interest. His business affairs, although they had not been as
profitable as they would have been if he had looked closer to them
and had given less thought to public matters during the war, were so
satisfactory that he could afford to put them in other hands for a
while, and in company with his wife he embarked for Europe. It was
to be a long holiday such as he had never known before. He intended
to make an extended tour――he was not to be hurried. He went through
England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Switzerland, Spain, Italy,
Egypt, Palestine, Turkey, Greece, Austria, Russia, Germany, Holland
and Belgium. In this way he saw and enjoyed all the most famous
picture-galleries of the old world; and his long study of art in its
various phases and schools gave him special advantages for the highest
enjoyment of the great collections, public and private, of the old
masters as well as of those of modern times.
The interest of his extended tour was not, however, limited to
galleries and collections of paintings and statuary. He was an observer
of men and things. His practical American mind observed and digested
everything that came within his reach. The government of the great
cities――the condition of the masses of the people gathered in them――the
common people outside of the cities, their customs and costumes; their
way of living――in short, everything that was unlike what we see at
home――he observed and remembered to enjoy in the retrospect of after
years.
It was hardly to be expected that Mr. Claghorn, having lived the busy
life that he had lived before he went abroad, should have been content
on his return to sit down in the enjoyment of his well-earned leisure;
and accordingly, shortly after his return, he became the President of
the Commercial National Bank, one of the oldest financial institutions
in our city. For several years previously he had been a Director in
the Philadelphia National Bank (as his father had before him), so
that he had had proper training for the duties of his new position.
He became also a Manager in the Philadelphia Saving Fund Society, the
oldest and the largest saving fund in our city. With most commendable
diligence and industry he at once set about building up the bank so as
to make it profitable to its stockholders. Not forgetting, however,
the attractions of art, he covered the walls of his bank parlor with
beautiful specimens of the choicest engravings, so that even the daily
routine of business life might be enlivened by glimpses into the
attractive world of art.
In the year 1869, when the Board of City Trusts was created by act of
Legislature (to which board is committed the vast estate left by Mr.
Girard, as well as of the other trusts of the city of Philadelphia),
Mr. Claghorn was appointed one of the original board of twelve, and
from that date until his death he gave much time and thought to the
duties thus devolved upon him. He became chairman of the finance
committee, which place he held until the end of his life. Although he
was not so well known to the boys of the college as some other members
of this board, because his duties did not require very frequent visits
to the college, he nevertheless gave himself to the duties of the
committee of which he was chairman with great interest and fidelity;
and the time which he gave to this great work is not to be measured by
visits to the college, but by the time spent in the city office and in
his own place of business, where his committee met him on their stated
meetings. As I have reason to know, he had a deep personal interest in
all the affairs of this college, and of the other trusts committed to
our charge.
Although the condition of his health in the latter part of his life
made close attention to business very trying to him, so far as I
know he never permitted his health to interfere with his business
engagements.
In this brief and fragmentary way I have tried to set before you
some features of the life of one of our most distinguished citizens.
In the limits of a single discourse as brief as this must be it is
not possible to make this more than an outline sketch. In the little
time that remains let me refer again for the purpose of emphasis to
some traits in the character of Mr. Claghorn which will justly bear
reconsideration.
A very large proportion of the merchants of any city fail in business.
The proportion is much larger than is generally known, and larger than
young people are willing to believe.
In an experience of more than forty years of business life, during
which I have had much to do with merchants, I have known so many
failures, have seen so many wrecks of commercial houses, that I am
compelled to regard a merchant who has maintained high credit for a
long term of years and finally retired from business with a handsome
estate as one who is entitled to the respect and confidence of his
fellow-citizens. Some men grow rich as junior partners in successful
business, the good management having been due to the ability and tact
of their seniors; but this can hardly be said in the present case. The
merchant whose life we are considering was an active and influential
partner.
Let me say, however, that true success in business is not to be
measured by the amount of money one accumulates. A man may be rich
in the riches acquired by his own activity and shrewdness who is in
no high sense a successful business man. These things are necessary:
He should be a just man, an upright, honorable man, a man of breadth
and solidity of character, who gathers about him some of the ablest
and best of his fellow-citizens in labors for the good of others and
the welfare of society. In such sense was Mr. Claghorn a successful
business man.
His early love of art in its various forms, the substantial aid and
encouragement he gave to young students in their beginnings, his deep
sympathy with persons who in literature and art were striving for a
living, his generous hospitality to artists, and his public spirit――all
these had their influence in the growth and development of his
character, and made his name to be loved and honored by many who shared
in his generous sympathies.
Mr. Claghorn’s love of country, which we call patriotism, was signally
disclosed at the outbreak of the war in 1861. When we remember his
long and busy life as a merchant――broken by few or no vacations such
as most other men enjoyed――when we remember that his self-culture had
been of such a nature as to prepare him most admirably well for a
tour in foreign countries, especially such countries as had produced
the ablest, the most distinguished artists――we can have some idea of
what it cost him to forego the much needed rest――to deny himself the
well-earned pleasure of a visit to the picture galleries of Europe,
where are gathered the treasures of the highest art in all the world.
Many men in like circumstances would have felt that one man, whose age
and sedentary habits unfitted him for active service in the field,
would hardly be missed from among the loyal citizens of the North――but
he did not think so; and therefore he put aside all his personal plans,
and in the city where he was born he remained and devoted himself
as one of her true, loyal citizens in raising money and men for the
defence of the government. There could be no truer heroism than this,
and right bravely and successfully he carried his purpose to the end.
“I am permitted,” said the clergyman who spoke at his funeral, and with
his words I close these remarks, “I am permitted to address to you
in the presence of the solemnity of death some few reflections that
occur to me in memory of one whom we shall know no more in life. A
few Saturday evenings ago I was walking along by a lake at a seashore
home when a great and wondrous beauty spread itself beneath my eye.
It was one of those inimitable pictures that rarely come to one. In
the foreground there lay a lake with no ripple on its surface. It was
a calm and sleeping thing. A shining glory was in the western sky. The
sun had gone, but where he disappeared were indications of beauty――one
of the most beautiful afterglows I have ever seen. It was not one of
the ordinary things, and as I looked at it there came many reflections.
Here is one of them. It seems quite applicable this morning. That which
caused the quiet glory of the lake, that which caused the radiation of
beauty, had gone. Its day’s work was done. That quiet lake and streaked
sky were the type of a picture of a busy, useful, successful life that
had been accomplished. It was a complete thing. The day was done. The
activity had passed away. It was finished just as this life. What had
made it beautiful had gone, but he flung back monuments of beauty
that made the scene as beautiful as good words and noble deeds make
the memory of man. There were six of these rays. Young men, brethren
of this community, you will do well to remember that anywhere and
everywhere, without patience and industry, nothing great can be done.
The life departed was a busy one――one of busy usefulness. The cry that
came from him was, ‘I must work; I must be busy.’ Live as this man
did, that your life may be one that can be held up as an example and a
light to young men of the coming generations. One ray of beauty was
his sterling truthfulness. It is a splendid thing to be trusted by your
fellows. Another ray was his prudent foresight. It was characteristic
of him, and it is a splendid thing to have. Another ray that welled out
of him was his striking humanity. There was one continual trait in his
character. I would call it manhoodness. There was another feature――his
deep humility.”
Such were some of the traits of character of a man who lived a long
life in the city where he was born. If no distinctive monument has been
erected to his memory, there are the “Union League,” “The Academy of
the Fine Arts,” and “The Academy of Music,” with which his name will
always be associated; and, what is better still, there are many hearts
that throb with grateful memories of an unselfish man, who in time
of sore need stretched out his hand to help, and that hand was never
empty. And you will remember, you Girard boys, that this man who did so
much for his native city and for his fellow-citizens was not nearly so
well educated at the age of fourteen when he left school as many of you
are now. See what he did; see what some of you may do!
THE LEAF TURNED OVER.
January 1, 1888.
Some weeks ago I gave you two lectures on “Turning Over a New Leaf.”
One of the directors of this college to whom I sent a printed copy said
I ought to follow those with another on this subject: “The Leaf Turned
Over.” I at once accepted this suggestion and shall now try to follow
his advice.
Most thoughtful people as they approach the end of a year are apt to
ask themselves some plain questions――as to their manner of life, their
habits of thought, their amusements, their studies, their business,
their home, their families, their companions, their plans for the
future, their duty to their fellow-men, their duty to God; in short,
whether the year about to close has been a happy one; whether they have
been successful or otherwise in what they have attempted to do.
The merchant, manufacturer or man of business of any kind who keeps
books, and whose accounts are properly kept, looks with great interest
at his account book at such a time, to see whether his business has
been profitable or otherwise, whether he has lost or made money,
whether his capital is larger or smaller than it was at the beginning
of the year, whether he is solvent or insolvent, whether he is able to
pay his debts or is bankrupt.
And to very many persons engaged in business for themselves, this is
a time of great anxiety, for one can hardly tell exactly whether he
is getting on favorably until his account books are posted and the
balances are struck. If one’s capital is small and the result of the
year’s business is a loss, that means a reduction of capital, and
raises the question whether this can go on for some years without
failure and bankruptcy. Many and many a business man looks with great
anxiety to the month of December, and especially to the end of it,
to learn whether he shall be able to go on in his business, however
humble. And, alas! there are many whose books of account are so badly
kept, and whose balances are so rarely struck, or who keep no account
books at all, that they never know how they stand, but are always under
the apprehension that any day they may fail to meet their obligations
and so fail and become bankrupt. They were insolvent long before, but
they did not know it; and they have gone on from bad to worse until
they are ruined. Others, again, are afraid to look closely into their
account books――afraid to have the balances struck, lest they should
be convinced that their affairs are in a hopeless condition. Unhappy
cowards they are, for if insolvent the sooner they know it the better,
that they may make the best settlement they can with their creditors,
if the business is worth following at all, and begin again, “turning
over a new leaf.”
I do not suppose that many of you boys have ever thought much on these
subjects; for you are not in business as principals or as clerks, you
have no merchandise or produce or money to handle, you have no account
books for yourselves or for other people to keep, to post, to balance,
and you may think you have no interest in these remarks; but I hope to
be able to show you that these things are not matters of indifference
to you.
The year 1887, which closed last night, was just as much _your_ year as
it was that of any man, even the busiest man of affairs. When it came,
365 days ago, it found you (most of you) at school here: it left all of
you here. And the question naturally arises, what have you done with
this time, all these days and nights? Every page in the account books
of certain kinds of business represents a day of business, and either
the figures on both the debit and the credit side are added up and
carried forward, or the balance of the two sides of the page is struck
and carried over leaf to the next page.
So every day of the past year represents a page in the history of your
lives: for every life, even the plainest and most humble, has its own
peculiar history. Your lives here are uneventful; no very startling
things occur to break the monotony of school life, but each day has
its own duties and makes its own record. Three hundred and sixty-five
pages of the book of the history of every young life here were duly
filled by the records of all the things done or neglected, of the words
spoken or unspoken, of the thoughts indulged or stifled; these pages
with their records, sad or joyful, glad or shameful, were turned over,
and are now numbered with the things that are past and gone. When an
accountant or book-keeper discovers, after the books of the year are
closed and the balances struck, that errors had crept in which have
disturbed the accuracy of his work, he cannot go back with a knife and
erase the errors and write in the correct figures; neither can he blot
them out, nor rub them out as you do examples from a slate or from
the blackboard; he must correct his mistakes; he must counteract his
blunders by new entries on a new page.
It is somewhat so with us, with you. Last night at midnight the last
page of the leaves of the book of the old year was filled with its
record, whatever it was, and this morning “the leaf is turned over.”
What do we see? What does every one of you see? A fair, white page.
And each one of you holds a pen in his hand and the inkstand is within
reach; you dip your pen in the ink, you bend over the page, the
thoughts come thick and fast, much faster indeed than any pen, even
that of the quickest shorthand writer can put them on the page. There
are stenographers who can take the language of the most rapid speakers,
but no stenographer has ever yet appeared who can put his own thoughts
on paper as rapidly as they come into his mind. But while there is but
one mind in all the universe that can have knowledge of what is passing
in your mind and retain it all――THE INFINITE MIND; and while no one
page of any book, however large, even if it be what book-makers call
elephant folio, can possibly hold the record of what any boy here says
and thinks in a single day, you may, and you do, all of you, write
words good or bad on the page before you.
Let me take one of these boys not far from the desk, a boy of sixteen
or seventeen years of age, who is now waiting, pen in hand, to write
the thoughts now passing in his mind. What are these thoughts? No one
knows but himself. Shall I tell you what I think he ought to write? It
is something like this:
“I have been here many years. When I came I was young and ignorant. I
found myself among many boys of my own age, hardly any of whom I ever
saw before, who cared no more for me than I cared for them. I felt
very strange; the first few days and nights I was very unhappy, for I
missed very much my mother and the others whom I had left at home. But
very soon these feelings passed away. I was put to school at once, and
in the school-room and the play-ground I soon forgot the things and
the people about my other home. Years passed. I was promoted from one
school to another, from one section to another; I grew rapidly in size;
my classmates were no longer little boys; we were all looking up and
looking forward to the school promotions, and I became a big boy. The
lessons were hard, and I studied hard, for I began to understand at
last why I was sent here, and to ask myself the question, what might
reasonably be expected of me? Sometimes when quite alone this question
would force itself upon me, what use am I making of my fine advantages,
or am I making the best use of them? And what manner of man shall I
be? For I know full well that all well-educated boys do not succeed in
life――do not become successful men in the highest and best sense. How
do I know that I shall do well? Is my conduct here such as to justify
the authorities in commending me as a thoroughly manly, trustworthy
boy? Have I succeeded while going through the course of school studies
in building up a character that is worthy of me, worthy of this great
school? Can those who know me best place the most confidence in me? If
I am looking forward to a place in a machine shop, or in a store, or
in a lawyer’s office, or to the study of medicine, or to a place in a
railroad office or a bank, am I really trying to fit myself for such a
place, or am I simply drifting along from day to day, doing only what I
am compelled to do and cultivating no true ambition to rise above the
dull average of my companions? And then, as I look at the difficulties
in the way of every young fellow who has his way to make in the world,
has it not occurred to me to look beyond the present and the persons
and things that surround me now, and look to a higher and better Helper
than is to be found in this world? Have I not at times heard words of
good counsel in this chapel, from the lips of those who come to give me
and my companions wholesome advice? What attention have I given to such
advice? I have been told, and I do not doubt it, that the great God
stoops from heaven and speaks to my soul, and offers his Divine help,
and even holds out his hand, though I cannot see it, and will take my
hand in his, and help me over all hard places, and will never let me
go, if I cling to him, and will assure me success in everything that is
right and good. I have heard all this over and over again; I know it is
true, but I have not accepted it as if I believed it; I have not acted
accordingly; in fact, I have treated the whole matter as if it were
unreal, or as if it referred to somebody else rather than to me.
“And now I have come probably to my last year in this school. Before
another New Year’s day some other boy will have my desk in the
school-room, my bed in the dormitory, my place at the table, my seat
in the chapel. These long years, oh! how long they have seemed, have
nearly all passed; I shall soon go away; if some place is not found
for me I must find one for myself――oh! what will become of me? Since
last New Year’s day two boys who were educated here have been sent
convicted criminals to the Eastern Penitentiary. What are they thinking
about on this New Year’s morning? They sat on these seats, they sang
our hymns, they heard the same good words of advice which I have heard,
they had all the good opportunities which all of us have; what led them
astray? Did they believe that the good God stooped from heaven to say
good words to them, holding out his strong hand to help them? I wonder
if they thought they were strong enough to take care of themselves?
I wonder if they thought they could get along without his help? Do I
think I can?”
Some such thoughts as these may be passing in the mind of the boy now
looking at me and sitting not far from the desk, the boy whom I had
in my mind as I began to speak. He is holding his pen full of ink. He
has written nothing yet; he has been listening with some curiosity to
hear what the speaker will say, what he can possibly know of a boy’s
thoughts.
I can tell that boy what _I_ would write if I were at his age, in this
college, and surrounded by these circumstances, listening to these
serious, earnest words. I would take my pen and write on the first page
of this year’s book, this Sunday morning, this New Year’s day, these
words: “_The leaf is turned over!_ God help me to lead a better life.
God forgive all the past, all my wrong doings, all my neglect, all
my forgetfulness. God keep me in right ways. God keep me from wicked
thoughts which defile the soul; keep me from wicked words which defile
the souls of others.”
“But this is a prayer,” you say; “do you want me to begin my journal by
writing a prayer?”
Yes; but this is not all. Write again.
1. _I will not willingly break any of the rules which are adopted for
the government of our school._
Some of the rules may _seem_ hard to obey, and even unreasonable, but
they were made for my good by those who are wiser than I am. I _can_
obey them; I _will_.
2. _I will work harder over my lessons than ever before, and I will
recite them more accurately._
This means hard work, but it is my duty; I shall be the better for it;
it will not be long, for I am going soon; I _can_, I _will_.
3. _I will watch my thoughts and my talk more carefully than I have
ever done before._
If I have hurt others by evil talk I will do so no more. It is a common
fault; many of us boys have fallen into the habit of it; but for one, I
will do so no more; I _can_ stop it, I _will_.
4. _I will be more careful in my daily life here, to set a good example
in all things, than I have ever been before._
The younger boys look to the older boys and imitate them closely. They
watch us, our words, our ways, our behavior in all things. If any young
fellows have been misled by me, it shall be so no more. I will behave
so that no one shall be the worse for doing as I do. This is quite
within my control; I _can_, I _will_.
5. _I will look to God to help me to do these things._
For I have tried to do something like this before and failed; it must
be because I depended on my own strength. Now I will look away from
myself and depend upon “God, without whom nothing is strong, nothing
is holy.” He _can_ help me; he surely will, if I throw myself on his
mercy, and by daily prayer and reading the Scriptures, even if only for
a moment or two each day, I shall see light and find peace.
These are the things that I would write, my boy, if I were just as you
are.
Shall I stop now? May I not go a little farther and say some words to
others here?