CONTENTS OF VOLUME II, NUMBER 12 (continued 3)

The degree in the classical department has been placed upon a high footing. It is necessary that the candidate for this honor should not only be a proficient in the studies just mentioned, but that he should obtain a certificate of qualification on the junior, mathematical, rhetorical, and historical courses. With this additional information, our classic graduate goes into the world not a mere Latin and Greek scholar, but an elegant classic. This course of study has been devised principally for the benefit of that large and respectable class of students who propose to follow the profession of teaching. To all students of this description, I would recommend the attainment of this degree—a degree which will at once give its owner a high standing in our community, and be a most ample certificate of his merits and qualifications.

Besides the degree in the classical school, there are three others of a high order given in our institution; these are the degrees of A.B., B.L., and A.M. With regard to the first, you will find in our laws a detail of the courses of study necessary to its attainment. These courses you will find full and well selected, bearing an advantageous comparison with similar courses in any other college of our Union. They embrace the four great departments of mathematics, physics, morals and politics. These studies I would recommend to all who may have the time and the means to pursue them, no matter what profession they may follow in after life. Independently of the pleasure which each of them imparts to the mind of the zealous student, there is a utility arising from them far beyond the conception of ordinary minds—a utility which springs both from the enlargement of the understanding by the salutary exercise which they afford to it, and from the light which they respectively cast on each other. One of the most beautiful and interesting facts in relation to literature, is, that all its departments are connected and associated with each other; the study of one perfects the mind in the comprehension of another. The acquisition of a new idea sometimes revolutionizes the little republic of the mind, and gives a new cast to all our thoughts. Hence the division of labor in science is not productive of the same advantage as in physics, but we should always extend the range of our studies in proportion to the enlargement of mind and the facilities for acquiring information, no matter what may be our profession or occupation hereafter.

If the time or means of the student, however, should constrain him to limit his course of studies whilst here, then it would be certainly proper that he should make a selection of those subjects which may have the closest and most intimate connection with the profession which he may follow, or the station in life which he may expect to fill. His own judgment will readily inform him of the selection which should be made, taking care always, according to the requisition of our statutes, to enter a sufficient number of classes to afford him full occupation. Every young man should task himself fully, lest want of employment, while here, should induce idle habits. For the peculiar advantages of each course of studies, I must refer you to the introductory lectures of the Professors, all of which will be open to your attendance, and will give you much more complete information on each department than I could possibly impart, even if not confined within the limits of an opening address.

The degree in law is of a professional character, and consequently we can generally expect that those alone will aim at its attainment who propose to follow the profession of the law. This profession, in all countries, but particularly in our own, is one of elevated standing, of superior learning, and, I may add, of great moral and political power. The habits of his profession ensure the lawyer, in every country, an honorable station among statesmen, and the foremost rank in deliberative councils. Law, said Dr. Johnson, is the science in which the greatest powers of the understanding are applied to the greatest number of facts. The common law of England, with the great modifications which it has undergone in our own country from the operations of our government and republican institutions, will form the principal text to which your attention will be directed in this department. “This law,” it has well been said, “is not the product of the wisdom of some one man, or society of men, in any one age; but of the wisdom, counsel, experience and observation of many ages of wise and observing men.” It is, emphatically, “the gathered wisdom of a thousand years.” And you, gentlemen, who propose to accomplish its study, must devote yourselves to it with unremitting ardor. You must not study the mere statutes and prescriptions of the law alone, but you must examine, with the eye of philosophy, the whole foundation on which the great superstructure is raised. It is necessary that you should examine the principles of the science of government; that you should look into the wants of our nature; examine the beautiful structure of the human mind, with all our feelings, principles, propensities and instincts. In fine, you must, in the language of one who has risen to the highest eminence in his profession, “Drink in the lessons and spirit of philosophy. Not that philosophy described by Milton, as

but that philosophy which is conversant with men’s business and interests, with the policy and welfare of nations; that philosophy which dwells not in vain imaginations and platonic dreams, but which stoops to life, and enlarges the boundaries of human happiness; that philosophy which sits by us in the closet, cheers us by the fireside, walks with us in the fields and highways, kneels with us at the altars, and lights up the enduring flame of patriotism.”

Deep and extensive knowledge is, above all things, requisite for the success of him who aspires to an elevated stand in this honorable profession. Well, then, have the officers of our institution ordained that the degree in this department shall not be conferred for a mere knowledge of laws. The candidate for this honor must have studied, beside the municipal law, the subject of government and national law, together with some exposition of our own system of government, all of which subjects are taught by the Law Professor. He must, moreover, have obtained the Baccalaureate honor in this, or some other institution, or if not, must have attended a full course of lectures in some one of the scientific departments of this institution. With the collateral information thus obtained, the graduate in law will go forth, not a mere lawyer, equipped only with the forms and technicalities of his profession, but with a mind deeply imbued by the principles of science and the spirit of philosophy. With a mind thus furnished, every hour of study in his profession becomes efficient, and moves him forward with ease and rapidity in his career, enabling him to encounter all the difficulties and obstacles which beset him on his way.² For a full exposition of the courses of study in the law department, I must refer you to the introductory lecture of the Professor, which will impart all the information which you may desire on this subject.

² One of the great advantages of establishing a Law School in a college is, that the student, whilst pursuing his professional studies, is enabled at the same time to give a portion of his attention to other subjects of a kindred character, and thus ultimately to enter his profession with the great and inestimable advantage of a proper elementary education, which must ever give him a decided superiority to him who is educated in the law alone.

Before speaking of our Master’s degree, I will say a few words on the school of civil engineering, lately established by the visitors in this institution. The United States of North America present at this moment one of the most sublime spectacles which has ever been offered to the eye of the philanthropist—the spectacle of a people few in numbers at first—rapidly increasing and spreading over one of the fairest quarters of the world; building up institutions, the admiration of the age in which we live; and rearing up, by the mere development of internal resources, a fabric of greatness and empire, unparalleled in the annals of history. The original heterogeneous interests of the different portions of our Union, are made to harmonize more and more, from day to day, by the magic influence of internal improvement. The canal and the rail road, the steam boat and steam car, constitute in fact the great and characteristic powers of the age in which we live. Throughout our extensive territory, covering so many degrees of latitude and longitude, embracing every climate and yielding every production, nature calls on art to aid her. Although we have already executed works of improvement within the limits of our system of republics, which rival in splendor and grandeur the boasted monuments of Egypt, Rome or China, and far surpass them in usefulness and profit, yet the work is still in a state of incipiency—a boundless field is opening to the enterprise of individuals and states. In the peculiar phraseology of a favorite science, there at this moment exists a vast demand for internal improvements. From one side to the other of our immense territory, turnpikes, rail roads and canals are constructing every where; the engineer is abroad in the land, almost annihilating by his skill, time and space. Yet his labors are not commensurate with the demand. There is, at this time, scarcely any profession in our country which rewards its successful follower more highly and certainly than that of civil engineering. The visitors of our institution have therefore very wisely attached a school of this description to our college, placing it under the direction of an individual who combines, most happily, profound scientific knowledge with great practical skill—an individual who for years zealously and successfully pursued the business of engineering in another country, until called off by other employments. I would therefore warmly recommend this school to all who are anxious to follow this profession, as soon as their attainments will enable them to join it with advantage.

In the supplemental laws, published since the last session of our board of visitors, you will find a detail of the studies requisite for the attainment of the degree of A.M. This is the highest honor in our institution which can be won by the student during his collegiate career. It will require generally two years additional study after obtaining the Bachelor’s degree; few of you, consequently, can be expected to aim at its attainment. Those however who shall have an opportunity, will find themselves amply rewarded by the advantages which may be derived from it. In this course, all the studies which are pursued in the first portion of your collegiate career, are extended and amplified. In the first portion of your studies, you master the great principles of science; in the latter, you enter more fully into your subjects, and begin the great work of applying your principles to facts. He who shall have the good fortune to obtain this degree, will have amassed a fund of knowledge which will enable him to grace and ornament any of the walks of life into which he may choose to enter. His mind will have been trained in the most important of all arts—that of acquiring knowledge and generalizing facts. He will almost necessarily have attained the great desideratum of literary men—love of study and the power of discrimination. So that in his case there will be afterwards no waste of labor and time, no useless expenditure of frivolous and unprofitable thought. To a mind thus trained, all nature furnishes lessons of instruction and philosophy, from her least to her greatest operations—from the falling of an apple, to the complex movements of worlds innumerable, all is harmony, concord and wisdom. Such a mind can draw the lesson of philosophy alike from the prattle of the innocent babe, or the deeply studied conversation of a Bacon or a Newton.

I have thus, gentlemen, endeavored briefly to present an exposé of the several departments of study in our college.³ I have given you the bill of fare, and we hope that you may make your selections with judgment, and afterwards prosecute your studies with energy and perseverance. By the late arrangement of the visitors in regard to the Master’s degree, our scientific courses are as extensive as at any other institution in this country, and one of them, the moral and political, is believed to be more extensive than in any other institution known to us. And this will lead me to say a few words on the policy of our board of visitors in establishing so extensive a course.

³ I have dwelt in this address very little on the subjects requisite for the degree of A.B. because of their well known character and importance.

Many persons are under the impression that moral and political studies need not be prosecuted at college—that the physical and mathematical sciences are the most important subjects, and should be studied to their exclusion. This opinion seems to be based upon the popular notion that moral and political subjects may be comprehended without the assistance of a teacher, and may consequently be prosecuted to most advantage when the student has finished his collegiate career and entered upon the great theatre of life. This impression is certainly erroneous and highly pernicious; and in justification of the system which we have adopted in our own college I must employ a few moments in attempting to explain its thorough fallacy. In the first place then, I have no hesitation in affirming that moral and political studies are the most important of all. These subjects are of universal application; they concern every member of the human family. We cannot escape their influence or connection, no matter what may be our destiny through life. The great high-ways, and the little by-ways, of our existence, if I may be allowed the expression, alike pass through the regions of morals and politics. From the village gossip who tells the tale of her neighbor’s equivocal conduct, and significantly hints that it was no better than it ought to be, to him who watches the movements of empires and penetrates the secret designs of statesmen, all are concerned in these universally applicable subjects. It is a matter of very little practical consequence to us what may be the opinions of our neighbor in mathematics or physics—whether he believes two sides of a triangle may be less than the third, or that the earth is the centre of our system, and that the sun, moon and stars revolve around it. We may laugh at him once or twice during the year for his ignorance, but his opinions wound none of our sensibilities and run counter to none of our interests. But the moment our opinions clash upon the subjects of morals and politics, that moment the case is altered. The opinions of my neighbor are no longer indifferent to me. If he has notions of morality under which he is constantly condemning my course of life, or a system of politics entirely at war with mine, then does the collision become indeed a serious one. It was a matter of very little moment to Castile that King Alphonso should believe the solar system miserably defective in its arrangements, and that he could suggest some most important improvements in it. But the case was seriously altered when he believed that he was responsible to God alone, and not to his subjects, in the administration of his government, and that his wisdom was sufficient to make and unmake the laws of his country. The fact is, morals, politics and religion are the great concerns of human nature. They spring from relations of universal existence throughout the human family—relations from whose influence none of us can possibly escape.

But it is said that even if these subjects be of such universal application, they may easily be acquired in after life when we have appeared as actors upon the great stage of the world. Then it is affirmed we may begin the study of morals and politics to most advantage, when theory and experiment may go hand in hand—when we may correct the visions of an overwrought imagination by the plain and palpable realities that exist around us. This opinion is certainly erroneous. The period of youth is the proper time to commence these studies. You have come up here, gentlemen, with minds and feelings not yet hackneyed in the beaten walks of a business life. You are now enlisted in no mere party warfare. Your hopes have not yet been damped by disappointment, nor your energies been deadened by adversity. All your affections and sympathies are warm and generous. Your hearts and heads have not been besieged by cold, inveterate selfishness, or perverted by unreasonable and noxious prejudices. You have as yet set up no false idols in the temple of the mind. Addicti jurare in verba nullius magistri. You stand committed to the cause of truth and justice alone. Under such circumstances you are in the best possible condition for the reception of pure and virtuous principles. Now is the time to imbibe the great lessons of morality and to study the general and elementary doctrines of government and politics. A little time hence you will have entered upon the bustling, busy theatre of the world. Your private interests and party prejudices will then rise up at every step to cloud your minds and pervert your judgments. Your moral and political researches will no longer be conducted with a single eye to truth and justice, but the demon of party will too probably exert an irresistible control over the little republics of the mind and heart.

There are no sciences which require the same full, free, and generous exercise of the feelings of the heart, as morals and politics. In the fixed sciences, it is a matter of very little concern to us what the character of the fact may be; all we aim at is mere truth. We do not care whether a triangle should have two, three, four, or five right angles; all we are in search of, is the mere fact, the real truth. Whilst we are conducting the inquiry, all the passions and active feelings of our nature are laid to rest, and the intellect is left alone and unbiassed to move directly to its results. But when we have reached the region of morals and politics, then do we find that all the passions, propensities and principles of our nature are brought into full play. The whole human being, as he has been made by our Creator, becomes then the important subject of our researches, and we can never arrive at just conclusions without a due consideration of all the forces which are in action. And this is one reason why these are really the most difficult of all sciences.

Hence, gentlemen, the wisest and greatest statesmen have been generally found among those who have directed their minds at an early period of their lives to morals and politics. Such men become deeply imbued with the great principles of those sciences in their youth. They are early taught to worship at the shrine of truth, while the ardent feeling of devoted patriotism banishes from the mind all narrow considerations of selfishness and shields it against the intolerable prejudices of party spirit. A mind thus early and correctly impressed with the great elementary principles of morals and politics, will ever be well balanced and considerate in its conclusions, and rarely surprised into hasty and rash decisions. In looking to the speeches which emanate from our deliberative bodies, I have often been struck with the exemplification which they afford of the truth of this remark.

There is nothing in which our speakers are more defective than in comprehension of view. They seem too often to seize but one single point of a subject; and although they may move with a giant’s strength in that direction, yet the mind remains unsatisfied. One of the principal causes of this defect, is the want of a proper moral and political education in early life. They have not received elementary instruction sufficient to give the proper impulse to the mind. They are capable of taking but one view of a subject, and that is dictated by local and partial interests, or by too intense a consideration of but one set of circumstances. Such politicians, however brilliant they may be in mere detail, are incapable of taking the length, breadth and depth of a great subject; they lack scope and comprehension of idea, and cannot dive down to the bottom—where truth is always found. Such men may be efficient instruments when directed by the genius and the skill of the great politician, but are totally incapable of taking the lead in difficult times, because incapable of forming the conception of great plans and the means by which they are to be executed.⁴

⁴ Such was Lord Grenville, whose character was so ably sketched by Burke; and such a man was the famous Neckar of France, whose heart was good and whose mind was active, but he was unfortunately deficient in general information and in comprehension of idea. He had been a banker at Geneva and would have managed a great nation like a banking house. It is a curious fact and serves to show the penetration of Dr. A. Smith’s mind, that he always said Neckar would soon fall, though enjoying at first the greatest and most enviable popularity; and he made the prediction altogether from the character of his mind which he had thoroughly studied during a short period of association with him. Turgot may perhaps be given as an example of a really wise and great statesman, a man of an excellent elementary education, and of enlarged and liberal views. He has rarely had an equal in modern times, and may be considered in this respect as well contrasting with the two first mentioned. I could easily adduce similar striking illustrations in our own country, and especially among living statesmen, but it is unnecessary and might be improper.

Of all the states in the Union, I may perhaps affirm without fear of contradiction, that Virginia has produced the greatest number of able and profound statesmen and of eloquent and efficient debaters. And to this fact, no doubt, has been owing principally that preponderating influence which she has so happily exerted in by-gone times upon the destiny of our confederacy. One great reason of the superiority of our orators and statesmen, is the fact that the mind of the Virginia youth has always been easily directed to the study of politics and morals. Our whole state hitherto has been one great political nursery, and I hesitate not to affirm that our old and venerable Alma Mater has had a powerful agency in the achievement of this result. The law, political and moral departments of this college have always been upon a high and respectable footing, and moral and political subjects have here always received a due consideration. Hence it is that old William and Mary can boast of so astonishing a number of distinguished statesmen in proportion to her alumni—statesmen with whom she might boldly challenge any other institution in this country, or even in the world—statesmen who, whilst they have woven the chaplet of her glory and engraven her name on the page of our country’s history, have illustrated by their eloquence and statesmanship the national legislature and federal government, and carried their pervasive influence into the councils of every state in our wide-spread confederacy. So that we may well say of our Alma Mater in view of these brilliant results, in the language of one of the Trojan wanderers,

Quis jam locus, Quæ regio in terris nostri non plena laboris?

It is surely then a subject for congratulation, rather than censure, that the governors of our institution, whilst they have enlarged the course of studies in every department, have been particularly attentive to morals and politics, and have prescribed such a course on those subjects as will, I am in hopes, insure advantages never before enjoyed in this institution. The great mass of high intellect in all countries, must be employed in morals and politics, and no mind can have received its greatest enlargement, or be fully prepared for a faithful discharge of the great duties of life, without their study. This applies forcibly to our own country, but particularly to the slave-holding portion of it, and will lead me to make a few remarks on the inducements which should urge you, gentlemen, as Americans and Virginians, to make, whilst here, the greatest possible proficiency in all your studies.

The establishment of our federative system of government, has justly been considered as the commencement of a new era in the history of nations. It is emphatically the great experiment of the age in which we live; to it the eyes of all are directed, and upon its issue must the cause of liberty and republican institutions throughout the world, mainly depend. The great and distinguishing characteristic of our system is, that the sovereignty resides in the people—that they constitute the source of all political power, and the only check on the misconduct of rulers. Where such a system prevails, all must depend on the general intelligence and virtue of the mass. If the mainspring of our system is the sovereignty of the people, then does it follow that the people must be enlightened. In the language of the great author of the Declaration of Independence, “power is always stealing from the many to the few;” and nothing can prevent the gradual decay and final loss of our liberties, but unceasing vigilance on the part of the people. We must ever be upon the watch-tower, ready to give the alarm, not only when the citadel of our liberties is openly and violently attacked by the arm of bold and ruthless usurpation, but when we behold those secret and artful approaches to despotism, which gradually undermine the fabric of our institutions, and give no signs of coming mischief, until we are involved in irremediable ruin.

Every man throughout our wide-spread republic, must take his share of responsibility in the result of the great experiment which is now going forward. There is no privileged class here to rule by the right divine. Far different is our case from the despotisms of the ancient world, or the monarchies of the modern. Sovereignty resided formerly at Babylon, at Thebes, at Persepolis. Now we find it at Paris, Vienna, and London. But in our own more happy country, it pervades our territory like the very air we breathe, reaching the farthest, and binding the most distant together. Politics here is the business of every man, no matter how humble his condition may be. We have it in commission to instruct the world in the science and the art of government. We must, if we succeed, exhibit the extraordinary phenomenon of a well-educated, virtuous, intelligent people, “free without licentiousness—religious without a religious establishment—obedient to laws administered by citizen magistrates, without the show of official lictors or fasces, and without the aid of mercenary legions or janissaries.” As a nation, a glorious charge has devolved upon us. Our condition prescribes to each one the salutary law of Solon, that there shall be no neutrals here. Each one must play his part in the great political drama; and you, gentlemen, who have assembled here for the purpose of receiving a liberal education, must recollect that fortunate circumstances have placed you among the privileged few. Every motive of honor, of patriotism, and a laudable ambition, should stimulate to the utmost exertion. Neglect not the precious opportunity which is afforded you. The five talents are entrusted to your care; beware lest you bury or throw them away. This is the most important era of your life—the very seedtime of your existence; success now may insure you success hereafter.

The age in which you live, and the circumstances by which you are surrounded, as inhabitants of the south, create a special demand for your utmost exertions. The times are indeed interesting and momentous. We seem to have arrived at one of those great periods in the history of man, when fearful and important changes are threatened in the destiny of the world. In the prophetic language of the boldest of philosophers, we may perhaps with truth affirm, that “the crisis of revolutions is at hand.” Never were the opinions of the world more unsettled and more clashing than at this moment. Monarchists and democrats, conservatives and radicals, whigs and tories, agrarians and aristocrats, slaveholders and non-slaveholders, are all now in the great field of contention. What will be the result of this awful conflict, none can say. England’s most eloquent and learned divine tells us, that there now sits an unnatural scowl on the aspect of the population—a resolved sturdiness in their attitude and gait; and whether we look to the profane recklessness of their habits, or to the deep and settled hatred which rankles in their hearts, we cannot but read in these moral characteristics the omens of some great and impending overthrow. The whole continent of Europe is agitated by the conflicts of opinions and principles; and we are far, very far from the calm and quiet condition which betokens the undoubted safety of the republic.

When the times are so interesting and exciting; when clouds are lowering above the political horizon, portending fearful storms; when the lapse of time is every day disclosing great and startling events, can you, gentlemen, fold your arms in inglorious indolence—throw away the opportunity that is now offered you—fail to prepare for the important part which should devolve on you, and add yourselves to the great mass of the unaspiring, illiterate citizens, who have been in all ages and all countries the blind instruments with which despotism has achieved its results. I hope—yes, I know, that at this moment a worthier and a nobler impulse actuates every one of you. And you must recollect too, that you are generally members of that portion of our confederacy whose domestic institutions have been called in question by the meddling spirit of the age. You are slaveholders, or the sons of slaveholders, and as such your duties and responsibilities are greatly increased. He who governs and directs the action of others, needs especially intelligence and virtue. Prepare yourselves, then, for this important relation, so as to be able to discharge its duties with humanity and wisdom. Then can we exhibit to the world the most convincing evidence of the justice of our cause; then may we stand up with boldness and confidence against the frowns of the world; and if the demon of fanaticism shall at last array its thousands of deluded victims against us, threatening to involve us in universal ruin by the overthrow of our institutions, we may rally under our principles undivided and undismayed—firm and resolute as the Spartan band at Thermopylæ; and such a spirit, guided by that intelligence which should be possessed by slaveholders, will ever insure the triumph of our cause. I will not dwell longer at present on the high motives which should urge you to exertion; but let me call your attention to some of the evils and temptations which will beset you in your collegiate career, and against which I must now warn you to be on your guard.

There are many persons opposed to a college education, because it is supposed to subject the youth to strong temptations, and in the end, to lead many into dissipation and vice, who might otherwise pass through life moral and correct citizens. I will not say that temptation does not exist here—that evil may not arise to some from their connection with college. But I do affirm unhesitatingly, that there is no better preparation for the great world into which you are soon to enter, than a proper discharge of your duties in the little one with which you are now about to connect yourselves. The individual who passes through a college life with honor and credit to himself, resisting the little temptations which beset him, has already been tried and tested, and his virtue is of a much more stern and genuine character than that of him who has never gone forth from the paternal roof, and consequently never been disciplined in the school of his equals. You may rest assured that every one of you who shall pass safely through this ordeal, will be a better and a more useful citizen, because of the very temptations which you may have triumphantly resisted whilst here.

Let me then call on each of you to guard against all excesses which may lure you from the path of your duties—remember that one transgression tempts to another, until the individual becomes hardened and reckless in his course. Beware of the very beginnings of vice; a little indulgence at first, believed even to be harmless, may lead to melancholy ruin in the end. Never forget the great purpose for which your parents have sent you here, and never permit, for a moment, any circumstances to divert you from it. Be firm, be determined in your course; listen not to the Syren voice of pleasure and dissipation, but acquire at once that manliness and resolution which will enable you to say NO! when pressed to do wrong; and you may rest assured that you will meet with your recompense not only in after life, but here, even whilst you are students. I may claim to have some experience in this matter. I have been myself a student in this college, and for some years past have been connected with it, and have been no inattentive observer of passing events; and it gives me pleasure to assure you, that the economical, moral, and diligent students have always been the most popular, and the most highly esteemed by their companions. Are there any honors to be conferred?—those are the gentlemen to receive them. Are there any distinguished duties to perform?—those are the individuals invited to discharge them. It is their names which are sounded with praise by their fellow-students, wherever they go in society; and their reputation survives and is cherished, while those who have spent their time in idleness and dissipation are forgotten; or if remembered, remembered to be condemned.

It too often happens that the youth at college imagines that he has rights and interests to defend adverse to those of his instructers. This false impression is pregnant with the most mischievous consequences. It arrays the student against the professor, introduces disorder and idleness into the institution, and in the end becomes, perhaps, the cause of the student’s dismission, and consequently of irreparable injury to himself, and of pain and mortification to his friends and relatives. Now, gentlemen, I beg you to reflect a moment on the absurdity of this opinion. Where can there be any hostility of interest between your instructers and yourselves? Is it not our interest, as well as yours, that you should be diligent in your studies, correct and moral in your deportment? Does not the student who makes the greatest proficiency in his studies, earn the greatest honor for himself, while he reflects the greatest renown upon the college? and I can assure you that we feel proud indeed when we behold those who have received our instruction gracing and adorning the spheres in which they move. Where, then, is the hostility of interest? There is none; the belief is vain and idle. The right for which the student is induced to contend, is often nothing more than the right to do wrong, the exercise of which always proves more destructive to himself than detrimental to us. If the student would only take a correct view of this subject, there would be nothing more endearing and harmonious than the relation of professor and pupil. The complexion of his whole future life may depend upon his acquirements and conduct whilst here. It is our duty, and it is his interest, that we should guard and restrain when he would run into excess. It has been my fortune to meet with several in the world who have spent their collegiate lives in reckless dissipation and idleness. I have beheld them while reaping the bitter fruits of their conduct; have heard their confessions of deep regret, and seen them shed the tear of heartfelt repentance; and I have not met with one who did not wish that he could run his race again, that he might avoid the errors of his youth.

But, independently of the motives of interest which should operate on you, there are others, of an elevated character, which must ever stimulate the generous and the virtuous. The friends and relatives, who dwell around the enchanted spot of your nativity and boyhood, and seem associated with your very existence, are looking with interest to your career whilst here, and calling upon you for exertion during this eventful period of your lives. But, most of all, should the anxious, the painful solicitude, which is felt for your welfare by those beloved beings who have guided you along the path of infancy urge you onwards. Never forget the joy with which you may recompense your kind indulgent parents by your assiduity and success while here; nor the sorrow and mortification which you may occasion by your idleness and misconduct. You have, indeed, the happiness of the authors of your existence in your hands, and a generous heart will recoil from the infliction of sorrow. And let me urge you to keep up a frequent and unreserved correspondence with your families; reveal, frankly, all that occurs concerning yourselves, and never neglect the mandate of a father, or spurn the advice of a mother. Perhaps I could not give you better counsel, than to beg you never to forget the example of Marmontel. When you are about to perform a questionable act, let each one pause, and ask himself, “what would my mother say if she knew what I am about to do?”⁵

⁵ I know of no one thing more essential to the prosperity of any college than the co-operation of the parent or guardian with the discipline of the institution. Such co-operation furnishes a sanction to the laws which can be derived from no other quarter. Hence my anxiety that a constant and frequent correspondence, of the most unreserved character, should be carried on between the students and their families. A timely letter from a father or a mother, has saved many a young man from ruin, by making him pause in his career and reflect on his conduct.

After having made these general remarks, I must call your attention, particularly, to several vices which the Faculty will be bound to take every means within their power effectually to suppress. These are, extravagance, drinking and gambling. The visitors at the last meeting of the convocation were so much impressed with the belief of the great injury which the extravagant habits of southern students have done to the cause of literature, that they passed a regulation requiring the Faculty to obtain, if possible, from each merchant in town, a pledge, that he would, in no case, extend credit to the students unless upon application from the parent or guardian, made known through the President, or some one of the Faculty. I am most happy to say, that every merchant in town has given the pledge with a willingness and promptness which reflect the greatest credit on the mercantile portion of our city, and mark, conclusively a generous disregard of all selfish considerations, when arrayed against the permanent interests of the town and college. In justice to the merchants, I must state to you, that they have subscribed to this pledge with no motives of hostility towards any of your number, or from any dissatisfaction at the conduct of any one of you. Their act has been the result of the most praiseworthy motives.⁶

⁶ The resolution of the visitors is as follows:

Resolved, That it is highly expedient that the practice of students buying on credit should be stopped: and therefore, that the President be directed to endeavor to obtain the consent and a formal pledge from the merchants and dealers of Williamsburg, not to furnish commodities in any case to a student, on credit, unless by the written authority of the parent or guardian, communicated through the Faculty: And it is made the duty of the President, should his application be rendered unsuccessful by the refusal to give such pledge, or a violation of it, if given, to correspond with the guardians or parents of the young men at college, advising them to give explicit instructions to their wards or sons not to deal, either in cash or on credit, with any such merchant or dealer.

You may suppose, gentlemen, that the conduct of the Visitors and Faculty in this matter has been unwarrantable, and unnecessarily strict; but a moment’s reflection will convince you of your error. This regulation has been made after the maturest consideration of the subject, and past experience not only justified, but absolutely demanded such a step. I know of no one thing more loudly and more universally complained of in all our southern institutions than the unreasonable and absurd extravagance of many of the students who attend them. This evil, in some cases, has been enormous, and I have known many parents to be so much discontented with the conduct of their sons in this respect, as to cut short their education, and to become so disgusted with a college life as to resolve never more to subject a son to the same temptation. Now, the principal cause of this lavish expenditure of money, has been the facility with which credit has been obtained. The facility of obtaining credit has ruined even many a cautious man, by the temptations which have been thrown in his way, and the consequent inducements which have been offered to him to run into debt. During the ardent, and too often thoughtless period of youth, experience has shown that this privilege becomes too dangerous to be trusted to the individual. He adds expense to expense—proceeds from one extravagance to another, until he becomes perfectly reckless in his career. Prices, of course, will be enhanced in proportion to the risk which the creditor runs. Those who are honest are made to pay for those who are not. And thus many a student, before he has had a pausing season for reflection, finds an aggregate of items arrayed against him, which draws down the displeasure of his parent, or materially embarrasses his own little property.

The resolution of the Board of Visitors is intended, if possible, to eradicate this evil. The student’s expenses now must be known to his parents and guardians, or they must give their express consent to his obtaining credit. If he shall be still extravagant, the responsibility must rest with him and his parents; we shall have done our duty. But we hope, most sincerely, that you will keep in view both your own and the college interests in this particular. Strict economy on the part of the student at college is a great virtue. Let each one remember that the money which he spends here has not been wrung from his brow, but from that of another. Liberality with that which is mine may be generous, but with that which is another’s, is often selfish and culpable. I beg you to reflect upon the consequences of extravagance while here: it leads the student into idle, dissipated habits, and defeats the great purposes for which he has entered our institution; it blights his future prospects, and draws down upon him the displeasure of his parents. But, above all, gentlemen, let me bid you remember that which must always move the generous heart of youth. Your extravagance here extends beyond yourselves; it may reach your innocent brothers and sisters—your parents may become disgusted, or their resources may be contracted, and a Bacon or a Newton may be made to follow the plough, because the thoughtless, prodigal son has gone before them. And thus may it be affirmed, but too truly, that every increase of collegiate expense necessarily inflicts an injury on the great cause of science and education. There may be those whose ample resources may place them far above the necessity of strict economy. To them I would say, that it is selfish, or thoughtless at least, to indulge, before those with whom they must associate, in a style of expenditure which they cannot imitate without ruin to themselves and their parents. Liberality, under such circumstances, ceases to be generous—it becomes a species of selfish ostentation, which reflects no credit on him who displays it, and does great injury to his associates. To every one of you, then, let me recommend rigid economy, and you may be sure of reaping your reward in more steady habits, increased diligence, and a more perfect preparation for the great theatre of life on which you expect to enter.

Upon the subject of drinking and gambling, I shall say but a few words; the melancholy consequences of these vices are known to all—how the one stupifies and benumbs the faculties of the mind and the body, while the other reaches the citadel of the heart, and generates a train of the blackest vices which human nature is heir to. Let me beg you to beware of these vices, which have plunged so many families into distress and mourning, and have generated so large a portion of the misery of the world. Take care how far you indulge, lest your ruin come before you are aware of it. Our laws are severe against these vices, and experience has convinced us that we must rigidly execute them. But I hope the propriety of your course here will furnish us with no occasion for the enforcement of our laws.

In conclusion upon this subject, I will say to you, that if the students of William and Mary shall bind themselves, during their residence at college, not to spend more than a certain amount of pocket money, which should be moderate—not to taste ardent spirits any where, nor wine, or any other intoxicating liquor, except in private families, and not to touch a card, or play for money at any game of hazard, and shall strictly conform to these resolutions—then you will indeed have formed a temperance society, of which you may be justly proud—one that will do the greatest honor to yourselves, establish the reputation of our college, and set an example to the world whose benefit may extend throughout our country; and the students of ’36 and ’37 will long be remembered in the College of William and Mary. How far superior will such a reputation as this be to that short-lived notoriety purchased by extravagance and dissipation, and terminating too often in mortification and ruin. The case of the student is a very peculiar one; if he can pass through his short career at college, with all due diligence and propriety, he will have achieved for himself a great result. Full success in his studies during the few brief months that he remains within our college walls, may accomplish more for his future standing, and future happiness, than many years of hard toil and labor in after life, without the advantages which he might have reaped whilst here. It is for this reason that a society of the kind which I have just recommended must succeed here, if it can succeed any where. For you have only to adhere to your temperance vow for a few months, and the benefit is attained. But whether you shall form such a society as this or not, let every one of you endeavor, whilst here, to be economical, temperate and diligent; and such as persevere in this course, whatever may be said to the contrary, are most respected and honored by their fellow-students, make the greatest proficiency in their studies, and turn out at last the most valuable and distinguished members of society.

There are many other subjects to which I would wish to call your attention; but the limits which I have prescribed myself in this address, compel me to be brief. Our laws forbid your entry into taverns, and likewise all drinking parties and suppers among yourselves. Experience has shown these things to be ruinous to the students, and highly pernicious to the interests of the institution. You are to respect the college premises—not to deface or injure the college buildings. Each one of you is to be responsible for the injury done to his room, and to pay for all the injury which he may do to the buildings—always bearing in recollection that you come here not to exercise your knives, but your heads.

I would advise you particularly to be punctual in your attendance on divine service every Sabbath, and to be respectful and attentive whilst in church. He who disturbs a religious congregation, not only manifests a censurable disregard of religion, but exhibits an unfeeling heart, and is guilty of conduct which is not gentlemanly. An enlightened pulpit is not only the source of religious instruction, but of morality and civilization; and a truly pious clergyman merits the respect, the love, and gratitude of the world, for he is one of the greatest of its benefactors. Be always respectful in your conversation towards religion, not only from regard to the feelings of others, but for the sake of your own reputation. Avowed infidelity is now considered by the enlightened portion of the world as a reflection both on the head and heart. The Atheist has long since been overthrown by the light of nature, and the Deist by that of revelation. The Infidel and the Christian have fought the battle, and the latter has won the victory. The Humes and Voltaires have been vanquished from the field, and the Bacons, Lockes, and Newtons have given in their adhesion. The argument is closed forever, and he who now obtrudes on the social circle his infidel notions, manifests the arrogance of a literary coxcomb, or that want of refinement which distinguishes the polished gentleman. If there be among you any ministers of the gospel, or professors of religion studying with a view to the ministry, to them we cheerfully open our lecture-rooms, free of all expense, and shall consider ourselves as highly recompensed, if the instruction which we may communicate shall be made instrumental in promoting virtue and true religion.

A copy of our laws will be placed in the hands of each one of you: read and respect them. On the part of the Faculty, with which I have the honor to be connected, I have to state that the discipline of the college must and will be enforced. The oath of office, the reputation of the institution, your own welfare and success, all demand vigilance and promptness on our part. From your instructers you will always receive kind, affectionate, and parental treatment, and you may well believe it will ever be painful to us to animadvert on your conduct, or to inflict the penalties required by our laws. Nothing but a high sense of duty could lead us to proceed against those for whom the bare relation which subsists between us must generate feelings of the kindest character. The professor, who is kind to the student, and attentive to his interests, while he nerves himself upon all occasions to a discharge of his duty, is always his greatest benefactor; and the student will acknowledge it as soon as he has left the college walls.

Be diligent, be perseveringly attentive to your studies, and you have the antidote against all the evils and temptations to which college life is incident. And let me advise you, particularly in your evening rambles and social gatherings, to direct your thoughts and conversation to subjects of importance, particularly to the subject of your lectures. Enlightened, intelligent conversation is a source of great mental improvement; it brings mind into conflict with mind, sharpens the faculties, gives increased relish for study, and greatly enlarges the stock of information by an interchange of ideas. It is for this reason that a few intelligent men in a county will be found quickly to raise its intellectual level; and a few inquiring, successful students in a college, will in like manner quickly inspire the whole number with ardor and devotion to study. Hence the fact which the statistics of all long established colleges will prove, that great men are not sent out from their walls one by one, from year to year, in regular succession, but they come at longer intervals, and always in little platoons. Thus are we convinced of the interesting fact, that genius is rarely solitary—it delights in company. The example and conversation of the successful student arouse and stimulate his companions, and lead them along with himself to distinction.⁷

⁷ Our own college furnishes most conclusive proof of the truth of these remarks. I will give only two examples, and comment will be unnecessary. John Randolph, L. W. Tazewell, Robert B. Taylor, and John Thompson, author of the letters signed “Curtius,” were the heavy product of one season; while P. P. Barbour, B. W. Leigh, Chapman Johnson, Henry St. George Tucker, (President of Court of Appeals,) Robert Stanard, J. C. Cabell, and Lewis Harvie were that of another; and during the whole time William and Mary College rarely numbered more than sixty students. I have been informed, on inquiry into this subject, that the northern colleges, especially Yale and Harvard, furnish similar instances. It is said, for example, that the class in which Harrison Gray Otis graduated at Cambridge, yielded a most extraordinary number of great men in proportion to its size.

Let me advise you by all means to discard at once that absurd notion, which has made an illiterate man of many a vain student—that genius delights not in labor. Very different is the fact; love of study, and unshaken perseverance in the pursuit of its object, is the true characteristic of genius every where. The men of genius who have built up the great systems of philosophy, and laid the foundation of civilization, have all been laborious students, as well as deep thinkers; they have been the true working-men of the world. Such men were Socrates and Plato, Demosthenes and Cicero, of antiquity, and such have been the Luthers, the Bacons, and Newtons of modern times, and such all men are compelled to be, who possess a laudable ambition for distinction and usefulness. In the language of Doctor Johnson we may assert, that “all the performances of human art, at which we look with praise and wonder, are the results of perseverance. It is by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united by canals. It is therefore of the utmost importance that those who have any intention of deviating from the beaten track of life, and of acquiring a reputation superior to names hourly swept away by time among the refuse of fame, should add to their reason and their spirit the power of persisting in their purposes, acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter, and the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks.”

There is even a great deal of labor requisite on your part to place yourselves on the intellectual level of the age in which you live. In the beautiful language of one of the ablest writers of our country, we can truly say, “it is not with us as it was in former times, when science belonged to solitary studies, or philosophical ease, or antiquarian curiosity. It has escaped from the closet, and become an habitual accompaniment of every department of life. It accosts us equally in the highways and byways. We meet it in the idle walk, and in the crowded street; in the very atmosphere we breathe, in the earth we tread on, in the ocean we traverse, and on the rivers we navigate. It visits the workshop of the mechanic, the laboratory of the apothecary, the chambers of the engraver, the vats of the dyer, the noisy haunts of the spinning-jenny, and the noiseless retreats of the bleachery. It crosses our paths in the long-winding canal, in the busy rail-road, in the flying steamboat, and in the gay and gallant merchant-ship, wafting its products to every clime. It enters our houses, sits down at our firesides, lights up our conversations and revels at our banquets. One is almost tempted to say that the whole world seems in a blaze, and that the professors in science, and the dealers in the arts surround us by their magical circles, and compel us to remain captives in the spells of their witchcraft.” And can you consent to waste your time in inglorious repose and idleness, while the whole world is blazing with philosophy? No, gentlemen, you cannot. Arouse all your energies, waken up your faculties, enter on your career like the combatant at the Olympic Games, resolved to win the prize, and in advance I tell you, the victory will be yours.

You are here placed amid scenes which may well excite a noble and a laudable ambition, and make the bosom of the patriot throb. You tread on classic soil—a soil connected with associations which carry the imagination back to bygone days, and fix it on the noble achievements of philanthropists, heroes, statesmen, and sages. There is every thing here to excite generous aspirations. On the one side of you is the almost hallowed island where our hardy forefathers made the first lodgment of civilization on our portion of the western world, in face of the wilderness and the savage foe. On another side, not far removed, is the spot where the father of his country wound up the drama of the revolution, by that great and signal victory which gave us peace, and ensured us so important a station among the nations of the earth. You will assemble daily in these classic halls, which have witnessed the collegiate labors of some of the greatest and noblest men who have ever lived in the tide of time; men who have raised up their country’s glory, and gone down to their graves covered with the laurels which their genius and their virtues won. Fronting this building, at the other end of our street, and in full view, stand the interesting remains of the Old Capitol of Virginia, which every true Virginian must gaze on with mingled emotions of pride and pleasure—a building in which the chivalry and talent of our state were assembled during the dark days of the revolution, when Wythe, Pendleton, and Jefferson displayed their wisdom in council, and Lee, Mason and the matchless Henry poured forth those strains of sublime eloquence which animated and cheered the drooping spirit of the land, and warmed the heart and braced up the nerve of the patriot. Looking on such scenes as these—contemplating the great minds that have been nursed in our institution, and the intellectual Titans who have won their trophies on this interesting theatre, can you fail to be inspired with a noble ambition?—an ambition to imitate those mighty men who have gone before you, and whom the genius of the place in silent eloquence summons to your recollection. The author of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire tells us, that he first caught the inspiration which gave rise to his great work, while gazing from the modern capitol of Rome on the ruins that lie scattered over the vallies and the seven hills. May we not hope then that many of you will catch a similar inspiration amid the interesting objects which surround you while breathing, in this old and hospitable city, a political atmosphere that still retains all the ardor and patriotism of former days? Again then, gentlemen, I call on you for perseverance and unremitting exertion; and in view of all the circumstances which surround and stimulate you while here, may I not say to you, in conclusion, that your friends, your parents, your instructers, expect every one to do his duty.

THE BRIDEGROOM’S DREAM.

BY MISS C. E. GOOCH, Of Washington City.

ESSAYS OF GILCHRIST.¹

¹ See last Messenger.

II.

All the miseries and infelicities to which human nature is subject, are of three classes. Those to which we are immediately exposed from the imperfect state of our existence—those which are the concomitants of vice, folly and obstinacy, and those which by restlessness, impatience and apprehensions, we have portioned out to ourselves.

The first, as they are inseparable from our nature, will always yield to the remedies of reason and philosophy; and instead of fruitless complaints and unavailing wishes for an amendment of that condition in which the divinity has thought fit to place us, we shall be enabled to support it with fortitude and thankfulness that it is not more intolerable.

The second, as they are the immediate effects of our deviations from the paths of virtue, in direct opposition to sense and reflection, will cease when they become intolerable either from pain, remorse or disappointment; since we cannot suppose that a rational being will persist in the commission of actions repugnant to justice, goodness and truth, when he finds the happiness, pleasure or profit which he had in view, so far from being accomplished, that those very means which to him appeared the fairest and most likely to insure success, have been the chief instruments of disappointment.

The first two general causes of human infelicity, we see then, may be obviated by the dictates of philosophy and the application of rational remedies, but we shall find the third much more obstinate.

This impatience, this restlessness, this not dissatisfaction with our present condition, but frivolous apprehensions of the future, this disposition which changes that which nature has made so excellent, overturns the beautiful fabric of human happiness, mingles the bitterest ingredients with the cup of felicity, or dashes it from the lips of those for whom it has been prepared, this I say, is of such an unaccountable and inexplicable nature as would lead one to suppose no remedy could be found to remove. Who but a fool or hypochondriac could we suppose, when basking in the genial beams of a summer sun, and fanned by the cooling zephyrs, or sailing on a smooth sea under a serene sky, would torment himself with the apprehensions of storms and tempests? Who, but a madman would destroy the pleasures of a delightful landscape by reflecting, that in the course of a few months the fields will be stripped of their verdure, the groves of their shade, and the rivulet arrested in its course by the nipping breath of winter winds?

Did this infelicity arise from a consciousness of our own unworthiness, in possessing enjoyments superior to what we deserve, and the fear of being stripped of them in consequence thereof, it would carry some shadow of reason along with it—but this is not the case, since few can bring themselves to think that their portion of happiness is equal, if not superior to their merit; or was it the result of a comparison of our own situation with those around us, we should have some hopes of a cure; since, if we take a true and impartial survey of our own condition, and those of our fellow creatures, we shall certainly have more cause for thankfulness than murmuring. Do we see one possessed of immense wealth?—perhaps heaven has denied him a soul capable of enjoyment. Look we down and behold his counterpart, oppressed with poverty and want—to him, perhaps, heaven has been bountiful in its gifts of resignation and contentment. The rich are not happy in proportion to their possessions, neither are the poor wretched in proportion to their wants. Through every inequality of life, the same conclusions may justly be drawn. Have we from a state of affluence been reduced to want, or from a state of power to that of dependency?—are we deprived of our liberty and cut off from society to drag out a part of our existence in dreary confinement?—have we been robbed of those whom we had treasured up in our hearts as the better half of ourselves, and left to tread the rugged paths of life disconsolate and forlorn?—the means of happiness are still in our power—that substantial happiness which arises from the steady and uniform practice of virtue, the testimony of an honest conscience and thoughts of self-approbation.

A disposition to murmur, is to accuse the Deity of injustice; a disposition to despondency is an imputation of disregard to that Being who has so liberally provided for the wants of all his creatures. To anticipate miseries which, perhaps, may never come to pass, is to wrest the keys of futurity from the hands of the Almighty, to plunder his decrees of what cannot possibly belong to us till he shall think proper to bestow them, and to fly in the face of him who has declared that he will withhold no good thing from the virtuous and deserving part of his creatures.

Would we then wish to dry up this source of infelicity and be happy in the enjoyment of our present lot, without which we can never, with tranquillity, look forward to the future, let us consider that in the state in which we are placed by the hand of Providence, though our wishes may be many, our real wants are but few—that happiness or misery do not depend on the trifling contingencies of sublunary affairs—that the ways of Providence are impervious to mortal eyes, so that we can neither foresee nor prevent whatever portion of good or evil may be in store for us—and that a rational use of whatever means of happiness we may have received, is not only to prolong them, but to heighten the enjoyment and prepare us for what may further be added to our happiness, or what pain may in future be inflicted. To act in this manner is to deserve the rank in which we are placed, whether as men or philosophers—by which all unjust murmurings will be effectually removed, and the cause of our greatest share of infelicity will be done away.

Literary Society, December 2, 1779.

III.

Sunt quibus datur sapientia, sed modus sapere carent. Verba cum frondes sunt, ubi superabundant fructus raro invenimus.

Cicero in Appiam.

The faculty of interchanging our thoughts with one another, or what we express by the word conversation, has always been represented by moral writers as one of the noblest privileges of reason, and which more particularly sets mankind above the brute part of the creation.

Though nothing gains so much upon the affections as this extempore eloquence, which we have constantly occasion for, and are obliged to practice every day, we very rarely meet with any who excel in it.

The conversation of most people is disagreeable—not so much for want of wit and learning, as of good breeding and discretion.

If we resolve to please, we must never speak to gratify any particular vanity or passion of our own; but always with a design either to divert or inform the company. He who aims only at one of these, is always easy in his discourse. He is never out of humor at being interrupted, because he considers that those who hear him are the best judges whether what he was saying could either divert or inform them.

A modest person seldom fails to gain the good will of those he converses with, because no one envys a man who does not appear to be pleased with himself.

But should we be disposed to talk of ourselves, what can we say? It would be as imprudent to discover our faults, as ridiculous to enumerate our supposed virtues. Our private and domestic affairs are no less improper to be introduced in conversation. What does it concern the company how many horses we keep?—how many courses we dine of?—or whether our servant is a fool or a knave?

One may equally affront the company he is in, either by engrossing all the talk, or preserving a contemptuous silence.

Notwithstanding all the advantages of youth, few young people please in conversation; the reason is that want of experience makes them positive, and what they say is rather with a design to please themselves than any one else.

It is certain that age will make many things pass well enough, which would have been laughed at in the mouth of one much younger.

Nothing, however, is more insupportable to men of sense, than an empty, formal use of a proverb, or a decision in all controversies, with a short unmeaning sentence. This piece of stupidity is the more insufferable, as it puts on the air of wisdom.

A prudent man will avoid talking much of any particular science for which he is remarkably famous. There is not a handsomer thing than what was said of the famous Mr. Cowley—“That none but his intimate friends ever discovered by his discourse that he was a poet.” Besides the decency of this rule, it is certainly founded on good policy. He who talks of any thing for which he is already famous, has little to get, but a great deal to lose. It might be added, that he who is sometimes silent on a subject where every one is satisfied he could speak, will often be thought no less knowing in other matters, where perhaps he is wholly ignorant.

When occasion for commendation is found, it will not be amiss to add the reasons for it, as it is this which distinguishes the approbation of a man of sense from the flattery of sycophants and admiration of fools.

Though good humor, sense and discretion can seldom fail to make a man agreeable, it may be no ill policy sometimes to prepare ourselves for particular conversation, by looking a little into what is become a reigning subject.

Though the asking questions may plead for itself the specious names of modesty and a desire of information, it affords little pleasure to the rest of the company who are not troubled with the same doubts; besides which, he who asks a question, would do well to consider that he lies wholly at the mercy of another before he receives an answer.

Nothing is more silly, more rude or absurd, than the pleasure some people take in what they call speaking their minds. A person of this manner of thinking will say a rude thing merely for the pleasure of saying it, when an opposite behavior, full as innocent, might have preserved his friend, or made his fortune.

It is not possible for a man to form to himself as exquisite pleasure in complying with the humor and sentiments of others, as with bringing others over to his own; since it is the certain sign of superior genius which can assume and become whatever dress it pleases.

We may add, moreover, that there is something which can never be learnt but in the company of the polite. The virtues of men are catching, as well as their vices; and our own observations added to these, will soon discover what it is that commands attention in one man, and makes us tired and displeased with the discourse of another.

Literary Society, July 16, 1779.

IV.

Facta Majorum, veluti in Speculum ostendit Historia—Judex œquus bonorum et malorum.

It is not without reason, that history has always been considered as the light of ages, the depository of events, the faithful evidence of truth, the source of prudence and good counsel, and the rule of conduct and manners—confined without it to the bounds of the age and country wherein we live, and shut up within the narrow circle of such branches of knowledge as are peculiar to us, and the limits of our own private reflections, we continue in a kind of infancy which leaves us strangers to the rest of the world, and profoundly ignorant of all that has preceded, or even now surrounds us. What is the small number of years which make up the longest life, or what the extent of country which we are able to possess or travel over, but an imperceptible point in comparison of the vast regions of the universe, and the long series of ages which have succeeded one another since the creation of the world? And yet all we are capable of knowing must be limited to this point, unless we call in the study of history to our aid, which opens to us every age and every country, keeps up a correspondence between us and the great men of antiquity, sets all their actions, all their achievements, virtues and faults, before our eyes, and by the prudent reflections it either presents or gives us an opportunity of making, soon teaches us to be wise in a manner far superior to the lessons of the greatest masters.

History may properly be called the common school of mankind, equally open and useful both to great and small; those necessary and important services can be obtained only by its assistance, as having the power of speaking freely, and the right of passing an absolute judgment on actions of every denomination. Though the abilities of the great may be extolled, their wit and valor admired, and their exploits and conquest boasted, yet if all these have no foundation in truth and justice, history will tacitly pass sentence upon them, under borrowed names. The greatest part of the most famous conquerors, we shall find treated as public calamities, the enemies of mankind, and the robbers of nations; who, hurried on by a restless and blind ambition, carry desolation from country to country, and like an inundation or a fire, ravage all they meet in their way. We shall see a Caligula, a Nero and a Domitian, who, praised to excess during their lives, become the horror and execration of mankind after their deaths; whereas a Titus, a Trajan and a Marcus Aurelius, are still looked upon as the delights of the world. It is history which fixes the seal of immortality on actions truly great, and sets a mark of infancy on vices, which no after-age can ever obliterate. It is by history that mistaken merit and oppressed virtue appeal to the uncorrupted tribunal of posterity, which renders them that justice, which their own age has sometimes refused them, and, without respect of persons, and the fear of a power which subsists no more, condemns the unjust abuse of authority with inexorable rigor.

There is no age or condition, which may not derive the same advantages from History; and what has been said of princes and conquerors, comprehends also in some measure, persons in power, ministers of state, generals of armies, officers, magistrates, and in a word all those who have authority over others, for such persons have sometimes more haughtiness, pride and petulance, in a very limited station, and carry their despotic disposition and arbitrary power to the greatest lengths.

Thus history we see, when it is well taught, becomes a school of morality for all mankind; it condemns vice, throws off the mask from false virtues, lays open popular errors and prejudices, dispels the delusive charms of riches, and all the vain pomp which dazzles the imagination, and shows by a thousand examples that are more availing than all reasonings whatever, that nothing is great and commendable but honor and probity. From the esteem and admiration which the most corrupt cannot refuse to the great and good actions which history lays before them, it confirms the great and important truth, that virtue is man’s real good, and alone can render him truly great and valuable. This virtue we are taught by history to revere, and to discern its beauty and brightness through the veils of poverty, adversity and obscurity, and sometimes even of disgrace and infamy; and on the other hand, it inspires us with contempt and horror of vice, though clothed in purple and surrounded with splendor.

Literary Society, February 11th, 1780.

THE EXILE’S

ADIEU TO HIS NATIVE LAND.

[Written several years ago.]

WALLADMOR.

Sir W. Scott’s reputation prompted some German publishers to make a bold attempt at imposition. A work was announced under the title of Walladmor, and professing to be a free translation from the English of Sir Walter. It was a miserable failure.

TRAGEDIES OF SILVIO PELLICO.

BY MRS. E. F. ELLET.

The misfortunes and sufferings of this individual, as related in the memoirs of his “Imprisonments,” published not long since, have excited in Europe and in this country an interest in his fate. There are few of our readers, we think, who do not remember the captive at Spielberg, and have not been moved by the simple and touching account of his calamities, and the truly philanthropic and christian spirit exhibited under them. Many of the tragedies we propose to notice were composed in prison, and repeated to his fellow-captives, to beguile the dreary hours of confinement, when perhaps the sufferer looked forward to death alone as the means of his liberation. These dramas have, therefore, an interest apart from their intrinsic merit, and would invite attention, even were they destitute of greater claims. But the name of Silvio Pellico, before his unfortunate arrest, was known throughout Italy as one of the best of her living dramatists; and his subsequent pieces have detracted in no way from his literary fame. This is great praise in itself, when we consider the high reputation acquired by his first effort, “Francesca da Rimini.”

It is well known that Manzoni attempted to carve out a new path for the drama in Italy. Avowedly renouncing the system of Alfieri and his followers—a system which had been prevalent since the birth of dramatic literature in his country—he aimed at becoming the founder of a new school, that should be more akin to the English and German. From his boldness in violating the unities of time and place, and numbering himself among the romantic writers, we are induced to believe that the reformation he advocates is to be total, and that his new principles are to be recommended by advantages peculiar to themselves. But this is not the case in the tragedies of Manzoni. His rich fancy, and command of poetic language, have indeed embellished them as poems; but as dramas, they have gained absolutely nothing. His heroes wear the same stiff and formal aspect with all the rest; we know them, if not by the “Athenian garment they have on,” by their cold, stately, and monotonous deportment. The interest is almost wholly political; the plots are unskilfully conducted, and the dialogue occasionally wearisome. The death-scene of Ermengarda in Adelchi, and the interview between the count and his wife and daughter, in Carmagnuola, are indeed touching and tragic; but they are merely episodes in the pieces, and the merit of a single scene is insufficient to redeem a whole play. The same faults, growing out of the selection of a political subject, are to be found with Pindemonte; while Monti and Niccolini are to be regarded as followers of Alfieri, since their compositions are upon the same plan. Pellico, without ostentation, has aimed at penetrating to the true source of tragic emotion. He has excluded all local coloring from his productions, neglecting also those striking embellishments of description and imagery, of which all the above-mentioned writers have availed themselves; yet his dramas are universal favorites in Italy. The cause of this popularity, the secret of his influence, lies in the exhibition of the passions. To accomplish this point, and succeed by the representation of feeling alone, he has sacrificed what he considered the minor advantages of poetical ornament; but while he has thereby proved his power to unlock the sympathies, he has compelled himself to forego the complete success he might have commanded by a more impartial attention to the devices of his art. He has avoided, in most of his plays, the turgid declamation too common among the poets of his country; we say in most of them, for we think his Euphemio of Messina, in sound and fury, will challenge a comparison with any of the productions of his predecessors, without displaying the pathos of which the subject was capable. It is ever difficult to sympathize with distresses growing out of artificial opinions dependant upon a state of society entirely different from our own; we cannot, therefore, enter into the embarrassment of Ludovica, when she fancies herself bound by a sacred vow, to save her country by the sacrifice of her lover. Had the dependance of her father’s fate upon Euphemio’s destruction been brought more fully and immediately into view, when her resolution was formed, her conduct would have been more consistent with her character, and with female nature; and those who read with coldness the resolves, the conflicts, the despair of the bewildered enthusiast, would have been moved with emotion at the sufferings and the heroism of a daughter. It is truth to nature, and its exquisite simplicity, which give such power to the Francesca; no where does the author o’erstep the modesty of nature in the expression of emotion. This tragedy, by which its author is best known, is founded on a passage in Dante, where the shade of the unhappy lady relates the story of her love. Francesca, the daughter of Guido, lord of Ravenna, was given by her father in marriage to Lanciotto of Rimini; being fondly attached at the time to his brother Paolo, who had unfortunately slain her brother, and consequently ventured not to become a suitor for her hand. Their sufferings are occasioned by a mutual misunderstanding. Paolo, supposing himself the object of her hatred, only after a long absence returns to his brother’s court; and Francesca, endeavoring to hide her now criminal love under a semblance of aversion, craves permission to retire from Rimini with her father. Accident discovers to the pair their concealed feelings towards each other; Lanciotto’s jealousy is awakened, and he arrests his brother, commanding his wife to prepare for her departure from the city. But Paolo, apprehensive for her safety, breaks from his guards, and seeks her presence for a last interview; and when Lanciotto, maddened by rage, rushes upon his brother with his drawn sword, bidding him defend his life, Francesca throws herself between them, and receives her husband’s steel in her own breast. She expires, and Paolo, casting away his sword, resigns himself also to death.

There is much that is beautiful and touching in this play; both in the perfect guilelessness and loving nature of Francesca, and the noble devotedness of Paolo; but our limits will permit us to offer only a translation of one scene in the third act. This scene has been much praised and celebrated, and is certainly one of the most effective in the drama.

Paolo. Francesca!

Francesca. Heavens! who is’t I see? Signor—what would you?

Paolo. But to speak with you.

Francesca. To speak with me! I am alone—alone Thou leav’st me—father! Father—where art thou? Help—help thy daughter! Give me power to fly!

Paolo. Whither?

Francesca. Signor—pursue me not; respect My will. Unto the altar I retreat; The wretched have most need of heaven.

Paolo. And I With thee unto the household altar’s foot Will also go. Who than myself more wretched? There mingled shall our sighs ascend. O, lady! Thou wilt implore my death—the death of him Whom thou abhorrest; I will pray that heaven May hear thy prayers, and all thy hate forgive, And shower down joys on thee, and long preserve Thy youth and loveliness, and give thee all Thy heart desires; all—all—thy husband’s love And children blessed!

Francesca. Paolo! (hold, my heart!) Weep not. I do not wish your death.

Paolo. Yet—yet— You hate me!

Francesca. And what reck you, if I ought To hate you? I disturb you not. To-morrow I shall be here no more. Be to your brother A kind and true companion: for my loss Console him; me he surely will lament. Ah me! of all in Rimini, he only Will weep when it is known to him. Now listen; Tell him not yet—but know, I never more Return to Rimini; sorrow will kill me. When he shall hear, my husband, these sad tidings, Console him; and you too, perhaps—for him May shed a tear.

Paolo. Francesca—and you ask What reck I, if you hate me! and me doth Your hate disturb not—nor your fatal words? Oh! lovely as an angel, by the Deity Created in the most impassioned moment Of heavenly love—dear, dear to every heart— A happy wife—and dar’st thou speak of death? To me such words belong, who for vain honors Was banished from my native country far, And lost—alas! a father then I lost. I hoped again to embrace him. He would never Have made me wretched, had he known my heart, But given me her—her whom I now have lost Forever.

Francesca. What mean you? Of your beloved You speak—and are you without her so wretched? So mighty then is love within your breast! Love should not reign sole sovereign in the hearts Of valiant cavaliers. Dear is to them The sword, and glory; such are noble passions. Follow them, thou, and let not love debase thee.

Paolo. What do I hear? hast thou compassion on me? And wouldst thou hate me less, if with the sword I should acquire a loftier fame? One word From thee suffices. Name the spot—the years; I will depart to earth’s remotest shores; The harder and more perilous I find The enterprise, the sweeter will it be, Since thou, Francesca, dost impose the task. The love of fame and daring have indeed Made strong my arm; far stronger shall it be In thy adored name. Nor ever stained Shall be mine honors with a fierce ambition. No crown I covet, or will seek, save one Of laurel, twined by thee: enough for me Thy sole applause—a word—a smile—a look—

Francesca. Eternal God!

Paolo. I love thee! O, Francesca— I love thee! and most desperate is my love!

Francesca. What words are these? I rave! What hast thou said?

Paolo. I love thee!

Francesca. Dar’st thou—hold! To hear—thou lov’st me! So sudden is thy passion! Know’st thou not I am thy brother’s wife? Can’st thou so soon Forget thy lost beloved one? Ah me Wretched! Let go my hand—thy kisses here Are frenzy!

Paolo. This, this is no sudden passion! I lost my love—and thou art she! Of thee I spoke; for thee I wept: thee loved: thee ever I love—and to my latest hour will love! Ay, if for this, my madness, doomed to suffer Eternal chastisement beyond the grave, Eternally still more and more I’ll love thee!

Francesca. Can this be true?

Paolo. The day that to Ravenna I went, ambassador from my father’s court, I saw thee cross the vestibule, attended By a band of mourning females,—pause beside A recent sepulchre; in pious act Prostrate thyself, and thy joined hands to heaven Lift up, with silent interrupted tears. “Who is it?” I inquired of one. “The daughter Of Guido,” he replied. “And whose the tomb?” “Her mother’s tomb.” Oh, in my inmost heart How felt I pity for that mourning daughter! How throbbed my breast, confused! Thou wast veiled, Francesca, and thy eyes saw not that day; Yet from that day I loved thee.

Francesca. Thou—oh cease! Didst love me!

Paolo. For a time I hid my passion; Yet seemed it one day thou hadst read my heart. Forth from thy chamber to the secret garden Thy steps were turned. And nigh the silver lake, Prone ’mong the flowers, with sighs I watched thy chamber, And at thy coming, trembling rose. Intent Upon a book, thine eyes beheld me not; But on the book let fall a tear. I came In deep emotion nigh. Confused my words, Confused were also thine. That book, Francesca, Thou gav’st to me; we read—we read together “Of Lancillotto,¹ how by love compelled;” Alone we were, and free from all suspicion. Our eyes then met; my face was crimsoned—thou Didst tremble—and in haste wast gone.

Francesca. That day— The book remained with thee.

Paolo. It rests upon My heart; it made me in my exile happy. Here ’tis; behold the page we read together. Behold! and mark the drop which fell that day From thy dear eyes.

Francesca. Away—I do conjure thee; Hence! no remembrance should I yet preserve, Save of a brother slain.

Paolo. Oh, then that blood I had not shed! O, fatal—fatal wars! That slaughter bowed my soul to misery; I dar’d not ask thy hand; I went to Asia, To battle there. I hoped yet to return, To find thy wrath appeased—to obtain thy hand. Ah! to obtain thy hand, I do confess I nourished hope.

Francesca. Ah me! I pray thee—hence! My sorrow and my honor now respect! Oh for the strength by which I may resist!

Paolo. Thou clasp’st my hand! Joy! tell me, wherefore clasp My hand!

Francesca. Paolo!

Paolo. Dost thou hate me not? Dost thou not hate me?

Francesca. ’Tis right I should hate thee.

Paolo. Can’st thou?

Francesca. I cannot!

Paolo. O, repeat that word! Lady—thou hat’st me not!

Francesca. Too much I said. Cruel! is’t not enough? Go—leave me!

Paolo. Nay— I leave thee not till thou hast told me all.

Francesca. Have I not said—I love thee! Ah! the words Escaped my impious lips! I love thee—die For love of thee! I would die innocent; Have pity!

Paolo. Love me?—thou? My terrible Anguish thou seest. I am a desperate man; But the deep joy which thrills me in the midst Of my despair, is such great happiness I cannot utter it. Is it then true Thou lov’st me—and I lost thee?

Francesca. Thou thyself, Paolo, did’st forsake me; I could ne’er Think myself loved of thee. Go! be this hour The last——

Paolo. It is impossible. I cannot Leave thee. Let me behold at least thy face Each day.

Francesca. And thus betray us both; enkindle Injurious thoughts in Lanciotto’s breast! And stain my name!—Paolo, if thou lov’st me, Away!

Paolo. Alas! irreparable fate! To stain thy name! No—thou’rt another’s wife; Paolo must die! Tear from thy breast remembrance Of me—and live in peace. I have disturbed Thy peace; forgive me. No—no—do not weep; Love me no more. Alas! what do I ask? Love me! yes—weep o’er my untimely fate.