BY REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D., Superintendent of Instruction.
The season is over. The crowds have gone. The classic groves are again
quiet. The silent lake lies by a silent shore, reflecting the lovely
verdure of trees and terraces, and the deep blue of overarching heavens.
The Temple, busy scene for all these weeks, is solitary now as a deserted
abbey. The huge amphitheater with its capacious concave, its chairless
orchestra and sealed up organ, seems awful in its vast emptiness, and
sacred with haunting memories of eloquence and song, and of surging,
enraptured, applauding multitudes. Palestine is deserted. Jerusalem is
solitary. The waters of the Dead Sea have backed up until Jordan has far
overflown its banks. The fountains have ceased their play, the electric
light no more vies with moon and stars, the walks are well-nigh forsaken,
and again in the primeval forest one walks alone, and undisturbed
meditates in the temple of nature. One spot is doubly sacred since the
crowds have gone. It is the Hall of Philosophy. In impressive majesty it
crowns the hill. Its white columns present a fine contrast with the brown
and gray trunks, and the now changing foliage of the trees in St. Paul’s
Grove. The vesper song has ceased. The voices of query and counsel,
raillery, jest and melody, are no more heard. The earnest souls who
hither came with love and zeal, with hope and desire, have passed forth
into a busy world, with memories not soon to be forgotten, joys never
to be wholly extinguished, and resolutions which reach out towards the
higher, larger plane of human aspiration, to find their end and crown in
God.
There is to me an ineffable charm about this dear old Hall. In it nature
dwells and God reigns. In it many a burdened soul has found in earnest
thoughtfulness, freedom and rest. Many an unsyllabled vow, without human
sign to mark it, has here brought peace and strength out of the silent
but all-encompassing heavens, to prepare human souls for human and divine
service in far away homes, and in coming days of struggle and sorrow.
The most sacred center of the whole Chautauqua world is the “Hall in the
Grove.” It is not far thence to heaven.
As I linger a few days in these silent and sacred sanctuaries after the
multitudes have gone, to rest myself and prepare for severer duties out
in the world, I think, of course, of the great and goodly company of
readers and students in the C. L. S. C. over this and other lands, and I
know you will receive a few words of advice that spring from the grasses
and drop from the trees, and steal out of the silences as enthusiasm
turns a listening ear to what the unembodied spirit of Chautauqua may say
to the sons and daughters of Chautauqua everywhere.
1. First of all let me say that enthusiasm, enkindled by solemn services
such as we have here enjoyed, needs to be incarnated and exercised in
plain, straight-forward, everyday doing through the whole year. Songs
and raptures, longings and covenants, must be transformed into heroisms
of a plain and practical type in the unsentimental and homely fields to
which stern duty may lead us. The Chautauqua fervor must become fidelity.
The Hall of Philosophy must help shop, kitchen, school-room and parlor.
Emotion must go into motive and muscle. Songs in August must make sinews
for October and May.
2. Our work must be more regular and steady. Spasmodic reading “to catch
up” are not as useful as everyday readings with plenty of time to think
over what one has read. System demands will-power. In resoluteness is
discipline. We retain and appropriate more effectually what we read
without a sense of hurry. A feeling of regret and of anxiety must hinder
the best action of mind. Therefore let us get into the way of doing a
little every day. Overcome the apparent or real difficulty in your way.
Resolve and then work your resolve, until it is worked out into action.
Make up your mind to this and keep it made up.
3. Don’t wait for local circles to be organized. Be your own local circle
till others become a part of you. Don’t regulate your life by the plans,
purposes, or whims of your neighbors. Be, and let your simple being stir
up other people to be and to do.
4. Go after other people. Talk to them. Tell them what this C. L. S.
C. movement means. Put “circulars” in their way. Send messages and
ambassadors to them. Don’t “bore” them exactly, but bear on them till
they at least examine the claims of the C. L. S. C.
“Day is dying in the West,” and it is time for closing words. Very
soon autumn leaves will strew the ground, and very soon the glory of
autumn will be hidden by the crystal splendors of winter. The blessed
reunions of this summer will have passed into history, and our scattered
fraternity be engaged in the conflicts of this weary and busy, but after
all, glorious world. In the strife and the weariness and the work let
us remember every inspiring service of the past, and gather strength
also from our look of faith into the future, the future that is nearest,
and the future that is very far off—a future in which we shall be the
glad children of a good Father—that father a great King, and that King
immortal, invisible, eternal, who has wonderful things for us which one
day he will give to us when he gives to us himself.
CHAUTAUQUA, September, 1884.