A NEW NAME AND NEW FACES
THE fourth session of the Assembly opened in 1877 with a new name,
_Chautauqua_ taking the place of old Fair Point. The former title had
caused some confusion. Fair Point was often misread "Fairport," and
letters wandered to distant places of similar names. There was a
Chautauqua Lake station on the Erie Railway, and a Chautauqua Point
encampment across the lake from Fair Point, but the name "Chautauqua"
had not been appropriated, and by vote of the trustees it was adopted;
the government was requested to change the name of the Post Office, and
the railroads and steamboats to place Chautauqua upon their
announcements. Fair Point disappeared from the record, and is now
remembered only by the decreasing group of the oldest Chautauquans.
Every season brings its own anxieties, and as the Assembly of 1877 drew
near, a new fear came to the leaders of Chautauqua. A few will
remember, and others have heard, that in 1877 took place the most
extensive railway strike in the annals of the nation. The large station
of the Pennsylvania Railroad in Pittsburgh was burned by a mob, and for
weeks at a time, no trains ran either into or out of many important
centers. Fortunately the strike was adjusted and called off before the
Assembly opened, and on the first day four thousand people entered the
gates, a far greater number than at any former opening.
On that year the menace of denominational rivalry threatened to confront
Chautauqua. Across the lake, two miles from the Assembly, another point
reaches westward, facing the Assembly ground. This tract was purchased
by an enterprising company belonging to Baptist churches, and named
Point Chautauqua. Its founders disclaimed any intention of becoming
competitors with the Assembly. Their purpose, as announced, was to
supply sites for summer homes, especially to members and friends of
their own denomination. They began by building an expensive hotel at a
time when the Assembly was contented with small boarding houses; and
they soon followed the hotel with a large lecture-hall far more
comfortable than either the out-door auditorium or the tent-pavilion at
Chautauqua. To attract visitors they soon provided a program of
speakers, with occasional concerts. Thus on opposite shores of the lake
two institutions were rising, in danger of becoming rivals in the near
future. Nor was Chautauqua Point the only rival in prospect. A year or
two later a tent was erected near Lakewood for the holding of an
assembly upon a "liberal" platform, where speakers of more advanced
views of religion and the Bible could obtain a hearing. This gathering
favored an open Sunday, and welcomed the steamers and railroad
excursions on the day when the gates of Chautauqua were kept tightly
closed. In those days the fear was expressed that Chautauqua Lake,
instead of being a center for Christians of every name might furnish
sites for separate conventions of different sects, and thus minister to
dissension rather than to fellowship.
But these fears proved to be groundless. The "liberal" convocation down
the lake held but one session, and left its promoters with debts to be
paid. The founders of the Baptist institution made the mistake of
beginning on too great a scale. The hotel and lecture-hall involved the
corporation of Point Chautauqua in heavy debt, they were sold, and the
place became a village, like other hamlets around the lake. The hotel
was continued for some years, and the lecture-hall became a dancing
pavilion, tempting the young people to cross the lake from Chautauqua
where dancing was under a strict taboo. Perhaps it was an advantage to
the thousands at the Assembly to find only two miles away a place where
the rules were relaxed.
One story of a later season may be told in this connection, for it was
without doubt typical. There are staid fathers and mothers attending
lectures on sociology and civics in the Hall of Philosophy who could
narrate similar experiences if only they would. A youth and two young
lasses went out at the pier-gate for a sail across the lake. They landed
at Point Chautauqua, refreshed their constrained bodies by a good dance,
and then sailed home again. But it was late, the gate was closed, and it
was of no avail to rattle the portals, for the gate-keepers were asleep
in their homes far up the hill. The girls were somewhat alarmed, but the
young man piloted them through the forest over a well-worn path to a
place where some pickets of the fence were loose and could be shoved
aside. They squeezed through and soon were safely at their homes.
But their troubles were not over. Their tickets had been punched to go
out of the grounds, but not to come in again. Technically, in the eyes
of the Chautauqua government they were still outside the camp. This
young man, however, was not lacking in resources. He knew all the
officials from His Whiskers, the supreme chief of police, down the list.
Making choice of one gateman whose nature was somewhat social he called
upon him in his box, talked in a free and easy way, picked up his punch
and began making holes in paper and cards. When the gatekeeper's back
was turned, he quickly brought out the three tickets, punched them for
coming into the grounds, and then laid down the nippers. The girls, now
officially within the grounds, were grateful to their friend, and to
manifest their regard wrought for him a sofa-pillow which decorated his
room in college.
Something should be said just here concerning the ticket-system of
Chautauqua. It was devised by the genius of Lewis Miller, to whom
invention was instinctive, and was improved to meet every possible
attempt at evasion. There were one-day tickets, good for only one
admission, three-day tickets, week-tickets, and season-tickets, all
providing no admission on Sundays. They were not transferable, and all
except the one-day variety bore the purchaser's name. Two or three
times during the season officers visited every house and every lecture
and class, even stopping everybody on the streets to see that no
single-day tickets were kept for longer periods. Provision was made for
exchanging at the office short-stop tickets for the longer time desired.
If one wished to go outside the gate on an errand, or for a sail on the
lake, he must leave his ticket, unless he was known to the gate-keeper,
in order to prevent more than one person from using the same ticket.
When one left the Assembly for good, he gave up his ticket. Every ticket
had its number by which it could be identified if lost or found; and the
bulletin-board contained plenty of notices of lost tickets.
It is said that one careful visitor carried his ticket everywhere for a
day or two, at each lecture-hall and tent looking vainly for a window
where it might be shown. As it did not seem to be needed, he left it in
his room, only to find when he wished to take out a boat, that he must
go home and get his ticket. When the day arrived for him to leave
Chautauqua, he placed his ticket in the bottom of his trunk, as it would
be needed no longer, intending to take it home as a souvenir for his
memory-book. But, alas, at the gate, departing, he found that ticket an
absolute necessity. Without it, apparently he must stay forever inside
the walls of Chautauqua. So once more he overhauled his trunk, dug up
his ticket from its lowest strata, and departed in peace.
One departure from camp-meeting customs at once wrought a change in the
aspect of Chautauqua and greatly promoted its growth. We have noted the
fact that in the earlier years no householder or tent-dweller was to
receive boarders, and all except those who cooked at home ate in a
common dining-hall. After the third Assembly, this restriction was
removed and anyone could provide rooms and board upon paying a certain
percentage of receipts to the management. The visitors who came in 1877
missed, but not in sorrow, the dingy old Dining-Hall, which had been
torn down. But everywhere boarding houses had sprung up as by magic, and
cottages had suddenly bulged out with new additions, while signs of
"Rooms and Board" greeted the visitants everywhere. In fact, so eager
were the landlords for their prey, that runners thronged the wharf to
inform new arrivals of desirable homes, and one met these agents even at
the station in Mayville. There was an announcement of the Palace Hotel,
the abode of luxurious aristocracy. The seeker after its lordly
accommodations found a frame building, tent-covered and tent-partitioned
into small rooms for guests. But even this was an improvement upon the
rows of cots in the big second story of the old lodging house, where
fifty people slept in one room, sometimes with the rain dripping upon
them through a leaky roof. Year by year the boarding cottages grew in
number, in size, and in comfort. Fain would we name some of these
hostelries, whose patrons return to them season after season, but we
dare not begin the catalogue, lest by an omission we should offend some
beloved landlady and her guests. In a few years the Palace Hotel,
half-house and half-tent, gave place to the Hotel Athenaeum, on the same
site, whose wide balcony looks out upon the lake, and whose tower has
been a home for some choice spirits. The writer knows this for he has
dwelt beside them.
[Illustration: Old Hall of Philosophy]
[Illustration: The Golden Gate
Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, Dr. J. H. Vincent, Lyman Abbott, Bishop H. W.
Warren]
On the extreme southwestern limit of the old camp ground was a ravine,
unoccupied until 1877. On the slopes of this valley the declivity was
cleared and terraced, seats--this time with backs--were arranged upon
its sides; toward the lake it was somewhat banked up to form a place for
the speakers' platform. Over it was spread the tent, formerly known as
"the pavilion," brought from the hill beside Vincent Avenue. This was
the nucleus out of which grew in after years the famous Chautauqua
Amphitheater. At first it was used only on rainy days, but after a year
or two gradually took the place of the out-of-doors Auditorium.
Near the book-store on the hill stands a small gothic, steep-roofed
building, now a flower-shop. It was built just before the Assembly of
1877 as a church for the benefit of those who lived through the year at
Chautauqua, numbering at that time about two hundred people. The old
chapel was the first permanent public building erected at Chautauqua and
still standing.
The program of '77 began with a council of Reform and Church Congress,
from Saturday, August 4th to Tuesday, August 7th. Anthony Comstock, that
fearless warrior in the cause of righteousness, whose face showed the
scars of conflict, who arrested more corrupters of youth, and destroyed
more vile books, papers, and pictures than any other social worker, was
one of the leading speakers. He reported at that time the arrest of 257
dealers in obscene literature and the destruction of over twenty tons of
their publications. There is evil enough in this generation, but there
would have been more if Anthony Comstock had not lived in the last
generation. Another reformer of that epoch was Francis Murphy, who had
been a barkeeper, but became a worker for temperance. His blue ribbon
badge was worn by untold thousands of reformed drunkards. He had a power
almost marvelous of freeing men from the chain of appetite. I was
present once at a meeting in New York where from the platform I looked
upon a churchful of men, more than three hundred in number, whose faces
showed that the "pleasures of sin" are the merest mockery; and after his
address a multitude came forward to sign Mr. Murphy's pledge and put on
his blue ribbon. At Chautauqua Mr. Murphy made no appeal to victims of
the drink habit, for they were not there to hear him, but he _did_
appeal, and most powerfully, in their behalf, to the Christian
assemblage before him. Another figure on the platform was that of John
B. Gough,--we do not call him a voice, for not only his tongue, but
face, hands, feet, even his coat-tails, were eloquent. No words can do
justice to this peerless orator in the cause of reform. These were the
three mighty men of the council, but the report shows twice as many
names almost as distinguished.
On the evening of Tuesday, August 7th, came the regular opening of the
Assembly proper, in the Auditorium on the Point. The report of
attendance was far above that of any former opening day. Dr. Vincent
presided and conducted the responsive service of former years--the same
opening sentences and songs used every year since the first Assembly in
1874. We find fifteen names on the list of the speakers on that evening,
representing many churches, many States, and at least two lands outside
our own.
Is another story of Frank Beard on that evening beneath the dignity of
history? When he came upon the platform, he found the chairs occupied,
and sat down among the alto singers, where he insisted on remaining
despite the expostulations of Mr. Sherwin. In the middle of the
exercises, the steamboat whistle at the pier gave an unusually raucous
scream. Mr. Sherwin came forward and told the audience that there was no
cause for alarm; the sound was merely Mr. Beard tuning his voice to sing
alto. Two or three speakers afterward incidentally referred to Mr. Beard
as a singer, and hoped that he might favor the congregation with a solo.
One of the speakers, an Englishman, prefaced his talk by singing an
original song, set to Chautauqua music. That he might see his verses,
Mr. Sherwin took down a locomotive headlight hanging on one of the
trees, and held it by the side of the singer. The Englishman, short and
fat, and Sherwin with dignity supporting the big lantern, formed a
tableau. Immediately afterward Dr. Vincent called on Mr. Beard to
speak; and this was his opening, delivered in his peculiar drawl.
"I was a good mind to sing a song instead of making a speech, but I was
sure that Professor Sherwin wouldn't hold the lantern for me to sing by.
He knows that he can't hold a candle to me, anyhow!"
With Professor Sherwin, in charge of the music in 1877, was associated
Philip Phillips, whose solos formed a prelude to many of the lectures.
No one who listened to that silvery yet sympathetic voice ever forgot
it. It will be remembered that President Lincoln in Washington, after
hearing him sing _Your Mission_, sent up to the platform his written
request to have it repeated before the close of the meeting. Mr.
Phillips ever after cherished that scrap of paper with the noblest name
in the history of America. Another musical event of the season of 1877
was the visit of the Young Apollo Club of New York, one of the largest
and finest boy-choirs in the country. They gave three concerts at
Chautauqua, which in the rank and rendering of their music were a
revelation to the listening multitudes.
While we are speaking of the music we must make mention of songs written
and composed especially for Chautauqua. In Dr. Vincent's many-sided
nature was a strain of poetry, although I do not know that he ever wrote
a verse. Yet he always looked at life and truth through poetic eyes. Who
otherwise would have thought of songs for Chautauqua, and called upon a
poet to write them? Dr. Vincent found in Miss Mary A. Lathbury another
poet who could compose fitting verses for the expression of the
Chautauqua spirit. If I remember rightly her first song was prepared for
the opening in 1875, the second Assembly, and as the earliest, it is
given in full. In it is a reference to some speakers at the first
Assembly who went on a journey to the Holy Land, and to one, the Rev. F.
A. Goodwin, whose cornet led the singing in 1874, who became a
missionary in India.
A HYMN OF GREETING
The flush of morn, the setting suns
Have told their glories o'er and o'er
One rounded year, since, heart to heart
We stood with Jesus by the shore.
We heard his wondrous voice; we touched
His garment's hem with rev'rent hand,
Then at his word, went forth to preach
His coming Kingdom in the land.
And following him, some willing feet
The way to Emmaus have trod;
And some stand on the Orient plains,
And some--upon the mount of God!
While over all, and under all,
The Master's eye, the Master's arm,
Have led in paths we have not known,
Yet kept us from the touch of harm.
One year of golden days and deeds,
Of gracious growth, of service sweet;
And now beside the shore again
We gather at the Master's feet.
"Blest be the tie that binds," we sing;
Yet to the bending blue above
We look, beyond the face of friends,
To mark the coming of the Dove.
Descend upon us as we wait
With open heart--with open Word;
Breathe on us, mystic Paraclete
Breathe on us, Spirit of the Lord!
Another song of the second Assembly, and sung through the years since at
the services of the Chautauqua Circle, was written and set to music by
Miss Lucy J. Rider of Chicago, afterward Mrs. Lucy Rider Meyer, one of
the founders of the Deaconess movement in the Methodist Episcopal
Church. It begins with the lines:
The winds are whispering to the trees,
The hill-tops catch the strain,
The forest lifts her leafy gates
To greet God's host again.
In the year of which we are writing, 1877, Mary A. Lathbury gave to
Chautauqua two songs which have become famous, and are to be found in
every hymnal published during the last generation. One is the Evening
Song of Praise, "Day is dying in the West," written to be sung at the
even-tide conferences beside the lake. The other, beginning, "Break thou
the bread of life," was the study song for the Normal Classes. Another,
less widely known abroad, but sung every year at Chautauqua is the
Alumni Song, "Join, O friends, in a memory song." These were a few of
the many songs written by Miss Lathbury at Dr. Vincent's request, and
set to music by Professor Sherwin. Originally composed for the Normal
Class, then the most prominent feature on the program, after the
Chautauqua Circle arose to greatness in 1878, they were adopted as the
songs of that widespread organization. For the C. L. S. C. a class song
was written each year, until the Chautauqua songs grew into a book. Not
all of these class songs have become popular, but quite a number are
still sung at the Institution, especially at class-meetings and in the
Recognition Day services.
At the Assembly of 1877 the Normal Class still stood in the foreground.
Special courses of lessons were given to Primary Teachers, by Mrs.
Emily Huntington Miller, Mrs. Wilbur F. Crafts, and the ever-popular
"Pansy"--Mrs. G. R. Alden. The record informs us that the average
attendance at the four normal tents was more than five hundred. Thorough
reviews after the course were held from time to time, and this year two
competitive examinations, one on August 14th for those unable to remain
until the close, but received examination on the entire course--fifty
questions in number; the other on Tuesday, August 21st with three
hundred candidates for the diploma.
From 1876 for a number of years it was the custom to hold an anniversary
service on one evening, for the Normal Alumni. The graduates marched in
procession, led by a band, a silken banner before each class, and every
member wearing a badge, to the Pavilion in the ravine and afterward to
its successor the Amphitheater, where Chautauqua songs were sung, and an
address given by an orator, the President of the Normal Alumni
introducing the speaker. It may have been in 1877, or maybe in a later
year, that John B. Gough was the orator of the evening; and he began his
address in this wise:
I don't know why I have been chosen to speak to
the Alumni of Chautauqua, unless it is because I
am an Alumni myself, if that is the right word for
one of them. I am art alumni of Amherst College;
M.A., Master of Arts. I have a diploma, all in
Latin. I can't read a word of it, and don't know
what it means, but those long Latin words look as
if they must mean something great. When I was made
an alumni I sat on the platform of the
Commencement Day; the salutatorian--they told me
that was his title--came up and began to speak in
Latin. He said something to the President, and he
bowed and smiled as if he understood it. He turned
to the trustees, and spoke to them and they looked
as wise as they could. He said something to the
graduating class, and they seemed to enjoy it--all
in Latin; and I hadn't the remotest idea what it
was all about. I kept saying to myself, "I wish
that he would speak just one word that I could
understand." Finally, the orator turned straight
in my direction and said, "Ignoramus!" I smiled,
and bowed, just as the others had. There was one
word that I could understand, and it exactly
fitted my case!
On the lecture platform of 1877, the outstanding figure was the massive
frame, the Jupiter-like head, and the resonant voice of Joseph Cook, one
of the foremost men of that generation in the reconciliation of science
with religion--if the twain ever needed a reconciliation. He gave six
lectures, listened to by vast audiences. The one most notable was that
entitled, "Does Death End All?" in which he assembled a host of
evidences, outside of the Scriptures, pointing to the soul's
immortality. Joseph Cook is well-nigh forgotten in this day, but in his
generation he was an undoubted power as a defender of the faith.
If we were to name the Rev. James M. Buckley, D.D., in the account of
each year when he spoke in the platform and the subjects of his
addresses, there would be room in our record for few other lecturers. He
was present at the opening session in 1874, and at almost every session
afterward for more than forty years,--aggressive in debate,
instantaneous in repartee, marvelous in memory of faces and facts, and
ready to speak upon the widest range of subjects. Every year, Dr.
Buckley held a question-drawer, and few were the queries that he could
not answer; although in an emergency he might dodge a difficulty by
telling a story. For many years he was the editor of the _Christian
Advocate_ in New York, known among Methodists as the "Great Official";
and he made his paper the champion of conservatism, for he was always
ready to break a lance in behalf of orthodox belief or the Methodist
system. Another speaker this year was Dr. P. S. Henson, a Baptist pastor
successively in Philadelphia, in Chicago, and in Boston, but by no means
limited to one parish in his ministry. He spoke under many titles, but
most popularly on "Fools," and "The Golden Calf," and he knew how to
mingle wisdom and wit in just proportions. Abundant as were his
resources in the pulpit and on the platform, some of us who sat with him
at the table or on a fallen tree in the forest, thought that he was even
richer and more delightful, as well as sagacious in his conversation.
Dr. Charles F. Deems, pastor of the Church of the Stranger in New York,
also came to Chautauqua for the first time this year. He was at home
equally in theology, in science, and on the questions of the day, with a
remarkable power of making truth seemingly abstruse simple to common
people. I recall a lecture on a scientific subject, at which he saw on
the front seat two boys, and he made it his business to address those
boys and simplify his message seemingly for them while in reality for
his entire audience. But we cannot even name the speakers who gave
interest to the program of 1877.
One event of that season, however, must not be omitted, for it became
the origin of one noteworthy Chautauqua custom. Mr. S. L. Greene, from
Ontario, Canada, a deaf-mute, gave an address before a great audience in
the Auditorium under the trees. He spoke in the sign-language, telling
several stories from the gospels; and so striking were his silent
symbols that everyone could see the picture. We were especially struck
with his vivid representation of Christ stilling the tempest. As he
closed, the audience of at least two thousand burst into applause,
clapping their hands. Dr. Vincent came forward, and said, "The speaker
is unable to hear your applause; let us wave our handkerchiefs instead
of clapping our hands."
In an instant the grove was transformed into a garden of white lilies
dancing under the leaves of the trees, or as some said, "into a
snow-covered field." The Superintendent of Instruction then and there
adopted the Chautauqua Salute of the waving handkerchiefs as a token of
special honor. It is sparingly given, only two or three times during the
season, and never except when called for by the head of Chautauqua in
person.
At the annual commemoration on "Old First Night" the Chautauqua salute
is now given in a peculiar manner to the memory of Lewis Miller and
other leaders who are no longer among us. At the call of the President,
the handkerchiefs are slowly raised and held in absolute stillness for a
moment; then as silently lowered. The Chautauqua salute is one of the
traditions observed in minutest detail after the manner of the
Founders.
Among the early issues of the _Assembly Herald_ appear some verses
worthy of a place in our history.
THE CHAUTAUQUA SALUTE
BY MAY M. BISBEE
Have you heard of a wonderful lily
That blooms in the fields of air?
With never a stem or a pale green leaf,
Spotless, and white, and fair?
Unnamed in the books of wise men,
Nor akin to the queenly rose;
But the white Chautauqua lily
Is the fairest flower that grows.
Never in quiet meadows,
By brookside cool and green,
In garden-plot, nor in forest glen,
This wonderful flower is seen.
It grows in goodly companies,
A theme for the poet's pen;
It loves not silence, nor cold nor dark,
But it blooms in the haunts of men.
The nation trails its great men
Of high and honored name,
With clapping of hands and roll of drums
And trump that sings of fame;
But a sweet and silent greeting
To the ones we love the best,
Are the white Chautauqua lilies
In our summer home of rest.
When the beautiful vesper service
Has died on the evening air,
And a thousand happy faces
Are raised at the close of prayer,
The voice of our well-loved leader
Rings out in its clear-toned might;
"We will give our salutation
To an honored guest to-night."
Then out of the speaking silence
The white wings rise to air,
Faintest of flutter and softest of sound,
Hail to the lilies rare!
Thousands and tens of thousands,
Swiftly the lilies grow,
Till the air is filled with the fluttering flowers,
As the winter air with snow.
Hail to the fair white lilies!
Sweetest of salutations!
The love of a thousand hearts they bear
The greeting of the nations.
The fairest of earth-born flowers
Must wither by-and-by;
But the lilies that live in the hearts they hail
Will never, never die.
O cold blast, spare the lily-bed
That bears the wonderful flower!
Give largely, O sky, of summer sun,
Largely of summer shower,
Till the white flowers born in our summer home
To earth's outermost rim be given;
And the lilies open their cups of snow
In the garden beds of heaven.
At the final meeting of the Assembly in 1877, on Monday evening, August
20th, Dr. Vincent outlined some plans for the coming year,--a large
hotel to replace the tented walls of the Pavilion Palace, a new
meeting-place to be built with walls and roof over the natural
amphitheater in the ravine, some further courses of study, and many
improvements to the grounds. Then he added, "And I shall not be
surprised if--well, I will not tell you--I have another dream I will not
give you." (A voice: "Let's have it.") "No, I am going to hold that
back, so you will want me to come next year. But I believe that
something higher and larger is just out yonder in the near future. Next
summer, if we all live, I will tell you about it." We shall see in the
coming chapter what that new development of Chautauqua was to be,--the
greatest in its history, and perhaps the greatest in the history of
education through the land.