SCENE V—A Room at Whitehall; (the same as in Scene I) Enter Cromwell,

Ireton, and Martin.

CROMWELL. So be it, then! At Windsor, in the vaults

Of his long line, let Charles's ashes sleep.

To Hubert and to Mildmay we consign

The funeral cares; be they with reverence paid.

Whoever of the mourners of the dead,

The friends and whilom followers would assist

In the grave rite, to them be licence given

To grace the funeral with their faithful wo.

We spurn not the dead lion.

MARTIN. Nobly said.

Wouldst thou I have these orders straight conveyed

To the king's friends?

CROMWELL. Forthwith good Martin.

(_exit Martin_)

So

With those sad ashes rest our country's griefs.

Henry, no phœnix from them must spring forth;

No second Charles! Within the self-same vault

That shrouds that harmless dust we must inter

Kingly ambition; and upon that day

Proclaim it treason to declare a king

In the King's son! The crown hath passed away

From Saul, and from the godless house of Saul.

IRETON. The Parliament is fearful, and contains

In its scant remnant many who would halt

Betwixt the deed and that for which 'twas done.

CROMWELL. They must be seen to, Henry! Seek me out

This eve at eight; we must confer alone.

Strong meat is not for babes! But of this youth,

This haughty Cecil! Thou hast seen him then?

Is he, in truth, so hot?

IRETON. By my sword, yea!

That which I told thee of his speech fell short

Of its rash madness.

CROMWELL. 'Tis a goodly youth;

Brave and sound hearted, but of little faith,

Nor suited to the hunger of these times,

Which feeds on no half acts! And for that cause,

And in that knowledge, when we had designed

To bring the King to London, I dismissed him {609}

With letters into Spain. We must not lose him!

He is of noble birth; his house hath wealth;

His name is spotless:—he must not be lost!

IRETON. And will not be retained!

CROMWELL. Methinks not so.

He hath the folly of the eyes of flesh,

And loves my niece; by that lure shall we cage him.

IRETON. Yet he is of a race that, in these times,

Have fallen from the righteous.

CROMWELL. Ay, and so

The more his honest courage. In the day

When the king's power o'erflowed, and all true men

Joined in a dyke against the lawless flood,

His sire and I were co-mates—sate with Pym;

On the same benches—gave the self-same votes;

But when we drew God's sword against the king,

And threw away the sheath, his fearful heart

Recoiled before the act it had provoked;

And, halting neuter in the wide extremes,

Forbade his son to join us.

IRETON. But the youth—

CROMWELL. More bravely bent, forsook the inglorious sire,

And made a sire of Cromwell. In my host

There was not one that loved me more than Cecil!

Better in field than prayer, and more at home

Upon his charger than his knee, 'tis true;

But to all men their way to please the Lord!

To heaven are many paths!

IRETON. So near to thee,

And knew not of the end for which we fought?

Dreamt he it was against the man called king,

And not against the thing called kingly?

CROMWELL. So

The young man dreamed; and oft-times he hath said

When after battle he hath wiped his sword,

Oft hath he sighing said, ‘These sinful wars—

Brother with brother, father against son,

Strife with her country, victory o'er her children—

How shall they end? If to the hollow word

Of this unhappy king no truth is bound,

Shall the day come when he, worn out with blood,

Will yield his crown to his yet guiltless son,

And we made sure of freedom by firm laws,

Chain the calm'd lion to a peaceful throne?’

IRETON. The father's leaven still! most foolish hope

To plaster with cool prudence jarring atoms,

And reconcile the irreconcileable—

The rushing present with the mouldering past!

CROMWELL. Thou say'st it, Ireton! But the boy was young

And fond of heart; the times that harden us,

Make soft less thoughtful natures.

(_enter a Puritan Soldier_)

SOLDIER. Lo! your worship,

The youth hight Hubert Cecil waits thy pleasure!

CROMWELL. Friend, let him enter. Henry, leave us now!

At eight, remember!

(_exit Ireton_)

It hath lamely chanced

That Cecil should return upon the heat

And newness of these fierce events; a month

Had robbed him of their horror! While we breathe

Passion glides on to Memory:—and dread things,

That scared our thoughts but yesterday, take hues,

That smooth their sternness, from the silent morrow.

(_Enter Cecil—Cromwell leaning on his sword at the farther end of the

stage, regards him with a steadfast look and majestic mien_)

Well, sir, good day! What messages from Spain?

(_Cecil presents him despatches—Cromwell glances over them, looking,

from time to time, at Cecil_)

CECIL. (_aside_) What is there in this man that I should fear him?

Hath he some spell to witch us from ourselves,

And make our natures minion to his own?

CROMWELL. Plead they so warm for Stuart? 'tis too late!

CECIL. It is too late!

CROMWELL. Since last we parted, Hubert,

He, the high author of our civil wars,

Hath been their victim. 'Twas an evil, Hubert;

But so is justice ever when it falls

Upon a human life!

CECIL. God's mercy!—justice!

Why justice is a consequence of law—

Founded on law—begotten but by law!

By what law, Cromwell, fell the King?

CROMWELL. By all

The laws he left us! Prithee silence, Cecil!

Sir, I might threaten, but I will not:—hold!

And let us, with a calm and sober eye,

Look on the spectre of this ghastly deed.

Who spills man's blood, his blood by man be shed!

'Tis Heaven's first law—to that law we had come—

None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife,

That crimsoned Naseby's field, and Marston's moor?

It was the Stuart:—so the Stuart fell!

A victim, in the pit himself had digged!

He died not, Sir, as hated kings have died,

In secret and in shade—no eye to trace

The one step from their prison to their pall;

He died i' the eyes of Europe—in the face

Of the broad Heaven—amidst the sons of England,

Whom he had outraged—by a solemn sentence,

Passed by a solemn court. Does this seem guilt?

(It might be error—mortal men will err!)

But _Guilt_ not thus unrobes it to the day;

Its deeds are secret, as _our_ act was public.

You pity Charles! 'tis well; but pity more

The tens of thousand honest humble men,

Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled

To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field!

Good Lord—when one man dies who wears a crown,

How the earth trembles—how the nations gape,

Amazed and awed!—but when that one man's victims,

Poor worms uncloth'd in purple, daily die,

In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet,

Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls

Drop not one tear from your indifferent eyes:

Ye weep the ravening vulture when he bleeds,

And coldly gaze upon the countless prey

He gorged at one fell meal. Be still young man;

Your time for speech will come. So much for justice;

Now for yet larger duties: to our hands

The peace and weal of England were consigned;

These our first thought and duty. Should we loose

Charles on the world again, 'twere to unleash

Once more the Fiend of Carnage: should we guard {610}

His person in our prison, still his name

Would float, a wizard's standard, in the air,

Rallying fresh war on Freedom; a fit theme

To wake bad pity in the breasts of men;

A focus for all faction here at home,

And in the lewd courts of his brother kings.

So but one choice remained: it was that choice

Which (you are skilled methinks in classic lore,

And prize such precedent,) the elder Brutus

Made when he judged his children: such the choice

Of his descendant—when, within the senate

He sought to crush, the crafty Cæsar fell.

CECIL. Cæsar may find his type amidst the living;

And by that name our sons may christen Cromwell.

CROMWELL. Men's deeds are fair enigmas—let man solve them!

But men's dark motives are i' the Books of God.

(_In a milder tone_)

Cecil! thou wert as my adopted son.

Hast thou not still fought by my proper person—

Eat'n at my board—slept in my tent—conceived

From me thy rudiments and lore of war—

Hath not my soul yearned to thee—have I not

Brought thee, yet beardless, into mark and fame—

Given thee trust and honor—nay, to bind

Still closer to my sheltering heart thine own—

Have I not smiled upon thy love for Edith,

(For I, too, once was young,) and bid thee find

Thy plighted bride in my familiar kin—

And wilt thou, in this crisis of my fate,

When my good name stands trembling in the balance,

And one friend wanting may abase the scale,

Wilt thou thus judge me harshly—take no count

Of the swift eddies of the whirlpool time,

Which urge us on to any port for peace,

And set the brand of thy austere rebuke

Upon the heart that loved thee so? Fie! fie!

CECIL. Arouse thine anger, Cromwell! rate me, vent

Thy threats on this bare front—thy kindness kills me!

CROMWELL. Bear with me, son, as I would bear with thee!

Add not to these grim cares that press upon me.

Eke thou not out the evils of the time;

They are enow to grind my weary soul.

Restrain the harsher thoughts, that would reprove,

Until a calmer season, when 'tis given

To talk of what hath been with tempered minds;

And part we now in charity.

CECIL. O Cromwell,

If now we part, it is forever. Here

I do resign my office in thy hands;

Lay down my trust and charge,—

CROMWELL. [_hastily_] I'll not receive them;

Another time for this.

CECIL. There is no other.

I came to chide thee, Cromwell; ay, to chide,

Girt as thou art with power: but thou hast ta'en

The sternness from my soul, and made the voice

Of duty sound so grating to my ear,

That, for mine honor, I, who fear thee not,

Do fear my frailty, and will trust no more

My conscience to our meeting.

CROMWELL. Wouldst thou say

That thou wilt leave me?

CECIL. Yes.

CROMWELL. And whither bound?

CECIL. The king's no more; and in his ashes sleep

His faults. His son as yet hath wronged us not:

That son is now our king!

CROMWELL. Do I hear right?

Know'st thou, rash boy, those words are deadly? Know'st thou,

It is proclaimed “whoever names a king

In any man, by Parliament unsanctioned,

Is criminal of treason?”

CECIL. So 'tis said;

And those who said it, were themselves the traitors.

CROMWELL. This, and to me!—beware; on that way lies

My limit of forbearance.

CECIL. Call thy guards;

Ordain the prison; bring me to the bar;

Prepare the scaffold. This, great Cromwell, were

A milder doom than that which I adjudge

Unto myself. 'Tis worse than death to leave

The flag which waved above our dreams of freedom—

The Chief our reverence honored as a god—

The bride whose love rose-colored all the world—

But worse than many deaths—than hell itself,

To sin against what we believe the right.

CROMWELL. [_moved and aside_] And this bold soul I am about to lose!

[_Aloud_] If me thou canst forget, and all my love,

Remember Edith! Is she thy betrothed,

And wilt thou leave her too? Thou hid'st thy face.

Stay, Hubert, stay; I, who could order, stoop

And pray thee stay.

CECIL. No—no!

CROMWELL. [_with coldness and dignity_] Then have thy will.

Desert the cause of freedom at her need,—

False to thy chief, and perjured to thy love.

I do repent me that I have abased

Myself thus humbly. Go, Sir, you have leave;

I would not have one man in honest Israel

Whose soul hath hunger for the flesh of Egypt.

CECIL. [_approaching Cromwell slowly_] Canst thou yet make the

doubtful past appear

Done but in sorrowing justice?—canst thou yet

Cement these jarring factions—join in peace

The friends alike of royalty and freedom,

And give the state, secured by such good laws

As now we may demand, once more a king?

CROMWELL. A king! Why name that word? A head—a chief,

Perchance, the Commonwealth may yet decree!

Speak on!

CECIL. I care not, Cromwell, for the name;

But he who bears the orb and sway of power

Must, if for peace we seek, be chosen from

The Stuarts' lineage. Charles the First is dead:

Wilt thou proclaim his son?

CROMWELL. [_laughing bitterly_] An Exile, yes! A Monarch, never!

CECIL. Cromwell, fare thee well!

As friends we meet no more. May God so judge

As I now judge, believing thee as one

Whom a bold heart, and the dim hope of power,

And the blind wrath of faction, and the spur

Of an o'ermastering Fate, impel to what {611}

The Past foretells already to the Future.

Dread man, farewell.

[_exit Cecil_]

CROMWELL. [_after a pause_] So from my side hath gone

An upright heart; and in that single loss,

Methinks more honesty hath said farewell,

Than if a thousand had abjured my banners.

Charles sleeps, and feels no more the grinding cares,

The perils and the doubts that wait on POWER.

For him, no more the uneasy day,—the night

At war with sleep,—for him are hushed, at last,

Loud Hate and hollow Love. Reverse thy Law,

O blind compassion of the human heart!

And let not death which feels not, sins not—weeps not—

Rob Life of all that Suffering asks from Pity.

[_He paces to and fro the scene, and pauses at last opposite the

doors at the back of the stage_]

Lo! what a slender barrier parts in twain

The presence of the breathing and the dead—

The vanquisher and victim—the firm foot

Of lusty strength, and the unmoving mass

Of what all strength must come to. Yet once more,

Ere the grave closes on that solemn dust,

Will I survey what men have feared to look on.

[_He opens the doors—the coffin of the king on the back ground

lighted by tapers—Cromwell approaches it slowly, lifts the

pall, and gazes, as if on the corpse within_]

'Tis a firm frame; the sinews strongly knit;

The chest deep set and broad; save some grey hairs

Saddening those locks of love, no sign of age.

Had nature been his executioner

_He would have outlived me!_ and to this end—

This narrow empire—this unpeopled kingdom—

This six feet realm—the overlust of sway

Hath been the guide! He would have stretched his will

O'er that unlimited world which men's souls are!

Fettered the earth's pure air—for freedom is

That air to honest lips;—and here he lies,

In dust most eloquent—to after time

A never silent oracle for kings!

Was this the hand that strained within its grasp

So haught a sceptre? this the shape that wore

Majesty like a garment? Spurn that clay—

It can resent not; speak of royal crimes,

And it can frown not: schemeless lies the brain

Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds.

What things are we, O Lord, when at thy will

A worm like this could shake the mighty world!

A few years since, and in the port was moored

A bark to far Columbia's forests bound;

And I was one of those indignant hearts

Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom;

Then, that pale clay (poor clay that was a king!)

Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride

Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre

Waved back the shadow of the death to come.

Here stands that baffled and forbidden wanderer,

Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire,

Beside the coffin of a headless king!

He thrall'd my fate—I have prepared his doom:

He made me captive—lo! his narrow cell!

[_Advancing to the front of the stage_]

So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth

Of our frail schemes into our funeral urns;

So, walking dream-led in life's sleep, our steps

Move blindfold to the scaffold or the throne!—

Ay, to the _Throne!_ From that dark thought I strike

The light which cheers me onward to my goal.

Wild though the night, and angry though the winds,

High o'er the billows of the battling sea

My Spirit, like a bark, sweeps on to Fortune!

MEMOIRS OF MRS. HEMANS.[1]

[Footnote 1: From the Memoirs of Mrs. Hemans, by Chorley—now in the

press of Messieurs Saunders and Otley, to whom we are indebted for

some of the sheets.]

It will be yet more clearly seen, from further portions of Mrs.

Hemans' correspondence, with what devotion and gratitude she regarded

German literature; she spoke of its language as “rich and

_affectionate_, in which I take much delight:”—how she gratefully

referred to its study as having expanded her mind and opened to her

new sources of intellectual delight and exercise. For a while, too,

she may have been said to have written under the shadow of its

mysticism; but this secondary influence had passed away some time

before her death. It is not the lot of high minds, though they may

pass through and linger in regions where thought loses itself in

obscurity, to terminate their career there. The “Lays of many Lands,”

most of which appeared in the New Monthly Magazine, then edited by Mr.

Campbell, were, we are told by herself, suggested by Herder's

“_Stimmen der Volker in Liedern_.” Her next volume was formed of a

collection of these, preceded by “The Forest Sanctuary.”

Mrs. Hemans considered this poem as almost, if not altogether, the

best of her works. She would sometimes say, that in proportion to the

praise which had been bestowed upon others of her less carefully

meditated and shorter compositions, she thought it had hardly met with

its fair share of success: for it was the first continuous effort in

which she dared to write from the fulness of her own heart—to listen

to the promptings of her genius freely and fearlessly. The subject was

suggested by a passage in one of the letters of Don Leucadio Doblado,

and was wrought upon by her with that eagerness and fervor which

almost _command_ corresponding results. I have heard Mrs. Hemans say,

that the greater part of this poem was written in no more picturesque

a retreat than a laundry, to which, as being detached from the house,

she resorted for undisturbed quiet and leisure. When she read it,

while in progress, to her mother and sister, they were surprised to

tears at the increased power displayed in it. She was not prone to

speak with self-contentment of her own works; but, perhaps, _the one_

favorite descriptive passage was that picture of a sea burial in the

second canto.

... She lay a thing for earth's embrace,

To cover with spring-wreaths. For earth's?—the wave

That gives the bier no flowers, makes moan above her grave!

On the mid-seas a knell!—for man was there,—

Anguish and love, the mourner with his dead!

A long, low, tolling knell—a voice of prayer—

Dark glassy waters, like a desert spread,—

And the pale shining Southern Cross on high, {612}

Its faint stars fading from a solemn sky,

Where mighty clouds before the dawn grew red:—

Were these things round me? Such o'er memory sweep

Wildly when aught brings back that burial of the deep.

Then the broad lonely sunrise, and the plash

Into the sounding waves!—around her head

They parted, with a glancing moment's flash,

Then shut—and all was still....

The whole poem, whether in its scenes of superstition—the Auto da

Fe—the dungeon—the flight, or in its delineation of the mental

conflicts of its hero—or in its forest pictures of the free west,

which offer such a delicious repose to the mind, is full of happy

thoughts and turns of expression. Four lines of peculiar delicacy and

beauty recur to me as I write, too strongly to be passed by. They are

from a character of one of the martyr sisters.

And if she mingled with the festive train,

It was but as some melancholy star

Beholds the dance of shepherds on the plain,

In its bright stillness present, though afar.

But the entire episode of “Queen-like Teresa—radiant Inez”—is wrought

up with a nerve and an impulse, which men of renown have failed to

reach. The death of the latter, if, perhaps, it be a little too

_romantic_ for the stern realities of the scene, is so beautifully

told, that it cannot be read without strong feeling, nor carelessly

remembered. And most beautiful, too, are the sudden out-bursts of

thankfulness—of the quick, happy consciousness of liberty with which

the narrator of this ghastly sacrifice, interrupts the tale, to

reassure himself—

Sport on, my happy child! for thou art free!

The character of the convert's wife, Leonor,—devotedly clinging to his

fortunes, without a reproach or a murmur, while her heart trembles

before him, as though she were in the presence of a lost spirit,—is

one of those, in which Mrs. Hemans' individual mode of thought and

manner of expression are most happily impersonated. As a whole, she

was hardly wrong in her own estimate of this poem: and on recently

returning to it, I have been surprised to find, how well it bears the

tests and trials with which it is only either fit or rational to

examine works of the highest order of mind. But here, also, would

criticism be impertinent.

The next work of Mrs. Hemans, and the one by which she is most

universally known, was the “Records of Woman,” published in 1828. In

this, to use her own words, “there is more of herself to be found”

than in any preceding composition. But even the slightest analysis of

these beautiful legends would be superfluous; suffice it to say, that

they were not things of meditation, but imagined and uttered in the

same breath; like every line that she wrote, as far as possible from

being a studied exercise. It is true, that in some lyrics more than

others, her individual feelings are eagerly put forth—in those, for

instance, wherein aspirations after another world are expressed, or

which breathe the weary pining language of home sickness, or in which

she utters her abiding sense of the insufficiency of fame to satisfy a

woman's heart, however its possession may gratify her vanity—or

wherein she speaks with a passionate self-distrust of her own art, of

the impossibility of performance to keep pace with desire. The fervor

with which these were poured forth seriously endangered a frame

already undermined by too ardent a spirit, whose consuming work had

been aided by a personal self-neglect, childish to wilfulness. So

perilously, indeed, was she excited by the composition of Mozart's

Requiem, that she was prohibited by her physician from any further

exercise of her art, for some weeks after it was written. Few more

genuine out-bursts of feeling have been ever poured forth than the

three following verses of that poem.

“Yet I have known it long:

Too restless and too strong

Within this clay hath been the o'ermastering flame;

Swift thought that came and went,

Like torrents o'er me sent

Have shaken as a reed, my thrilling frame.

Like perfumes on the wind,

Which none may stay or bind,

The beautiful comes floating through my soul;

I strive with yearning vain,

The spirit to detain

Of the deep harmonies that past me roll!

Therefore disturbing dreams

Trouble the secret streams,

And founts of music that o'erflow my breast;

Something far more divine

Than may on earth be mine,

Haunts my worn heart, and will not let it rest.”

Most of the poems above referred to, were written at Rhyllon; the last

and most favorite of Mrs. Hemans' residence at Wales. Some of them

will be found colored by a shadow which had recently passed over her

lot—the death of her mother. To this, which she always felt as an

irreparable loss, will be found not a few touching allusions in many

following letters.

A small woodland dingle, near Rhyllon, was her favorite retreat: here

she would spend long summer mornings to read, and project, and

compose, while her children played about her. “Whenever one of us

brought her a new flower,” writes one of them, “she was sure to

introduce it into her next poem.” She has unconsciously described this

haunt over and over again with affectionate distinctness; it is the

scene referred to in the “Hour of Romance,” and in the sonnet which is

printed among her “Poetical Remains.”

“Still are the cowslips from thy bosom springing,

O far off grassy dell?—And dost thou see,

When southern winds first wake the vernal singing,

The star-gleam of the wood anemone?

Doth the shy ring-dove haunt thee yet—the bee

Hang on thy flowers, as when I breathed farewell

To their wild blooms? and round the beechen tree

Still in green softness, doth the moss bank swell?”

Many of the imaginations which floated through her brain in this

retirement, were lost in the more interrupted and responsible life,

which followed Mrs. Hemans' departure from Wales; when the breaking up

of her household, on the marriage of one of her family, and the

removal of another into Ireland, threw her exclusively upon her own

resources, and compelled her to make acquaintance with an “eating,

drinking, buying, bargaining” world with which, from her disposition

and habits, she was ill-fitted to cope. One of these unfinished works

was the “Portrait Gallery,” of which one episode, “The lady of the

Castle,” is introduced in the “Records.”

{613}

CONCLUDING LECTURE

Of the Course on the Obstacles and Hindrances to Education, arising

from the peculiar faults of Parents, Teachers and Scholars, and that

portion of the Public immediately concerned in directing and

controlling our Literary Institutions.

BY JAMES M. GARNETT.

Since the first lecture of the course on the obstacles to all correct

education was delivered, so much time has elapsed, and so many of you,

probably, have not heard the whole, that some farther recapitulation

than was given when I last addressed you, seems necessary fully to

understand what I still wish to say in conclusion.

It will be recollected, I hope, that I have endeavored to fix upon

parents themselves much the greater portion of the guilt, as well as

the folly of creating these obstacles; since _they_, and the _nurses_

whom they choose, are unquestionably the first moral and intellectual

instructers of their children. I tried to prove that the deadly

mischief was accomplished by a process commencing almost with their

birth—a process which consists in checking or misdirecting the first

dawnings of intellect and feeling in these helpless little beings; in

teaching their heads, and neglecting their hearts; in cultivating

sensual rather than intellectual appetites; in the irregularity of

their moral discipline, which encourages or silently permits, at one

time, the outbreaking of certain juvenile propensities, which, at

another, they will severely punish; in performing this painful duty

much oftener from caprice and wrath than sound judgment; in

transferring their authority and their duties to others with far too

little consideration; in their frequent changes of schools and

teachers; in their reckless attacks upon the characters of both; in

suffering their children often to choose for themselves—not only

_where_, but _what_ and _how_ they shall be taught; in confounding the

mere going to school and confinement in a school-room, with profitable

study; in frequently disgusting their children with books in general,

and all scholastic learning in particular, by making application to

their lessons a punishment, rather than a pleasurable occupation; in

preparing them for insubordination, by treating and speaking of the

class of teachers as much inferior to themselves, and by taking part

against the former, upon almost every occasion where complaints are

made by either party; in making holidays seasons for feasting,

idleness, and dissipation, rather than of rational recreation and

agreeable diversity in the mode of intellectual and moral improvement;

in educating their offspring for situations which they will probably

never fill, and giving them tastes and desires never likely to be

gratified, thereby disqualifying them at one and the same time, for

attaining any of the real enjoyments of the present life within their

reach, or for gaining the promised blessings of the life to come; but

what is worse than all, in presenting a continual variance between

their own precepts and practice, and substituting worldly motives as

inducements to acquire knowledge, rather than the love and practice of

wisdom and virtue, as absolutely essential to happiness, both in our

present and future state of existence.

In speaking of the obstacles created by teachers as a class, I charged

them with deficiency of moral courage in pursuing the course essential

to the maintenance of that high station in society to which all well

qualified teachers who faithfully discharge their duties are justly

entitled. I accused them of making the business of teaching a mere

stepping-stone to some other pursuit, rather than a regular profession

for life; and, of course, neglecting the necessary means to give it

that respectability and influence in society which it ought to have,

and certainly would possess, if they took the same care to prepare

themselves to become good teachers, that other men take to distinguish

themselves in the particular professions which they have finally

determined to pursue. Another charge against them was, that instead of

always aiding each other as members of the same fraternity, their

insane jealousy often operated in such a way, as to bring their whole

class into disgrace and contempt; that their grand panacea for

stimulating to study, is _emulation_—a nostrum, which may perhaps cure

the disease of idleness, but will leave in its place those diabolical

passions—jealousy, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness;

that their favorite punishments generally are corporeal ones, which

can never do more than effect some temporary amendment of their

pupil's conduct, without producing any in their bad principles; that

the application of these punishments—these skin-deep remedies—is much

oftener a process to work off the teacher's own angry passions, than

to cure the pupil's faults—these last being considered rather as

school annoyances, to be put out of the instructer's way with the

least possible trouble and delay, than as deep-rooted diseases of the

heart, requiring the utmost tenderness and skill in the methods of

cure—diseases too, which must utterly destroy the sufferer's

happiness, unless radically conquered. I also endeavored to show, that

in their modes of teaching as well as in the books taught, they either

obstinately follow the course in which they themselves have been

taught, thereby precluding themselves from adopting any real

improvements which the progress of society may produce; or they run

wild in pursuit of every new project which the reckless spirit of

innovation is so constantly obtruding on the public. It was likewise

alleged against them, that their efforts, even when most zealously

made, were too generally directed, solely to stocking the minds of

their pupils with words, instead of being applied with still greater

assiduity to fortifying their hearts with just principles of thought

and action; that they made education to consist simply in what is

called school learning, instead of rendering it a development as

perfect as possible, of all our faculties, both intellectual and

physical; hence the ascendancy given to mere scholastic and scientific

acquirements, over those great moral and religious principles, without

a thorough knowledge and practice of which, man, although educated, is

little better than a beast of prey, furnished with increased powers of

doing mischief. But the worst perhaps of all the faults ascribed to

teachers, is, that they rarely manifest any particular interest in the

moral and religious improvement of their pupils—any strong anxiety for

their future happiness—any great solicitude for the correctness of

their conduct, farther than the teacher's own ease and reputation are

concerned; in a word, any of those kind, affectionate feelings towards

them, which will almost invariably secure their warmest attachment,

and at the same time establish an influence over them immeasurably

more {614} powerful that can possibly be created by any other means.

In illustrating the obstacles to education created by pupils, I

endeavored to show, that they too generally look upon learning as

physic, rather than food; that they mistake both the nature and extent

of their teacher's authority over them, and consequently, of their own

obligations to obedience; that they view all holidays or hours stolen

from school as positive gains, rather than losses—at least of time, if

nothing else; that to thwart their teachers is a proof of

independence—to cheat them, an evidence of genius; that their own

tastes and judgments are very soon deemed better guides for them, than

their teacher's; that going to school at all, is a business, rather to

please their parents than to benefit themselves—a most irksome

restraint upon their natural liberty—a bondage which they may break as

often as they can; and consequently, that their teachers are jailors,

hired to confine, to teaze, and to punish, rather than good friends,

ever ready to show them the best paths to knowledge, virtue, and

happiness. I charged them generally with mistaking, while at school,

the mere mechanical process, called “going through their books,” for

thoroughly understanding and mastering their contents; hence such

pupils always measure their scholarship, solely by the length of time

they spend at school, and the number of pages which they there read,

instead of estimating it by the amount of really useful acquirement. I

likewise attempted to show that pupilage is viewed by vast multitudes

of youth, as the period for idleness—for reckless enjoyment, rather

than earnest and assiduous preparation for fulfilling faithfully all

the important duties of adult life; that the great moral laws made for

the government of mankind in general, were not, as they believe, made

for boys and girls at school—or that they may break almost any of them

with impunity, provided their teachers do not detect them; that no

thought nor care for forming their future characters need molest them,

until after they leave school, which will be quite soon enough to

undertake so troublesome a business; and, of course, that they may

offend as often as inclination prompts them—not only against good

manners—but truth, justice, and honor, without the least hazard to

their reputations. To crown the obstacles to correct education,

created by the faults and errors of youth, I will state one omitted in

its proper place, which prevails to a most deplorable extent; it is

the belief, that the matters usually taught in schools, such as will

enable the pupils to get a college diploma, comprehend the whole of

what is called _education_; and that these requisites to collegiate

honors are to be obtained, if at all, merely for worldly purposes, not

as auxiliary means only, towards perfecting, as far as practicable,

all those admirable faculties bestowed on us by God himself for the

noblest of all uses—that of promoting human happiness, both in time

and eternity.

Superadded to all these formidable obstructions to education as it

should be, many more arise from other classes of society than parents,

teachers, and scholars. The chief of these are, the want of

persevering zeal in this vital cause, and the general neglect of all

whose business it should be to inquire minutely and thoroughly into

that part of the management of schools, which, very rarely, if ever,

is made the subject of newspaper publication or individual scrutiny.

Yet is this, beyond all comparison, the most important; I mean the

particular methods of instruction, and the conduct of the teachers

towards their pupils both _in_ and _out_ of school.

It is really not enough for the public to be told that at such and

such schools, all arts, sciences, languages and accomplishments are

taught _dirt cheap, and in the shortest imaginable time_—admitting the

possibility of any such incredible promises being fulfilled. The main

points—the great, essential groundwork of all right education, are

_the moral discipline—the punishments and rewards—but above all, the

motives and inducements to study_, which the teachers inculcate; for

_if this part of the process be essentially wrong, no other part can

well work rightly_. Into all these particulars, continual, earnest,

and diligent inquiries should be made by competent judges—not to

expose nor to injure individuals, but to supply what is deficient, and

to correct what is wrong in all schools. Teachers themselves would not

be long in setting about the work with due diligence, when they found

public sentiment opposed to any part of their practice; and the

community in general more disposed minutely and judiciously to

investigate all such particulars relative to the management of

schools, as it is always important, should be thoroughly known and

understood. Most persons judge of schools by what they hear—not by

what they see, or certainly know; and so little concern is usually

felt about them, by any but those who have children there, that none

else scarcely ever ask any questions on the subject. The consequence

is, that although many will occasionally _talk_, as they do about

various other matters which they do not understand, yet they rarely

ever _judge_ correctly. Idle gossip—the spirit of

detraction—ignorance, and malice—will do infinitely more harm to these

establishments, than the partiality of friendship, which is often

equally blind, can ever do good; for the work of _pulling down_ is

always an easier, and frequently, to many, a much more agreeable task,

than _building up_. Another great benefit which would result from so

close and accurate a scrutiny as the one recommended, would be, that

the investigators, and through them the public, would learn to make

somewhat more charitable estimates of the difficulties which all

teachers, especially of large schools, have always to encounter from

the faults and vices of their scholars, aggravated by the interference

of ignorant, injudicious, and immoral parents. All who would open the

eyes of their understanding would certainly discover, that not a few

of these difficulties infest even female schools, wherein the common

opinion seems to be, at least with most parents in regard to their own

daughters, that “nothing can in any wise enter that defileth;” or, in

other words, that “the beau ideal” of woman—all innocence, purity and

loveliness—is the real character of all her female children, and

inseparably attaches to them, wherever found, whether at home or

abroad. Such a discovery, possibly, might also lead such all-confiding

parents to the painful, but salutary suspicion, that _they themselves_

may have been, by early neglect on their part, the real cause of these

sore evils. Notwithstanding these parental hallucinations in regard to

daughters, all experience proves that girls differ from boys in their

faults and vices, only according to the degree of their exposure in

early life, to the contraction of bad principles and bad habits. What,

in reality, are {615} schools, either of boys or girls, but the world

in miniature, annoyed and distracted by nearly all the same faults and

vices—in a mitigated form, it is true, yet still operating to the

extent of their respective spheres, and in proportion to the power of

the peculiar temptations by which the pupils are assailed, as well as

of the good and bad principles which they carry with them from home?

This is true as the Gospel itself—yet where are the parents who could

bear to have any of these follies and vices ascribed by this rule to

their own children, especially if they were daughters, or would

believe the accusation, if made? What would become of the luckless

teachers who would have candor and hardihood enough to venture on such

revolting disclosures? In all probability the loss of employment would

be the consequence, if nothing worse befel them. Yet, that disclosures

of this kind might very frequently and most justly be made in regard

to many individuals in all large schools, none can possibly doubt, who

will deliberately reflect on the composition of very many of these

institutions. What would be the result of such reflection? Why, that

many of the scholars have traits of character nearly as bad as could

well be expected at so early a period of life, and habits such as

inevitably lead to moral degradation and destruction, if not radically

cured during the period of pupilage. Children of all grades of

capacity, from the highest to the lowest—of all degrees of moral and

literary acquirement, from a considerable portion of culture and

improvement, to a very deplorable state of ignorance, idleness, and

vice, and of all imaginable varieties of dispositions and tempers, are

often found huddled together in these institutions. The unavoidable

consequence is, that innumerable obstacles of almost invincible power

to obstruct the progress of education, are continually presenting

themselves—that numerous acts are committed to deplore, and a thousand

things practised for which there can be no cure, unless both parental

authority and public sentiment will steadily and most actively

co-operate with the teachers, both in devising and applying the proper

remedies. But how can this co-operation possibly be made, while the

necessity for it is undiscerned—while the obstacles created by each

party remain uncorrected, and the current coin between parents and

teachers continues to be flattery and deception, instead of full and

confidential disclosures by the last, of the children's faults and

misdeeds, met by efficient support from the first, in every measure of

salutary discipline? A reformation however, in these momentous

particulars, is among the last things thought of, in regard to

schools, where, in countless instances, the limbs and bodies of the

pupils appear to be deemed much better worth training than their

hearts and souls. If the first and last lesson taught a child, before

it quits its home to be placed under other teachers, be, that the

admiration and applause of the world must be the chief objects of

pursuit, what success can the subsequent instructers possibly expect,

who venture to inculcate a different lesson? What hope can they

rationally entertain of substituting the love of wisdom and virtue—the

fear of sin, and the holy desire of pleasing our Maker in all things,

for the passions of pride, vanity, and ambition, sucked in almost with

the mother's milk? Would it do to acquiesce so far in this primary

instruction, as to tell the pupils that they must cherish these

passions, but beware how they direct them? Would not such prescription

be quite on a par in folly with granting a child inclined to

drunkenness, liberty to drink every day to the point of intoxication,

or with exposing ono who had any other vicious propensity, to

opportunities of indulging it? The truth is, that if children are

turned over immediately from the parent's to the teacher's hands, with

passions rarely or never restrained—vicious inclinations and wills

unsubdued—stubbornness, idleness, and insubordination habitually

indulged, the tutor who attempts their correction has scarcely a

possible chance of success. The very first serious effort would

probably soon cause the removal of such pupils, who would be almost

sure to complain, and would as surely be believed; for parents who

spoil their children, are, most unfortunately, often found to confide

in their veracity just in proportion as they should distrust it. But

should the teacher's efforts to reform, fail to produce

misrepresentations to the parents, they would usually be met by some

such remonstrance as the following:—My father and mother never used to

care about such things, and why should _you_? What right have _you_ to

condemn and forbid that which _they_ suffered to pass unnoticed, and

therefore, probably approved? Is the prospect any better, when there

is no chance of appeal from the tutor's authority, nor of improper

interference from such parents or guardians as have neither sense nor

experience to know what is best for the children? It certainly _ought

to be_, provided the instructers were well qualified for their

offices. But alas! _they too_ are often equally unfit, either from

temper, ignorance, or subservience to the prevalent follies,

prejudices, or culpable practices of the time present. If those whom

it seems their interest to please, happen to be wrong-headed—unsettled

in _their_ principles, and vicious in _their_ conduct, these suppliant

teachers permit all _their_ abstract notions of right to vanish into

thin air, and will frequently abandon, not only their modes of

teaching, but the matters to be taught, although confident of their

great importance, that they may keep in favor with such really

worthless patrons. It may be urged, at least, in mitigation of this,

as well as several other faults of teachers, that they have to act

both a difficult and most arduous part; for they have many wills,

opinions, and principles besides their own to consult; many pernicious

whims and wayward caprices to encounter; numerous prejudices to

overcome; and not a few practices to oppose, which have either the

parental sanction openly avowed in their favor, or that silent

acquiescence in them, on which most children rely with equal

confidence. Possessing little more than a mere nominal authority, and

having always much work expected from them—such, for example, as

making models of good conduct and literary acquirement out of all

kinds of children—not only the well trained, but those who have been

immeasurably petted and indulged—not only the talented, but the

stupid—teachers are driven to the expedient of taking what generally

appears to them “the shortest cut.” This is, if possible, to produce

among their pupils, that anxious struggle for pre-eminence and victory

over each other in scholarship, which can neither be excited nor kept

alive without calling into action some of the worst passions of the

human heart. But such struggle being recommended by the imposing

misnomer of “noble, generous {616} emulation,” passes without

examination into its moral tendencies, and is almost every where

resorted to, as the only effectual means to secure diligence, ardor,

and perseverance in the pursuit of scholastic knowledge. To fulfil,

therefore, the unreasonable expectation of such persons as seem to

calculate on a child's education being finished with almost as great

despatch as a dexterous cooper sets up and turns off his flour

barrels—as well as to save themselves trouble, seems to be the chief,

if not the only reason why teachers have so generally cultivated the

principle of emulation in their schools, as a species of

“king-cure-all.” It is a poor excuse however, for instilling into the

youthful mind a poison which rarely fails to baffle all the future

efforts of moralists and divines who attempt its extirpation. That it

is entirely unnecessary, has been again and again demonstrated by some

of the most eminent writers, and most successful teachers who have

ever lived. All who are concerned in the business of education should

make common cause against this fell destroyer of the soundest

principles of instruction; and he or they who could succeed in its

utter extinction, would deserve the united blessings of every parent

and child in the United States.

The following very striking remarks, from “A practical view of

Christian Education in its earliest stages,” by T. Babington, member

of the British Parliament, are so apposite to my present purpose, that

I cannot forbear to quote them. In speaking of the father's duty, this

admirable writer says—“He must hold out examples to his child in such

a way as _not to excite emulation_. To imitate an example is one

thing: to rival any person, and endeavor to obtain a superiority over

him, is another. It is very true, as is maintained by the defenders of

emulation, that it is impossible to make progress towards excellence

without outstripping others. But surely there is a great difference

between the attainment of a superiority over others, being a mere

consequence of exertions arising from other motives, and a zeal to

attain this object, being itself a motive for exertion. Every one must

see that the effects produced on the mind in the two cases will be

extremely dissimilar. Emulation is a desire of surpassing others, for

the sake of superiority, and is a very powerful motive to exertion. As

such, it is employed in most public schools; but in none, I believe,

ancient or modern, has it been so fully and systematically brought

into action, as in the schools of Dr. Bell and Mr. Lancaster. Whatever

may be the merits of the schools of either of these gentlemen in other

respects, (a question which it is unnecessary to enter,) in _this_

they appear to me to commit such an offence against christian morals,

that no merits could atone for it. I cannot but think emulation an

unhallowed principle of action, as scarcely, if at all, to be

disjoined from jealousy and envy, from pride and

contention—incompatible with loving our neighbor as ourselves—and a

principle of such potency, as to be likely to engross the mind, and

turn it habitually and violently from the motives which it should be

the great business of education to cherish and render

predominant—namely, a sense of duty, and gratitude, and love to God.”

Instead of enlarging on this subject, I beg leave to refer to Mr.

Gisborne's remarks upon it, in his “Duties of Women.” “If emulation

(says he) is an unhallowed motive, it cannot innocently be employed,

whatever good effects may be expected from it. _We must not do evil

that good may come._ But if any christian should deem it not

absolutely unhallowed, few will deny, I think, that it is questionable

and dangerous. Even then, in this more favorable view of emulation,

ought it to be used, unless it can be shown to be necessary for the

infusion of vigor into the youthful mind, and for securing a

respectable progress in literature? I can say, from experience, that

it _is not necessary_ for the attainment of those ends. In a numerous

family with which I am well acquainted, emulation has been carefully

and successfully excluded; and yet the acquirements of the different

children have been very satisfactory. I can bear the same testimony

with respect to a large Sunday School with which I have been connected

for many years. I have often heard of _virtuous_ emulation—but can

emulation ever be so characterized in a christian sense? Whether it

may in that loose sense of virtue which those adopt who take the

worldly principle of honor for their rule, I will not stop to inquire.

“_But it is not sufficient not to excite and employ emulation on plan

and system, as a stimulus in education—great care ought to be taken to

exclude it._ And great care will be necessary, for it will be

continually ready to show itself; and if not checked, it will soon

attain strength, strike its roots deep in the heart, and produce

bitter fruits, which, in the eyes of a christian, will be

ill-compensated by the extraordinary vigor and energy it will give to

scholastic studies. When examples are held out for imitation, (a very

different thing, be it remembered, from emulation,) or _as warnings_,

the child must be made sensible that its state in the sight of God is

rendered neither better nor worse by the virtues or the faults of

others, except so far as they may have influenced, or may have failed

to influence, its own conduct—that it ought to love its neighbor as

itself, and to rejoice in every advance made by another in what is

good, and to lament over all his faults and defects, without one

selfish thought being suffered to check the joy or the concern—that it

ought therefore to wish all its companions all success in their common

studies, with the same sincerity with which it wishes its own

success—and to be affected by their faults and failures in the same

manner it would be by its own. It should be made sensible, in

proportion as it may give way to feelings the reverse of these, that

its ‘eye will be evil because others are good’—and it will act in

opposition to the injunction, ‘mind not every one his own things, but

every one also the things of others,’ and to a whole host of

Scriptural precepts and examples. These things must be inculcated, not

by lectures in general terms, but by applying such views to all the

little incidents which call for them as they successively arise. The

child must also be made sensible, how much better it is for himself

that his companions should be eminent for laudable attainments and

good qualities; for that, in proportion to their excellences in these

respects, they will be useful and estimable companions, and ought to

be objects of his affection. All little boasts of having done better

than this or that brother or sister, and every disposition to

disappointment when _they_ succeed best, should be most carefully

checked, and the lesson of ‘rejoicing with them that do rejoice, and

of weeping with them that weep,’ must be very diligently inculcated.”

{617} To these authorities of Babington and Gisborne, I believe might

be added that of every writer of any eminence on the subject of

education, from the first who denounced emulation as an unchristian

and most pernicious principle of action, to the most distinguished of

our own times. Yet, strange to say, it continues to be made the

master-wheel of the whole machinery of instruction in almost all the

schools of the United States. Very few exceptions can any where be

found. The deleterious nostrum is administered far more extensively

than any quack medicine ever yet invented—nay, than all of them put

together; and common sense and christian morality interpose their

warning cries in vain. Parents, teachers, and scholars are all playing

into each others hands, (if I may so express myself,) to perpetuate

this fatal quackery; but the sin lies principally at the doors of the

first. _They_ influence and direct, mediately or immediately, the

whole system of education; and if _they_ will not commence the

Herculean work of reformation, it must remain an utterly hopeless

undertaking, since none else have either the authority or the power to

make it. Self-amendment therefore in _them_, must necessarily precede

amendment in others. But how is _this_ to be brought about, when the

leaders themselves, or rather those who should be so, in this vital

work, are just as blind generally to their own faults, as so many

insane persons; while the few who can see them, have not enough moral

courage even to attempt their extirpation. The great popularity of

emulation is easily explained: it saves parents the difficulty and

trouble of explaining and enforcing the duty, demonstrating the

advantages, and portraying the pleasures of literary, scientific, and

moral acquirements; for teachers also, it is the same labor-saving

process; while it imparts to the pupils themselves a stimulus to

mental effort, similar to that which alcohol produces on bodily

exertion—a stimulus that excites feeling, while it deadens judgment,

and irresistibly transforms benevolence into the most unqualified

selfishness. And thus it is, that instead of genuine christian

morality and true religion being made the only basis of all education,

a spurious principle of most pernicious tendency, fatal alike to both,

is substituted for them. _Such a principle is emulation_, however

sophistry may disguise, or our own bad passions recommend it. The

victory for which it constantly goads us to struggle, _must be

obtained_, cost what it may to the peace, the fame, or the happiness

of others.

It may perhaps be objected, that if the moral and religious

instruction of children were as much and as closely attended to as I

seem to require, no time would be left for any thing else; and

consequently, that on the principles here recommended, the mind would

soon be miserably contracted by bigotry and fanaticism. Very far

should I be, even if I had the privilege, from restraining the powers

of the understanding, or limiting their exercise only to moral and

religious subjects; although these, if prosecuted to their full

extent, embrace quite enough for man's happiness in both worlds. No,

God forbid; let these powers be carried to their highest point of

attainable perfection—let them be most assiduously, most unceasingly

cultivated to the latest period of human life, for such is the divine

will of Him who bestowed them all. But I would invariably have it done

in perfect accordance _with His will_, and solely for the promotion of

human happiness—our own, of course, as well as that of others. _It

never should be done_, for the wretchedly selfish, contemptible

purpose of surpassing each other, and obtaining the applause of beings

equally frail, imperfect, and sinful with ourselves.—Shall I be asked,

if I would exclude the love of praise from human motives? Assuredly I

would, if it cannot be used without being made a paramount principle.

For however pure it may appear, at first, there is always so much

impurity mixed with it, especially when it results in active

emulation, that almost all who are nurtured upon such diet, soon learn

to feed upon the garbage of indiscriminate applause, when they cannot

procure the nicer dishes of this species of mental aliment. The taste

for it is perpetually becoming more and more depraved by

indulgence—whereas the love of God, and of wisdom and virtue as _his_

requirements, can never run to excess, nor can ever operate in any

other way than to enrich, improve, and exalt the soul for all the

great purposes, both temporal and eternal, to which it was originally

destined. Shall we be told that the first motive is so much easier to

inculcate than the last, as to produce a necessity for resorting to

it? I shall continue to deny the fact until the experiment can fairly

be made. This has never yet been done in a sufficient number either of

families or schools, to furnish the necessary proof, to say nothing of

the utter incompatibility of the two kinds of motive as controlling

principles of conduct. Let us endeavor to illustrate this by numbers.

If a hundred children under the process of education, are constantly

urged on in their course by the stimulants of emulation and ambition,

for one who is taught that these are not proper motives of action,

(and I believe the proportion is still greater,) ought we to wonder

that ninety-nine should be found _both emulous and ambitious_—should

be found preferring the _lesser_ to the _greater_ good? Ought we to

feel any surprise if human praise, present, palpable, and certain—held

up too as the most desirable thing _in this world_, should be much

more highly esteemed, than the remote, and with very many, the

doubtful prospect of gaining something, they know not what, in a world

to come—by acting as if human praise, however delightful, should _not

be_ the mainspring of our conduct in the present life? Yet where shall

we turn our eyes or ears, and not find it so? Where shall we search

without finding this cancer shooting its fatal roots into the very

centre even of the youngest hearts? The process begins with the

nursery slang of—“dear, sweet, precious little darling!—ar'n't you the

most beautifullest, the best, the smartest little child in the whole

world? and sha'n't you be far before them all?” This inordinate,

immeasurable excitation is continued in all possible forms and

modifications, until the well grown son or daughter is transferred to

some distant school with the valedictory dose of—“Farewell, my dearest

child—be sure never to let any of your schoolmates get before you in

your studies; you must outdo them all, or you will disgrace yourself

and family.” With such food, thus seasoned by nurses, parents,

teachers, companions and all, from the first dawnings of intellect to

its maturity, when the youth of our country issue forth from their

schools, academies, and colleges, “with all their blushing honors

thick upon them,” where will the young brain be found that will not be

turned with pride, vanity, and ambition? Where will {618} be the young

lady whose heart will not sicken at the thought of a rival in beauty

or accomplishments?—where the young gentleman who would not be ready,

should he deem it necessary, to assert his imaginary supremacy with

sword and pistol, against all who might appear likely to cross his

path, or mount the ladder of worldly honors and distinctions faster

than he could? The driest tinder will not sooner blaze from contact

with a lighted match, than will the passions of all young men, thus

educated, take fire, and consume both others and themselves, if their

selfish views of any kind are likely to be disappointed by conflicting

claims to selfish gratifications. Can any persons, in their senses,

believe it will be enough to save their sons and daughters from pride,

vanity, and ambition, occasionally to tell them, “take care, my good

children, you must not be either proud, vain, or ambitious,” although

they themselves are continually sowing the seed of these vices, and

using all suitable means to make them vegetate and ripen. Would it not

be stark madness in parents to expect that their sons should obey

their injunctions to sobriety, if they placed them under continual

temptations to get drunk; or, that their daughters could long remain

innocent, if exposed constantly to all the allurements of vice in its

most seductive forms? Yet equally mad are all parents who first

subject their children to all the corrupting influences of merely

worldly morals, and then expect from them such uniform examples of

virtuous conduct as can flow from no other imaginable source but the

morality and religion of the Gospel of Christ Jesus himself. For the

immoral propensities and vices of children, there is no other radical

cure under heaven than christianity; but alas! in many, even of the

most popular schools in the United States, both christian morals and

the christian religion, if not actually a species of contraband, are

yet _untaught_ as an essential part of the regular scholastic course.

Human happiness being acknowledged on all hands to be the only

legitimate object of all education—happiness both here and

hereafter—it has always seemed to me passing strange, that we should

act in regard to the vegetable kingdom, where mere abundant

fructification is the only object, on much more rational principles

than we do in relation to that to which we ourselves belong. For

example, from _the tops_ of such plants as man has subjected to his

culture, we never expect even _leaves_, still less _fruit_, until we

have first taken good care to give _their roots_ all the appliances

which we believe necessary and proper. But a course nearly opposite is

generally pursued with the human subject. We go to work most

laboriously upon the _head_, before we so much as think of the

_heart_, which may well be called the root of all our actions.

Teachers themselves too frequently take it for granted, that every

thing which ought to be done in this behalf has already been done at

home, and is therefore no part of _their_ business. But the deplorable

fact is, that in very many cases, nothing, or worse than nothing, has

there been done. In every such instance, the all-essential duty,

however often neglected, of teachers, is to exert every faculty they

possess for remedying so deadly an evil, since no great and permanent

good can ever be imparted to the pupil without it. But _is this done

generally_, or even in many instances? To prove that _it has not been

done_, an appeal has been made to the experience of all who have well

examined this subject, and I challenge a denial. It has been affirmed

that our schools in general, from the lowest to the highest, do not

sufficiently attend to the inculcation of moral and religious

principles—do not make them, as it were, the foundation, cement, and

finishing of all the various materials which contribute to form the

superstructure called _Education_. The charge is certainly a very

serious one; but fortunately, if it be unjust, the difficulty of

disproving it will not be very great. It may be done, first, by the

various public notices of what the conductors of our schools generally

promise to do for those confided to their care; and second, by an

exposition, fully and faithfully made, how far and in what manner

these promises are fulfilled. Shall we find, in a majority of these

notices, any thing more than a brief, general declaration, “to attend

strictly to the manners and morals of the pupils?” If we can, then are

they acquitted so far as _public pledges_ can go. Have we yet been

informed, that in a majority of these schools a regular and constant

course of moral instruction is given, and that religious principle,

not only in the abstract, but in practice, is earnestly and most

assiduously inculcated by every means in the power of the teachers?

Then ought they to be acquitted also, on the score of _performance_.

But let the appeal be made to these two tests when it may, and the

melancholy truth of my assertion will flash conviction on the most

incredulous minds. We shall find very many schools where languages,

sciences, arts and accomplishments are well taught; while few, very

few will be discovered, in which _that alone_ which makes all these

things of any permanent value, is taught _at all_, or taught in such a

manner as to enable young people correctly to discriminate between the

various species of knowledge, and to assign to each its just measure

of real, intrinsic worth. For proof of this assertion, I would ask

what body of trustees or visitors (call them what you please,) of our

schools, do we ever hear of, making inquiries into any thing more than

the literary qualifications and decent characters of those who either

have, or offer to take charge of them? Would this be the case?—could

it possibly happen, if religious and moral instruction held the rank

which it ought to do, in their estimates of the comparative value of

the matters to be taught? If the christian code of morals, the

christian system of faith, have any advantage whatever over the faith

and practice of those who think that they can do very well _without_

christianity, or at least with a mere nominal belief in it, _ought

such inquiries ever to be neglected?_—nay, should it not be considered

an imperative duty always to make them? How many of our schools of any

kind do we hear of, wherein even the formality of daily prayers, and

regular attendance at places of public worship, are either insisted

upon or recommended? Is this done in a majority of them? If not, how

can the neglect be explained, but on the ground of disbelief in the

duty and utility of these practices? And yet we are said to live _in a

christian community!_ and much offence, I presume, would be taken,

were any person to address the public as if the contrary were the

fact. But as trees must be judged by their _fruit_—not by their

_names_, so must communities as well as individuals be characterized,

rather by their practices than their professions.

There is still another and far stronger proof of our {619} assertion,

that moral and religious instruction is much and very generally

neglected in our schools. Let any one who chooses to make the

experiment, take, indiscriminately, any number of young persons, of

both sexes, who have just left school, and ask them—“are you members

of any particular christian church? If you are not, have you formed

any distinct, settled religious opinions in consequence of the course

of religious instruction received from your teachers? Has any regular,

earnest, unremitting effort been made to instil into your minds the

general principles of christianity?” I verily believe that the

multitude answering in the negative would shock any one who had the

least particle of true religion in him. To this opinion I have been

led, not by vague conjecture, but by much inquiry and observation.

It may perhaps be urged, that even theological schools—schools

exclusively devoted to moral and religious instruction, sometimes turn

out infidels, hypocrites, and profligates upon society. I admit the

fact, but deny that any inference can fairly be drawn from it which

could, in the slightest degree, invalidate the assertion that moral

and religious instruction should ever be made the basis of all

education. But one method indeed, occurs to me, by which this vital

truth (as I firmly believe it to be) could be rendered even doubtful.

It would be fairly to compare, if practicable, the numbers of

worthless young persons from all our schools of every kind. Then, if

the proportion from theological institutions was greater than from any

other, or even should it prove as great, the peculiar kind of

instruction there given might well be deemed worthless. But if this

proportion really be smaller, almost beyond calculation smaller, as I

verily believe it will be found, it must be as clear as a cloudless

sun that the religious and moral principles taught in theological

schools, are infinitely more available in making good and virtuous

men, than all the other principles put together which are taught in

other schools, and are consequently greatly superior to them, even

_for this world's use_. Shall I be asked by the scoffers at religion,

if I would educate all our boys for parsons? I will reply by another

question—will not the scoffers themselves be willing to educate their

children for heaven, if there _be such a place_? If there _be not_,

what could they possibly lose, even in the present life, by having

them taught to believe that truth, justice, mercy, and charity in its

broadest sense, with all other good qualities that exalt man to his

highest state of moral and intellectual excellence, have no other sure

foundation, no other permanent sanction, but christianity? As a mere

matter of worldly calculation, and upon the supposition that there is

error, or at least _the risk of it_ on both sides, any rational man

would think that the point should be settled forever, even by so

simple an argument as the one used by Crambé with his master Martinus

Scriblerus, when invited to join a society of free-thinkers. Crambé's

advice was, “by no means to enter into their society unless they would

give him sufficient security to bear him harmless from any thing that

might happen after this life.” This is a kind of calculation which

must always have some weight even with the most reckless, hardened

sinner. As here presented in the identical words of Dean Swift, it may

possibly have the appearance to some, of unbecoming levity on so

momentous a subject. But I trust not, as nothing is more remote from

my own intentions. No matter which can possibly engage our attention,

can bear the smallest comparison with this in importance; and in this

respect, the reformation of our schools throughout the country, is a

subject of the deepest—the most vital interest. In many, very many of

them, no religious instruction whatever is given; nor indeed, is there

any regular, systematic course of moral study pursued as the most

essential of the whole course; but (as I have before remarked)

languages and sciences—sciences and languages, alternated in all

imaginable modes and forms, constitute nearly the whole process of

education for our sons; while our daughters, to compensate for their

not being allowed to go quite so deep into such matters, have their

feet and fingers taught to execute many truly marvellous tricks—and

moreover, are instructed in the grand art of getting husbands by

“dress and address,” as the quintessence of female education.

The sum and substance of all my remarks on this, as on former

occasions, will prove, I hope, that many great and radical obstacles

exist to the adoption and practice of a correct system of education,

which are far from being necessary evils, although the various

mischiefs done by them may be considered as working most fatally on

the very vitals of society. Many of these obstacles have been, most

justly, as I believe, ascribed to parents—many to teachers, numerous

others to scholars, and not a few to the public in general. Whether

these last will find any parents willing to acknowledge them, is more

than I can tell. But believing that their existence cannot be

denied—for they are seen and deeply felt every where—the conclusions

to be drawn from such facts remain in their full force.

These are, that the teaching of _the heart_ must always precede that

of _the head_; that _right motives_ must be inspired before _good

conduct_ can be expected, and that the Logadian plan of building

houses from the tops downwards, must not be so closely imitated in

rearing our edifices of education, if we wish them to answer any other

than a very temporary and comparatively contemptible purpose. In other

words, we must take care always to commence with _the foundations_,

and have _them_ exactly as they should be, or the superstructures can

never be either useful or durable to the extent they might be made.

These foundations are—_not the alphabet_, nor _the arithmetical

characters_, nor _grammars_, nor _dictionaries_, nor _foreign

languages_, nor _sciences_—_but the love of God and man to be

displayed in overt acts rather than by empty professions, and to

govern, in fact, the whole life._ To make our entire work

indestructible _hereafter_, as well as estimable in the highest degree

_here_, the main pillars, as well as the corner stones and whole

groundwork must be—aye, _must necessarily, absolutely, unconditionally

be_, such as will pass inspection in the next life, as well as in the

present. This brings us back to what has heretofore been so much and

so earnestly insisted upon—the unqualified, the sacred obligation of

all who have any thing to do, from first to last, with educating the

youth of our country, to make, as far as practicable, not only _their

motives_, but _the ultimate ends_ of their whole course of study, such

as may bear examination at the last great and awful day of our final

account before the Almighty Judge of heaven and earth. This most

momentous truth of a final judgment in {620} another state of

existence, for all “our deeds done in the body,” instead of being the

first thing taught to our children as soon as their minds are capable

of receiving truth at all, is generally left to find its way into them

as it may—to be forced upon them in after life, as it rarely fails to

be, by the terrors, the remorse of a guilty conscience, reproaching

them for the commission of deeds against which early moral and

religious instruction might effectually have guarded them. Yes, my

friends, if there be any truth in God's word, such instruction _would

guard_—_would save them_ from these terrors and this remorse. What

awful responsibility then attaches to all those who neglect to give

it! What an appalling consideration should it be, that thousands upon

thousands of our youth are taught—so far as parental example _can

teach_, to smother all thoughts of a final judgment in feasting; to

drown them in intoxication; to forget them in the long and deadly

sleep of a bestial debauch; or to banish them from the heart by the

various pursuits of vanity, pride, avarice and ambition! Yet most of

these very parents themselves well know, that all such sensualities

and indulgences together are utterly unavailing always, to ward off

the dark, solemn hour of serious reflection and agonizing remorse,

which _will_ come, soon or late, to all offenders against the laws of

God. Then rushes on the startling remembrance of all their misspent

hours—their vicious pursuits—their criminal deeds, to haunt their

guilty imaginations with ceaseless terrors, and to leave them no rest

but in the temporary oblivion procured by a repetition of some long

practised debauchery or other. Such must inevitably be the fate, in a

greater or less degree, of all who act as if no future accountability

attached to them for present conduct; unless indeed, their profligacy

has been so great, so incessant, as to have silenced entirely “the

still, small voice of conscience;” and _then_, the sooner death sweeps

them from the face of the earth the better—certainly for society, and

none the worse probably for themselves. But what, my dear friends,

does all this prove? Is it not demonstration strong as proof from holy

writ, that religious and moral principle should invariably be made the

basis of _all education_, and that nothing which is called education

should be suffered to be carried on, unless in close connection with,

and subordination to this all-absorbing truth of final and eternal

punishment for sin—of final and eternal happiness for a life of

holiness and virtue in the present world?

If this reasoning be just, why is it that a course of moral and

religious instruction is either entirely omitted, or so little

regarded in nearly all our schools, except such as are theological?

Could it possibly be the case, if religious and moral principles were

deemed just as essential among all orders of men, as in the clerical

order? Yet if these principles be equally necessary to all, why is a

matter so highly important—so indispensable to the well being and

happiness of society—left in a great measure, to chance? Why are young

persons at school, suffered to infer from the silence of their

instructers, that no particular attention to this subject need be

given, unless by those who design to become professional teachers of

religion? Is it denied, even by infidels, that the principles and

motives of conduct, so far as they can possibly be imparted by human

means, are matters of infinitely more importance among the things to

be taught, than any others which can be imagined under the name of

knowledge? So far then, both believers and unbelievers agree. Both

concur in the necessity of first instructing every child in that

system of ethics which is to serve them through life as a rule of

action; because all other information without this must be stock that

they know not how to apply. Yet, neither infidels nor christians

generally, if at all, give this vital instruction in any such manner,

as to prove to their children, that they estimate it very far above

all other, in the scale of real value. The necessity of imparting it

being equally admitted by the adherents of the worldly system of

morals, and by the believers in that system left to us by our blessed

Saviour himself, as the only sure guide to happiness, either here or

hereafter, neither party can find any justification for their most

shameful neglect. By this, they leave those whom it is their sacred

duty to guide, without either chart or compass to steer their course

through all the difficulties and dangers of life. Some religious

parents and teachers there are, who express such a mortal dread of

what they please to call _sectarianism_, that they will not venture to

teach even the great fundamental truths of religion, in which all

christians, at least, entirely agree; and thus, religious instruction

of every kind is excluded from the course of these marvellously

scrupulous persons. Others again, who, without believing one word of

the Holy Scriptures, are yet willing, as a matter of prudence, to

treat both them and their doctrines with external respect—say, that

_they_ teach nothing which is _contrary_ to christian morality and

religion. Although it would be easy to prove that silence in such a

cause is little, if any better than open hostility, I will meet the

assertion in a more direct way, by denying its truth. The fact is,

that in every school in the United States, wherein moral and religious

instruction is neglected, many things are taught which _are contrary_

to the principles of christianity. To prove this, look at the

direction given to the conduct of the pupils—the motives by which they

are actuated, and the objects at which they are taught to aim. Are not

these _all worldly_? Are not many of them _absolutely forbid_ by the

plainest precepts of christianity? And what more need be asked to

demonstrate the truth of my accusation? Numerous exemplifications have

already been given of the false morality, and consequently false

religion imbibed, if not actually taught, both under the parental

roof, and in our schools. In fact, the instances are so abundant, that

I have scarcely ever attempted to trace the immoral and irreligious

opinions of any persons whatever to their primitive source, without

discovering that these opinions were derived chiefly from the precepts

and examples of their early instructers. Motives being the source of

all actions, and principles their regulators, both _must be made_ what

they _ought to be_, or the actions themselves can never be morally

good: yet most teachers appear to think that the principles and

motives of their pupils are matters with which they have little or no

concern. If their heads be filled with what is called scholastic

learning—if they can be made punctually to obey scholastic rules, the

instructers generally deem their part of the business of teaching

accomplished, and the hearts of their scholars are left to form

themselves. But what, in reality, can avail all the scholastic

learning in the world, unless the possessors are first inspired {621}

with the only true and proper motive for acquiring it, at the same

time that they are taught its only justifiable use? This motive is

social, philanthropic, heavenly; it is the love of God and his

creatures. It impels to unceasing beneficence on earth, and leads us

to look to heaven for our final reward. But the motives encouraged at

least, if not openly taught in a great majority of schools, as well as

by most parents, are essentially selfish and exclusive: for their

objects are personal fame and personal aggrandizement, to be gained at

any expense whatever, of mortification and suffering to others, which

successful rivalry can inflict, or eager, insatiate competition can

procure. Such motives and such morality interpose no effectual bar to

the indulgence of any strong passion which happens to seize upon the

individual governed by them, provided only such indulgence be openly

tolerated by fashion, or silently permitted. For example, they never

prevent our sons from drunkenness, gambling, or blowing out each

other's brains for the most trivial causes imaginable, while they

almost encourage, by failing to mark with utter reprobation, a species

of profligacy too revolting to be mentioned. In regard to our

daughters, the prevalent system of instruction cherishes a passion for

dress—for public amusements of all kinds in which females are

permitted to join—for company keeping—for general admiration—which

unfits them for domestic life, and leaves their hearts a prey to all

the tormenting distractions of envy, jealousy, and disappointed pride

and vanity. Against these vices so destructive to the happiness of

both sexes, I know of no regular course whatever of religious and

moral instruction in our schools generally, especially of the

preparatory kind. Recitations in languages, and elementary books of

science, with a little writing and cyphering, comprise the sum total

of the matters taught; and whether the children are Mohammedans,

heathens, infidels or christians, is an affair which seems to be

thought not properly cognizable by teachers at all. Here let me once

more repeat, that I never would make, even had I the power, any

alteration whatever in our systems of instruction, which would tend,

in the slightest degree, to prevent the youth of our country from

reaching the highest attainable excellence in all the justifiable

pursuits of life. But I would have it thoroughly and deeply impressed

on their hearts, under all circumstances—at every period of their

pupilage, and at all times, _that truly moral conduct resulting from

genuine religious principles, is “the one thing needful,” first and

far above all, both for time and eternity_. Nothing should ever be

taught in _any_ school, high or low, great or small, but in complete

subordination to this most momentous, most vital truth: nor should any

teacher whatever be suffered to neglect making _this_ the chief object

of pursuit for every scholar under his or her care.

This plan alone, with God's blessing to aid it, can ever achieve the

so much needed scholastic reforms and amendments in the modes and

general scope of parental instruction. This alone can ever materially

diminish that enormous mass of vice and crime, with all their

soul-sickening consequences, which renders this world a scene of such

constant, indescribable wretchedness in so many of its aspects. And

who are _they_, my friends, that make it so? Who are the poor,

forlorn, outcast wretches, that have brought disgrace upon their sex,

shame on their families, and endless woe upon themselves? Are they

not, in almost every case, the miserable victims of infidel opinions

imbibed in early youth, under parents and teachers who have incurred

the deep and deadly guilt of neglecting to take care of their precious

souls, until the critical hours for correcting their evil propensities

had forever passed away? Who compose that motley, most pitiable group

of both sexes, and of almost all ages, with which our jails and

penitentiaries are filled? Who are the shedders of their brother's

blood? Who the robbers and murderers for gold, for revenge, for lust?

Who the hellish destroyers of female honor, purity and peace—the

perpetrators of crimes that carry ruin, misery and death into the

peaceful abodes of domestic life, tearing asunder the nearest and

dearest ties of our existence, and outraging alike all laws, both

human and divine? Are they persons who have been morally and

religiously educated from infancy, or such as have been most

shamefully, most guiltily neglected in these all important

respects—such as have hardly so much as heard of any other bonds—any

other fetters to restrain their criminal passions—to prevent their

atrocious deeds, than the gossamer filaments of a mere worldly

morality? Alas! my friends, the bare contemplation of such

heart-rending results, from the neglect or perversion of education, is

enough to make every mother of an infant yet guiltless of actual sin,

press the little innocent still closer to her bosom than she would do

from the ordinary impulse of maternal love, in shuddering apprehension

of what may be its future fate. It is enough to make every father

tremble in considering the future destiny of his child, lest some

neglect of duty, some false instruction, some vicious example on his

part, should bring this child of his heart to misery and destruction.

Will _you_ then, my dear hearers, do nothing to prevent such

consummation, either as regards your own offspring or that of others?

Can _you_, who have so much power—so deep an interest too in this

momentous matter—can _you_ deliberately and seriously contemplate

these crying evils, this enormous aggregate of human guilt and woe,

without ascribing it principally to our defective systems of

education, and without some secret dread lest _you yourselves

individually_ may have, in some way or other, either directly or

indirectly, contributed to augment it? Will you not add to your power

of establishing, patronizing and regulating schools, the still more

effectual influence of _your example_ in the early instruction of your

children, to make education what it should be, in all its branches?

Can there be any thing that concerns us in the present life—is there

any thing in the whole compass of thought, which should excite half

such deep, heart-felt, all absorbing anxiety, as to remove this deadly

curse of ignorance and vice from our land and nation? That it _is

removable_—at least in a degree beyond all calculation, greater than

we can judge from beholding its present widely spread mischief, none

can doubt who believe in the scripture assurance, that if we train up

our children in the way they shall go, they will not depart from it;

or who confide in the extent to which, by the blessing of God, all

human beings may be improved, both in knowledge and virtue, by means

of education. Not only our own happiness, but that of our children and

children's children, to the latest generation, are at stake; and it

depends upon _you_, my friends, _you_, who, in full {622} proportion

to your numbers, can direct and control the education of the present

race, whether this happiness shall be increased or destroyed to a

degree which it has never yet reached. Upon _your_ precepts and

examples, while your children are under your own care, and upon _your_

choice of preceptors, when you confide them to the care of others, it

depends—whether these children shall prove curses or blessings to

themselves, to their parents, and to their country. Let _all our

resources then_, both mental and physical—_all_ our available means,

both of talent and wealth, be applied to the requisite extent, for the

attainment of so glorious a purpose. The individuals who achieve it—if

it ever is to be achieved, will merit the highest honors—the richest

rewards that this world can bestow, and will enjoy all the happiness

promised in the next, to the greatest benefactors of the human race.

And now, my friends, in bidding you farewell, permit me freely, but

respectfully, to address my few concluding remarks still more

personally to yourselves. _Ye parents_, who are conscious of faults

that obstruct the education of your own offspring and are anxious to

mend them—_ye_ who still have children to be instructed, and cherish

that deep solicitude for their continual improvement in knowledge and

virtue, which it is your most sacred duty to cherish—_ye teachers_,

who justly estimate the nature and extent of the momentous trusts

confided to your honor, and the fatal consequences of neglecting to

fulfil them—_ye young men and maidens_, who are still under

pupilage—behold, I beseech you, the moral mirror which I have held up

to your view. Search it again and again, and if you discern therein

any similitude to your own defects, let it not be seen in vain. Oh!

suffer it not to pass away “like the morning cloud or the early dew,”

but set _instantly_, _earnestly_, _perseveringly_, about the vital

work of extirpation, as your only hope for happiness either here or

hereafter. Learn to consider—nay, _never for a moment to forget_, that

nothing called education can have a shadow of pretence to be

pronounced complete, but that which has for its basis the Gospel of

Christ as well as its divine morality—that to act on every occasion as

_this_ directs, is true wisdom—and that to gain the power of doing so,

you must cherish in your hearts, through all the vicissitudes of life,

the same heavenly dispositions and sentiments which the pious Cowper

has so feelingly expressed in the following admirable lines.

_Thou_ art the source and centre of all minds,

Their _only_ point of rest, _Eternal Word!_

From _thee_ departing they are lost, and rove

At random, without honor, hope, or peace.

From _thee_ is all that soothes the life of man,

His high endeavor and his glad success,

His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.

But oh! thou bounteous giver of all good,

_Thou_ art of _all_ thy gifts—thyself the crown.

Give what thou canst, _without thee_ we are poor,

And _with thee_ rich, take what thou wilt away.

THE RAINBOW.

“The Rainbow,” by Campbell, “Triumphal Arch,” &c. is indeed a glorious

piece, and worthy at once of the subject and the poet. Nor does it

derogate much from his genius, though it does a little perhaps from

his honesty, that he has borrowed (without acknowledgment) two or

three of the finest thoughts and phrases in it from an older bard, a

certain Henry Vaughan, who flourished about two centuries ago, and

whose poems, says Montgomery, “amidst much harshness and obscurity,

show gleams of rare excellence.” Thus these lines of Vaughan,

How bright wert thou when Shem's admiring eye,

Thy burning, flaming arch did first descry;

When Zerah, Nahor, Haram, Abram, Lot,

The youthful _world's gray fathers_, in one knot,

Did, with intentive looks, watch every hour

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower

evidently suggested that fine stanza of Campbell—

When o'er the green undeluged earth

Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,

How came the _world's gray fathers_ forth

To watch thy sacred sign.

But the verse which follows is an admirable addition of his own.

And when its yellow lustre smiled,

O'er mountains yet untrod,

Each mother held aloft her child,

To bless the bow of God.

This finishes the picture, and makes it perfect. And Vaughan's two

first lines,

Still young and fine, but what is still in view,

We slight as old and soil'd, though _fresh_ and new,

together with his two last,

Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,

And minds the covenant betwixt ALL and ONE,

obviously kindled Campbell's two closing stanzas—

As _fresh_ in yon horizon dark,

As _young_ thy beauties seem,

As when the eagle from the ark

First sported in thy beam.

For faithful to its sacred page,

Heaven still rebuilds thy span,

Nor lets the type grow pale with age

That first spoke peace to man.

A splendid improvement indeed! In short, Campbell's Rainbow (or the

best part of it, from the fifth verse to the end,) is but a sort of

_secondary_ of Vaughan's, though it is not in this case, as in nature,

fainter, but _triumphantly_ brighter and more beautiful than the

first.[1]

[Footnote 1: Perhaps the reader may like to see Vaughan's piece

entire. Here it is.

THE RAINBOW.—_By Henry Vaughan._

Still young and fine! but what is still in view

We slight as old and soil'd, though fresh and new;

How bright wert thou when Shem's admiring eye,

Thy burning, flaming arch did first descry;

When Zerah, Nahor, Haram, Abram, Lot,

The youthful world's gray fathers, in one knot,

Did, with intentive looks, watch every hour

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower.

When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair;

Storms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air;

Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours

Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.

Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie

Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye!

When I behold thee, though _my_ light be dim,

Distant and low, I can in _thine_ see Him,

Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,

And minds the covenant betwixt _All_ and _One_.]

{623}

RIGHT OF INSTRUCTION.

Quare quoniam de re publica quærimus, hoc primum videamus quid sit id

ipsum quod quærimus.

* * * * *

Est igitur, inquit Africanus, res publica _res populi_; populus autem

non omnis hominum coetus quoquo modo congregatus, sed coetus

multitudinis juris consensu et utilitatis communione sociatus.

* * * * *

Quare cum _penes unum_ est omnium summa rerum, _regem_ illum unum

vocamus, et _regnum_ eius rei publicae statum.

* * * * *

Itaque si Cyrus ille Perses _iustissimus fuit sapientissimusque rex_,

tamen mihi populi res; ea enim est, ut dixi antea, publica; non maxime

expetenda fuisse illa videtur, cum regeretur _unius nutu_. Ac modo si

Massilienses nostri clientes per delectos et principes cives _summa

iusticia_ reguntur, inest tamen in ea condicione populi _similitudo

quædam servitutis_.

* * * * *

Cur enim regem appellem Jovis optimi nomine hominem dominandi cupidum

aut _imperii singularis_, populo oppresso dominantem, non _tyrannum_

potius?

_De Re Publica._

For the Literary Messenger to contain temperate articles upon general

politics, and political economy, is in the humble opinion of the

individual now writing, as manifestly proper, as it would be obviously

the reverse for it to embark in the slightest degree in party strife.

He was therefore decidedly pleased with the appearance of an article

of the temper and tone of the letter in the last number upon the RIGHT

OF INSTRUCTION. That article has so universally been attributed to the

pen of the amiable and learned JUDGE HOPKINSON, that it would be

affectation not to consider him as its author. This avowal, whilst it

renders the boldness of an attempt at reply the more fearfully

conspicuous, also renders more glaringly manifest the impropriety of

suffering the gauntlet so gallantly thrown by so able and courteous a

champion into the teeth of all Virginia's chivalry, to remain

unaccepted. The fear that business, or inertness, or a belief that the

question is settled, should prevent our distinguished men from

entering the lists, and thus leave the impression that the cause of

the Honorable Judge was deemed too righteous for our knights to risk

the fate of the combat, has induced one little fitted for the

controversy, with no little trepidation, to enter the lists. To drop a

stale metaphor, I will venture to suggest a few plain reasons for

thinking the argument of the Judge not entirely conclusive.

The Virginia doctrine of instructions is thus laid down by the Judge.

“I understand that doctrine to be, that the instructions of a State

Legislature to a Senator of the United States, are an authoritative

lawful _command_, which he is bound implicitly to obey, and which he

cannot disobey without a violation of his official duty as a Senator,

imposing upon him the obligation to resign his place if he cannot, or

will not, conform to the will of his Legislature.” There is but one

fault to be found with this definition, which is the insertion of the

word “_official_” instead of the word “_moral_.” We hold the

obligation to obey instructions or resign to be a moral duty of the

man, incident to the acceptance of the office, rather than the

_official_ duty of the Senator. The latter duties are prescribed by

the constitution, the former are established by general principles of

political ethics. This distinction may seem to be rather nice than

important, since the establishment of either would lead to the same

practical result. But as we are now discussing the propriety of that

result, it is important to know precisely upon what principles the

right is based, lest we lose our cause by a mistake in terms. If we

contended for the official duty of the Senator, we could look _only_

to the constitution for the establishment of the right, but contending

for the moral duty as an honorable man and an honest politician, we

may look to any source not incompatible with the provisions of that

instrument. The learned Judge proceeds, after laying down his

definition to state his objections. The doctrine appears to him “to be

absolutely incompatible with the cardinal principles of our

constitution, as a representative government; to break up the

foundations which were intended to give it strength and stability, and

to impart to it a consistent, uniform, and harmonious action; and

virtually, to bring us back to a simple, turbulent democracy, the

worst of all governments—or rather, no government at all.” We

Virginians must be permitted to join issue with the Judge upon each of

these conclusions, and I for one must confess that my mind is not

satisfied either by the ingenuity or learning displayed by him. But as

his reasons for his conclusions are developed in the progress of his

argument, perhaps it will be better to unfold our objections to his

conclusions whilst following his reasoning.

The Judge sustains his views in the first place, by combatting the

arguments of some writer in the Richmond Enquirer, who had endeavored,

it appears, to sustain the republican doctrine by the federal

authority of MESSRS. KING, JAY and HAMILTON, and for this purpose

quotes their speeches in the New York Convention, which adopted the

federal constitution. The Judge also sustains his opinions upon

general principles. He labored under the disadvantage of not having

the debates of the New York Convention before him, and was therefore

compelled to reason upon the isolated extracts quoted in the Enquirer,

without examining the context of the speeches for modifications or

explanations of the particular expressions quoted. The present writer

having neither the debates in the New York Convention or the Enquirer

before him, cannot enter into this branch of the subject. This he

regrets, because, although the question is one which must be decided

upon its merits, and not upon authority, yet to prove that the federal

doctrines of the present day are contrary to those entertained by the

founders of their own party, who were eminent and patriotic men, and

largely concerned in the foundation of our government, would divest

their doctrine of all the respect and sanctity which great names and

great antiquity will sometimes give even to principles intrinsically

wrong. The Judge then wisely endeavored to defend the federal

patriarchs from our republican heresies, and made an effort to carry

the war into Africa by showing, that even some of our republican

fathers had repudiated our cherished doctrine. But has he succeeded in

either? Without entering into that branch of the subject, we may be

permitted to glance at his reasoning.

“Let us see. Mr. King is represented to have said, that ‘the Senators

will have a _powerful check_ in those _who wish for their seats_.’

This is most true—and in fact it is to this struggle for place that we

owe much of the zeal for doctrines calculated to create vacancies. Mr.

King proceeds—‘And the State Legislatures, if they find their

delegates erring, can and will _instruct them_. Will this be no

check?’ The two checks proposed, in the same {624} sentence, and put

upon the same footing, are the vigilance of those who want the places

of the Senators, and the instructions which the State Legislatures can

and will give to them. They are said to be, as they truly are,

_powerful checks_, operating with a strong influence on the will and

discretion of the Senator, but not as subjecting him, _as a matter of

duty_, either to the reproaches of his rivals or the opinions of the

Legislature. To do this, a check must be something more than powerful;

it must be irresistible, or, at least, attended by some means of

carrying it out to submission—some penalty or remedy for disobedience.

I consider the term _instruct_, as here used, to mean no more than

counsel, advise, recommend—because Mr. King does not intimate that any

right or power is vested in the Legislature to compel obedience to

their instructions, or to punish a refractory Senator as an official

delinquent. It is left to his option to obey or not, which is

altogether inconsistent with every idea of a _right to command_. Such

a right is at once met and nullified by a right to refuse. They are

equal and contrary rights.”

Here were two checks proposed by Mr. King to prevent misconduct in a

Senator. The first was a continuing check, and would always operate

upon his conduct, unless he was willing to give his rivals a great

advantage, and would control him if he wished a re-election. The other

was a check in the hands of the Legislature, ready to be applied to

the _prevention_ of any _specific_ act of mischievous tendency by the

Senator, and seems to have no connection in Mr. King's mind with the

first check mentioned. The question put by him seems to imply that his

mind considered this check as positively and inevitably effectual in

any case in which it might be applied. We must remember that he was

arguing in favor of adopting the constitution, and offered a second

check by which honor and duty would control the Senators, upon whom

the fear suggested in the other check would have no effect. But let us

consider them with Judge H. in connection, and suppose that Mr. King

meant to consider the two checks as parts of one whole, and that the

instructions would be a check _because_ others wished for the seat.

This construction would make it very clear that Mr. K. thought the

Senator would be obliged to obey or _resign_, because unless such was

his duty, his competitors for the seat could not possibly accomplish

their wishes by means of instructions. Mr. K. only called the first a

_powerful check_, and not _both_, as the Judge inadvertently says.

With regard to the last, Mr. K. triumphantly asks, “_will this be no

check?_”—as if he considered that as conclusive, and this check

certainly operative in cases to which the first would not extend. It

is true Mr. K. says nothing about the power of the Legislature to

enforce obedience, because they have no such power, but he puts an

interrogatory, which he clearly thinks cannot be answered in the

negative, and leaves the question as if the duty of obedience was too

clear for dispute. If this was not his idea, whence his triumphant

manner? Did any body ever doubt the power of a Legislature to advise

or petition their Senators? Then why parade so paltry and worthless a

right with so much pomp, and as a valuable security to the States?

What good was this right to do those who wished for the seats?

What if the State Legislatures do not have power to punish? They have

no power to punish any official delinquences in the Senator, however

gross and palpable, or any other violation of moral duty. They have no

right, if they enjoyed the gift of divination, to prescribe the course

of the Senator by law, providing for all contingences, nor can they

order punishment by an ex post facto law, or cause punishments to be

inflicted without a regular judicial trial, for any offence, except an

immediate violation of their own order. Even if a Senator violates his

positive pledge, the Legislature cannot punish him. They appear to be

in this respect like all other constituencies, at the mercy of their

representatives. Whether he acts morally or officially wrong, they

cannot as constituents punish him. Impeachment seems to be the only

remedy provided by any constitution, for any delinquency of any

Legislator acting in his official capacity; and this being in the

hands of the body to which he belongs, is generally inefficient. It

seems to be a sufficient answer to all arguments founded upon the

incapacity of the Legislature to punish for a violation of this

particular duty, to say that it cannot punish for a violation of any

duty. Can it be hence inferred that the Senator has no duties? Unless

it can, our adversary's argument is defective. Suppose it had the

power to punish generally for what it deemed offences? Can any one

doubt that it would punish this as one of the highest? But the power

of _subsequent_ punishment, or its absence, can neither create or

extinguish a _previous_ moral or official duty.

The Judge, in my humble judgment, begs the question, when he says, “it

is left to his _option_ to obey or not”—“a right to command is at once

met and nullified by a right to refuse.” Our doctrine contends that he

has no right to refuse, but we grant that he has the physical _power_

to disobey, without the moral right. The only option which we allow

him is that of resigning or obeying. If he resigns, of course, in

ceasing to be our representative or servant, our commands cease to be

of any force with regard to him.

The verbal criticisms entered into by the Judge, do not appear to me

to sustain his case. To instruct is doubtless in its primitive meaning

to _teach_, but the question is, when applied to the Senator,—teach

what? Not certainly to give general information. Is it to impart

superior knowledge upon the specific question to the Senator? This

militates against the federal doctrine of the superior wisdom of the

Senator; it supposes the legislative wisdom to be greater than his,

and of course, as such, it ought to prevail. For what purpose would

they enlighten him, if he was not bound to pursue the proper course

thus pointed out? It must be remembered that _teach_ does not mean to

advise or request. If this legislative teaching, is not to give

general information, or impart superior wisdom in particular cases, or

request, or advise a particular course, only one thing remains to

which the word teach can be applied, and that is the _will_ or

_wishes_ of the Legislature; and the fact of teaching would seem to

imply that he was to do their will if he knew what it was. They never

teach unless they believe he intends to act contrary to their wishes,

and their instructions are to inform him that he the servant has

mistaken the will of his principal, and thus instruction given in

cases of misapprehension or mistake of the will of the constituent,

becomes the polite term for a command in other cases. This

signification of command, is also one of the regular meanings of the

word. Johnson gives “Authoritative mandate” as one of its

significations. To give less force than this to the word, would make

the Legislatures mere petitioners, and their _instructions_ to

Senators have precisely the force of their _requests_ to the members

of the House of Representatives. But none of our writers, old or

modern, ever {625} considered these _requests_ as any sort of check

upon the House of Representatives; but all look to the Senate as a

check upon that body, and to check the Senate they say the State

Legislatures may instruct. If requests will be of any avail as a

check, why go around Robin Hood's barn, to bring them to bear?—why not

have said at once, the State Legislatures may instruct their members

in the House of Representatives? “Will this be no check?” Since an

example has been set by such high authority, of investigating valuable

rights by the light of the verbal critic's lamp, let us see if Dr.

Johnson will not extend a hand to save the people as well as to prop

their masters. He defines a representative to be “One exercising the

vicarious power given by another”—and vicarious is “_Deputed_,—

_Delegated_,—_Acting in place of another_.” We can find no authority

here for one who acts in a representative capacity, to act according

to his own will, and in direct opposition to the will of those in

whose place he acts.

The idea advanced by JUDGE HOPKINSON, of the impropriety of the

Senator's acting upon the _dictation_ of others, and his _own

responsibility_, seems a little disingenuous. The agent must be

considered as released from all responsibility, when he is ordered by

his principal to do a particular act. If he thinks that act illegal,

or dishonorable, he need not do it, but he ought to resign. And all

the responsibility rests upon the instructing Legislature. He has no

right to set up his opinion or conscience as supreme law for any one

but himself, and he is bound to presume that his constituents honestly

differed in opinion with him. If he disobeys, he will find that the

people will think it quite as probable that one man was wrong from

corruption, as that a majority of their immediate representatives were

corrupt. We do not maintain that “it is the official duty of the

Senator to obey _in all cases_,” but it is his moral duty in all cases

in which he is instructed to do a possible act, to obey or resign. But

says, Judge H., he may by his resignation defeat his constituents. Be

it so—the responsibility is upon them; but they cannot be defeated in

as great a degree, by having no representative, as by being

misrepresented. No vote is better than a vote against ourselves. Admit

the reverse to be true, and can an involuntary, accidental defeat of

the people's wishes, by a conformity to principle, be any excuse for a

wilful and predetermined defeat of their will? Can the Senator say, if

I had resigned, my successor might not have arrived in time to vote

for you, and so I held to my place, and voted against you? When Judge

H. contends that the will of the people may be defeated by the

resignation of the Senator, and that he ought therefore not _to

resign_, he admits that the will of the constituent ought to prevail,

and of course that instructions ought to be obeyed.

The argument which contends that a Senator should not resign when he

receives instructions which he cannot conscientiously obey, because

his successor may obey, and thus perhaps violate the constitution,

seems the most fallacious of all. It seems that because he has sworn

as Senator to support the constitution, he must not resign. This oath

surely only applies to his Senatorial career, and when his place is

resigned his oath is expunged. If construed with the strictness

required by the Judge, it would prevent his ever leaving his seat, or

resigning, or declining a re-election. He would be bound always to be

a Senator, if he possibly could, for fear his successor should violate

the constitution. He has no more right to believe that his successor

of the next month will violate the constitution, than his successor

ten years hence. And if his oath requires him to hold on to defeat the

one, it is equally obligatory with regard to the other, as far as any

exertions on his part can effect the object. Thus Senators would be

bound by their oaths to continue in office for life, if they could.