "could," "would" or "should" do some great thing; but they never get into the imperative mood to do it. They have never learned self-reliance; and, the result is, they never learned anything worth knowing. They can never appreciate this saying of the immortal Burke: "I was not rocked and swaddled and dandled into a legislator. Nitor in adversum is the motto for a man like me."

Those who are afraid to move without the arms of a rich ancestry around them, will never learn to walk erect. They will never have a firm, elastic step, nor make the world feel the weight of their tread. The man who thus shrinks from difficulties and responsibilities, refuses to be a pupil of the best teacher the world affords. They should learn that repeated failure, if wisely used, is but a means to grand success. As Dr. Mathews truly says: "Great statesmen in all countries have owed their sagacity, tact and foresight more to their failures than to their successes. The diplomatist becomes master of his art by being baffled, thwarted, defeated, quite as much as by winning his points. Every time he is checkmated he acquires a profounder knowledge of the political game, and makes his next combination with increased skill and increased chances of success." Ease and luxury may make the butterflies of society, but difficulties make men and women. That was a wise saying of Pythagoras, that, "ability and necessity dwell near each other." It is astonishing how difficulties will yield to one who will not yield to them. They tip their plumed caps to his dominant will, and politely bow themselves out of sight. They not only clear the way for self-reliance, but give him the encouragement of their parting salute.

"Every person," says Gibbon, "has two educations—one which he receives from others, and one, more important, which he gives himself." Archimedes said, "Give me a standing-place and I will move the world." But Goethe more happily says, "Make good thy standing-place and move the world." Circumstances may afford a standing-place, but self-reliance alone can give the leverage power. We must learn that character and worth consists in doing, not in possessing. Not resting, not having, not being simply, but growing and becoming, is the true character of self-culture. This thought is most beautifully expressed by Rogers—

"Our reward Is in the race we run, not in the prize, Those few, to whom is given what they ne'er earned, Having by favor or inheritance The dangerous gifts placed in their hands, Know not, nor ever can, the generous pride That glows in him who on himself relies, Entering the lists of life. He speeds beyond Them all, and foremost in the race succeeds. His joy is not that he has got his crown, But that the power to win the crown is his."

Another important item in the attainment of self-culture is the

ECONOMY OF TIME.

Time is a divine inheritance that no man has a right to squander. The antediluvians might have afforded to be a little profligate in this direction, but the man who would fulfill his high destiny in this age has no time to lose. Lost time is forever lost. There is much useless complaint in the world of a want of time. It is not more time we need, so much as a better use of that we have. I do not mean that we should deprive ourselves of requisite sleep and rest. On the contrary, the regulation of these constitutes a part of the economy of which I speak. Rest is necessary; but all rest is not idleness. We should learn to rest by changing our employment, not by its abandonment. The man whose mind becomes weary in his study, finds the most invigorating rest in manual labor. The physical and intellectual have a happy reflective influence on each other. The moments wisely taken for intellectual and moral culture by the laboring man are fountains whose refreshing stream, like that from Horeb, follows him through his daily toil. They are a ceaseless pleasure, both in remembrance and anticipation. Those, also whose lives are disconnected with manual labor should have such a variety of work that one kind prepares the way for the enjoyment of another. There are both pleasure and health in a change of diet. To happily manage this variety requires a training of the mind essential to self-culture. We must learn to do the right thing at the right time. The happy influence of one thing upon another depends on their arrangement and the manner of their execution. It may not be well to have too many irons in the fire, but it is certainly best to have enough for some to be heating while others are cooling.

In order to do the right thing at the right time, and do it well, we must learn to think about the right thing at the right time. This is one of the most important features in mental training. We can think well on but one thing at a time. Therefore, the mind that is filled with various kinds of thoughts can prosecute none of them successfully. We must learn to select the guests that we would have sit at our intellectual banquets, summon or exclude them at will, and never permit the intrusion of a promiscuous crowd. When our work is arranged for the day, the week, the month, the year, we should set apart the time to be devoted to each item, both in work and in thought; and then never allow the thoughts of one to encroach upon the time allotted to another. We should so train the mind that we can think about the thing only of which we wish to think, concentrate our whole mind upon it till the time comes to put it away; then dismiss it in a moment, turn to something else, and think no more about it, till its proper time. The mind is soon trained to pass from one subject to another in a moment, with all its powers of concentration. This mastery of the mind, once attained, will enable us to study at all times and places regardless of circumstances. The man who can not study amid the wild shouts of the excited multitude is not his own master. He who can command his time and his talents only when no surging billows beat against his quiet retreat, has necessarily to spend much of life in which he has neither time nor talents which he can call his own. A very important item, then, in the economy of time, is to learn to labor under difficulties, till we rise superior to external surroundings. To keep the reins of the mind well in hand when there is a stampede all around us, is absolutely essential in the great crises of life. This is attained only by training the mind to instantaneous concentration under all circumstances. This, then, I would urge you to persist in until it is accomplished. Without this you will lose much time in acquiring information, and, what is of vastly more importance, you will be unprepared to use what you have at the very time, it may be, when it is most needed.

Another important element in the economy of time we learn from the great Teacher who said, "Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost." If He who had the power to create as well as to preserve, was such an economist of the remnants of loaves and fishes, how much more should we save the fragments of time, which we can not lengthen out a span?

Many people seem to think they can make garments only out of whole cloth. If they have not an abundance of uninterrupted time in which to accomplish a thing, they think they can not accomplish it at all. Such men accomplish but little, not for want of time, but for want of its economy. To avoid this waste, we must learn to weave whole garments out of the mere ravelings of the fabric of time. But some complain that they can not "get up steam" for intellectual labor in these fractions of time. We don't need to "get up steam." The "steam" should be already up. We only need to change the gearing. "There is a momentum in the active man," says Mathews, "which of itself almost carries him to the mark, just as a very light stroke will keep a hoop going, when a smart one was required to set it in motion. While others are yawning and stretching themselves to overcome the vis inertiae, he has his eyes wide open, his faculties keyed up for action, and is thoroughly alive in every fiber. He walks through the world with his hands unmuffled and ready by his side, and so can sometimes do more by a single touch in passing than a vacant man is likely to do by strenuous effort."

Let no one conclude that nothing important can be accomplished by these scattered fragments. It is said that "Hugh Miller found time while pursuing his trade as a stone-mason, not only to read but to write, cultivating his style till he became one of the most facile and brilliant authors of the day." Also, that Elihu Burritt "acquired a mastery of eighteen languages and twenty-two dialects, not by rare genius, which he disclaimed, but by improving the bits and fragments of time which he could steal from his occupation as a blacksmith."

With these examples before us, then, let no one conclude that he can not get time from his daily vocation, whatever it may be, to cultivate his mind, and develop his moral and intellectual faculties. Another essential element in self-culture is

SINGLENESS OF PURPOSE.

"A man," says Emerson, "is like a bit of Labrador spar, which has no lustre as you turn it in your hand until you come to a particular angle; then it shows deep and beautiful colors." There is no adaptation or universal applicability in man; but each has his special talent; and the mastery of successful men consists in adroitly keeping themselves where and when that turn shall need oftenest to be practiced. The successful man in every calling, whether literary, scientific or business, is he who is totus in illo—who can say with Paul, this one thing I do! With the exception of a few great creative minds, the men whose names are historic are identified with some one achievement, upon which all their life force is spent. "Whatever I have tried to do in my life," says Dickens, "I have tried with all my heart to do well. What I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself to completely. Never to put one hand to a thing on which I would not throw my whole self, and never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was, I find now to have been golden rules." The fact is, the range of human knowledge has become so extensive that the man who would know some things well must have the courage to be ignorant of many others. There are many things for which one is wholly incapacitated; for which he has no talent, and, as a rule, time spent in this direction is time lost. Goethe justly says: "We should guard against a talent which we can not hope to practice in perfection. Improve it as we may, we shall always, in the end, when the merit of the master has become apparent to us, painfully lament the loss of time and strength devoted to such botching." Sidney Smith condemns what he calls the "foppery of universality—of knowing all sciences and excelling in all arts." "Now my advice," he says, "on the contrary, is to have the courage to be ignorant of a great number of things, in order to avoid the calamity of being ignorant of everything."

I do not mean that you should try to learn but one thing, or be a man or woman of one idea; far from it. I simply mean that you must be select. Select your calling, and then bend all your energies in that direction. Let those branches of knowledge that bear most directly on your vocation be mastered first, then widen the circle as opportunity affords. Do not scatter your powers over so much territory that they are felt nowhere. It is only when the sun's rays are brought to a focus that they burn. The man who is one thing this year, another next; studies medicine a while, then law, is next a school-teacher, and then an insurance agent, will, in the end, be nothing. Men who are always changing, never learn enough about anything to make it of any value. Men who are eminent in their professions have stuck to them with a singleness of purpose. Men talk much about genius, when, generally, the genius of which they speak is but the result of unremitting application. The genius that blesses this world is simply a talent for hard work. They are men who have the resolution to try, and the courage to persevere. Idle men of the most eminent natural ability are soon distanced in the race by the mediocre who sticks to his purpose and plods. Then, I repeat, if you would succeed in life, in whatever calling you may select, divest yourself of the idea that you are a genius and do not need the application demanded by common mortality; rely not on the caprices of fickle fortune; but rely on God and yourself, economize your time, apply yourself with diligence and with singleness of purpose. With these you will be a blessing to the world, and fulfill the high and holy purposes of God in giving you being.

Self-culture looks not simply to time, but to eternity. No man is truly cultured who is not cultured for eternity. His culture is but one-sided, and that the most inferior side. The well-rounded and perfected culture, though it may be only partial so far as the culture of this world is concerned, is the culture that prepares one to matriculate in the great university over which God presides, and sit forever in delightful appreciation at the feet of the great Teacher. Let this, then, be the ultimatum of all your efforts.

It is for this reason that you should so highly appreciate this institution from which you go out to-day as honored students. While the various branches of the arts and sciences that pertain to this life, have been carefully and accurately taught you, the great Science of eternal life, if I may so term it, has been, I trust, indelibly engraved on your every heart. A college whose faculty is composed exclusively of Christian men and women, and in which the systematic study of the Bible by both ladies and gentlemen is made one of its most prominent features, will ever be most highly appreciated by those who appreciate true culture, and know in what it consists. I think I appreciate a high standard of education, and I want, if possible, to give my children its advantages; but I should infinitely prefer their never going beyond the common school than to be graduated with the first honors from the most renowned colleges or universities of Europe or America, in which the authority of Jesus is not held as supreme, and the Bible honored as our only divine guide. Other things being equal, we should always honor those institutions most that honor God's word most. For this reason, then, as well as for many others, we delight to honor this institution from whose fostering care you this day go forth.

In conclusion, let me entreat you to be what this world now most needs—MEN and WOMEN. The world is now burdened with "gentlemen and ladies;" but it is perishing for the want of MEN and WOMEN. The world needs men and women that are true to themselves, true to each other, and true to God—men and women who know what manliness is, and what womanly virtues are; who delight in the real, and scorn the counterfeit; who have the courage to do right because it is right; who would rather stand alone on the side of truth, than with the world on the side of error; who are governed by high and holy principle, not by selfish policy. We need men and women that will create a healthier public sentiment, rather than to float on that which exists; who will frown out of countenance the fraud, dishonesty and meanness that now lifts high its head in society; who will not live in fine palaces, drive fast horses, and occupy the first pews in the sanctuary, at ten cents on the dollar. The world needs men and women who have hearts and consciences, as well as brains; who realize that they have a soul as well as a body; who live for eternity rather than for time.

God grant that you may all make such men and women. That you may not only be a blessing to the age and generation in which you live; but that your influence for the "true, the beautiful and the good," may be felt like the gentle dews of heaven upon the earth, generations after you are gathered to your fathers! May you be diligent and faithful in the cultivation of your nobler powers of mind and heart till the world shall bless God that you have lived in it; then laying aside the body, in which you have fought the grand fight for righteousness and truth—a fight on which God and angels have looked with interest and delight—as you would lay aside a worn-out garment, and passing through "the gates ajar," enter on a higher plane of culture, where you will not have to rely upon self, and struggle against adversity as here; but where you will have all the facilities of Heaven, and be forever pupils of the great Teacher!